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Ride or Die (Santiago "Pope" Garcia x fem!reader): Series Masterlist & Warnings
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Posting schedule and Series Masterlist
This is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are queued.
Chapter One: POSTED
Chapter Two: POSTED
Chapter Three: POSTED
Chapter Four: POSTED
Chapter Five: POSTED
Chapter Six: POSTED
Chapter Seven: POSTED
Chapter Eight: POSTED
Chapter Nine: Friday 29th March, 12pm GMT
Chapter Ten: Friday 5th April, 12pm GMT
Chapter Eleven: Friday 12th April, 12pm GMT
BONUS content: PLAYLIST (TBC)
Series Warnings (below the cut):
To avoid chapter by chapter spoilers, this time I'm providing general, series-level warnings of the main themes covered throughout. This may also mean the list is non-exhaustive. If you need more information in order to safely avoid a trigger/topic, or to enhance your reading experience, you are welcome to DM me / send in an ask. Also, if you spot something I missed that you think should be included here to aid other readers, hmu!
Please note, the whole series is NSFW, MDNI (18+). Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.
Smut: EXPLICIT, CORE THEME e.g. fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, casual sex with other non-pairing partners implied off-screen.
Angst: A CORE THEME. Relationship angst. A lot of arguing / yelling (not trying to romanticise this at all!). Some toxic jealousy. Conflicts with friends. Abandonment fears. As well as this central relationship conflict, side characters are dealing with individual issues, such as those referenced in canon (divorce, prior violence, drug misuse etc.). 
Drugs / alcohol mentions: reader participates in casual social drinking throughout, some heavier drinking in one chapter (party context). Smoking (one chapter). Brief mentions of drug use (cocaine).
Food mentions: casual, frequent. 
Mentions typical of canon / e.g. wartime, US army, bullet wounds, car crash, injury, fear of mortality, violence (no graphic descriptions).
Mental health: implied past trauma typical of canon. Brief mentions of nightmares, possible PTSD.
Reader descriptions: fem!AFAB reader. Uses she/her pronouns. Reader’s hair is described a couple of times as being e.g. “pulled”. No hair texture / colour / style / other details specified or implied. Reader has a family who appear in a couple of chapters (sister and nephews). No physical descriptions of them are supplied. Mentioned that reader grew up with her sister, though not specified whether biological / adoptive / found family.
Spanish language: reader understands / speaks Spanish, though not specified what her first language is (or isn’t). I have avoided lengthy Spanish translations / text as I am not a native speaker. Some Spanish language is included, limited to terms of endearment and the like. I am always happy to be corrected. I research, but some mistakes are likely.
Sexual health / pregnancy: mentions of reader using birth control, including mentions of emergency contraceptives / slip-ups. Not a core theme. 
Religion: mentions of Catholicism.
Other: contains significant Tom. It’s pre-canon, I’m so sorry. 
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groguspicklejar · 10 months
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Sweet Nothings [Santiago "Pope" Garcia]
Summary: It's never easy choosing between your feelings and your friendship. In other words, Santi has to decide if he wants the new guy in town to snatch you up or if a friendship will have to be ruined.
Pairing: Santiago Garcia x best friend!reader
Warnings: Angst, Best Friends to Lovers, Santi being an idiot, Benny being a little shit, touching, lots of yelling, Angst with a happy ending, mentions of Santi getting shot, one sided love not really
A/N: scraped endless drafts because I had to look at it from so many angles. 3rd Commission of the year thank you so so much🥳 so sorry it took me so long, had to deal with a lot of bullshit at school and the depression it brought me. I really do appreciate the support you guys bring❤️✨ this one is for Alex (please link your username because 1am here am I'm sleepy as fuck to try and find it at the moment)
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He’s an idiot.
He wants a taste.
You’re murmuring a quick answer to Frankie’s question with your mouth full of a blueberry cupcake. Then you take a sip of some beverage Benny ordered. You hardly pay attention to whatever Ben and Frankie are bickering about, eyes too drawn to your book.
But Santi’s paying attention. To your mouth. To your lips. And he wants a taste. He’s an idiot who wants a taste.
“Santi, hermano, come on. Help me out here.” Frankie groans, exasperated while Benny’s mischievous grin flashes brightly.
“Hmm?” Santiago hates having to take his eyes off you. His thigh brushes yours under the table. It maddens the flutter of his heart. The only indication that you took notice was the brief glance in his direction and a tiny smile before your gaze returns to the words on your page.
No doubt whatever the little shit said only said it to grate in Frankie’s last nerve and it is working. And by extension, it’s getting on Santi’s last nerve because he hates it when Frankie starts complaining.
Before he even has the chance to tell them both to be quiet and eat their pancakes (mostly because he hadn’t been listening to a word they said), you chime in, without even looking up from your book, “He wants you to tell Ben that he’s an idiot for thinking that mint chocolate-flavoured stuff are better than caramel-flavoured stuff.”
Santiago raises an eyebrow. “Wait, you’ve been listening this whole time?”
He doesn’t understand how you can be drifting between two worlds. The real life and your book. Usually, you prefer the latter, especially when you’re out in public. Too often, he becomes jealous of the characters in your books. You pay far more attention to them than you do to him.
“It’s hard not to.” you mutter, taking another bite of your cupcake. “Not with that mind-numbing chatter.”
It’s hard not to laugh at your sardonic quip. He revels in these little moments. The tidbits of chaos in your eyes that spark from time to time. 
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means Benjamin has the inability to shut the hell up and enjoy a good meal on a quiet morning.” You put down your book with the most disgusted look on your face. “Also, mint chocolate? Really, Ben? I bet you like the taste of toothpaste in your coffee as well.”
“Oh, fuck off!” There was a chorus of laughter that sparked Ben’s scowl. “Leave my coffee out of this. It has nothing to do with anything.”
“Your coffee has everything to do with this.” you shoot back, nose wrinkling as you smile.
Frankie’s laughing harder with each second at the exchange. Benny crossed his arms, shrinking in his chair. “God, she sounds exactly like the jackass sitting next to her.”
Your gaze shifts to him, smiling. That knowing look as you let him in on your thoughts. He returns it with a grin.
He’s a moron.
I know, right?
The little moment that you both share as you peer into each other’s minds is one of many that will be cherished. Santiago shook his head, chuckling as he watched you roll your eyes and return to your book. To your own little world. You lean back on your chair, smiling.
There was nothing Santi loved more than watching you be at peace in your own little world. Hardly anything draws you out for too long. Not even him, but he doesn’t mind. As long as you’re happy there because this world doesn’t give much to live for, to dream for.
But you?
You’ve always given him something to dream about. 
“Hermano.” Frankie nudges (kicks) him under the table and Santi has half a mind to wring his neck from where he’s sitting. 
He’s got that shit-eating grin from where he sits, along with Ben. Will doesn’t smirk but simply gives him that look. Like he knows exactly what those two are thinking and he wholeheartedly agrees.
It’s not the first time they caught him staring. It certainly won’t be the last. Nor will it be the last time they’re going to give him shit once you’re out of the vicinity. Frankie gives him the hardest time because he has pried the most information out of him.
Pendejo–
“I said–” Will starts, and it takes a second for Santiago to realize that it was him who spoke. “Are you coming to the game tonight or are you preoccupied? Again?”
Preoccupied is code for ‘trying and failing to ask you out’. Emphasis on failing. Dismally, in fact. He’s blown them off so many times to spend nights at your place, just trying to get the words out.
But all that happens is that his hands start sweating while his heart rattles violently in its cage and he stares at the back of your head while you’re preparing the popcorn in the kitchen. Or he stares at you when you’re watching a movie. Or when you’ve fallen asleep on top of him. No words come out.
He can’t tell you. He just can’t. Because what if you say no? What if he loses you–
God, he doesn’t even want to fathom the thought. But he’s going to keep trying anyway. He doesn’t know how many nights he’s going to spend at your house just trying to ask or tell you how he feels
Before he can answer, someone calls your name.
Then your eyes glance up and–
Oh.
Oh, how they light up. And oh, how his stomach drops because who has the power to yank your head out of that book with such ease?
“Oh, hey, Jax.” You grin sweetly at the man who dared to walk over to the table, to all five of you.
Santiago has seen him before. He’s new in town. Moved a couple of months ago and he’s steadily been making himself acquainted with the locals.
The man is tall. Blond hair in a half bun, baby blues to match, and a jaw that could cut diamonds. He’s tall, built in all the ways that make the women giggle and whisper. He’s got a friendly face and attitude and it doesn’t help that he’s so… nice.
It doesn’t help that his attention seems to be focused on you.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Jax smiles before his eyes glance at Will, then Ben and Frankie. Then finally, they meet Santiago’s. The man gives a genuine nod, acknowledging all four of them. “Hello.”
And just like that, the boys are tense. On a razer’s edge and he seems to clock in on that. Good. Santiago wants him to know that he’s not welcome around here– around you. Frank and Will nod back, trying to be friendly, trying not to make a scene. But Santi stays as he is. Stiff as a board. Silent as a stone.
“Hey, man.” Ben plasters a bright smile, but it feels more like he’s baring his teeth. “How are you doin?”
But –heavens forbid– you’ve put the book down.
Santiago stares at it, failing to mask his shock for a brief moment before he masks it when you stand up. You introduce him to the boys. Pleasantries are exchanged but Santiago doesn’t say a word. He leans back on his chair, eyeing this man, Jax.
Those baby blues falter when they find the heat in the eyes of Santiago “Pope” Garcia. And he takes much pride in how he takes a step back, more out of self-preservation. He realizes that he’s looking at four hungry wolves, rather than men.
Only, you follow and go to stand farther away than all four of them would like. You and Jax talk like you’re old friends– buddies. Santi’s fist threatens to break the mug at how you touch this guy’s shoulder and offer a nod and he smiles right back, touching your elbow. Both of you just touching and something aches and burns and threatens to claw its way out of Santi’s chest to tear this man to pieces if he keeps doing that.
When the conversation looks like it’s coming to an end, Santi is jolted in his seat when Jax leans to kiss your cheek and you do the same, waving him goodbye with his two friends, who have their beverages in hand.
Santiago doesn’t want to plan yet another murder. 
But it is damn tempting.
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“Want me to make pasta?”
He hums absentmindedly, drumming his fingers on his thigh. Eyes glare out the window as he waits for the traffic to move. It’s slow. Agonizing to be trapped in the car with you.
He still thinks back to the man at the cafe. Jax.
He hates how you were around that guy. He doesn’t think he’s seen you like that with him or anyone else. You don’t let them touch you like that. You don’t let guys kiss your cheek like that.
Santiago has had to bear watching you with previous boyfriends and even a fiance one time and it was one of the most agonising things he has ever gone through. During those days, when you were with someone, he always opted to go back to Columbia so he doesn’t have to be near you. Some days, he wished he would catch a bullet in his head there because it would hurt less.
You say something. He doesn’t hear. But he can’t seem to bring himself to ask you to repeat yourself. Instead, he gives a curt– “Yep.”
“Santi.” The cut of your voice makes him flinch and his gaze flicks to you. Your eyes are narrowed. Makes his hackles rise. “You just agreed to let me put olives in the salad.” 
He hates olives.
His expression twists in disgust. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.” you counter.
“No, I didn’t.” He’s pretty sure he didn’t.
“No, but you should’ve been paying more attention to me.” You face forward on your seat, crossing your arms and slink one knee over another.
Your dress rides up a little, revealing more of your thigh and Santi thinks his blood might boil more because of that than the fact that you’re poking at him. He grits his teeth, facing forward too. His hands clasp the steering wheel tightly.
“What? You mean like how you pay attention to your new friend?”
He didn’t mean to let the words out. But he can’t stand the silence. Can’t stand to let you win this round. He feels a storm brewing and it is going to chew him up and spit him out if he’s not careful.
The lack of your response makes him realize he made a dumb move. He reveals his entire hand. Fucking idiot–
“So that’s what this is about?”
His mouth seals shut. Eyes fixed forward in a scowl that might burn a path through the cars in front so his can move. His teeth might shatter if he doesn’t loosen his jaw but he could care less. It would be easier to deal with than having to explain himself.
He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. Not when the car moves. Not until he reaches your place and gets out of the car. It’s a torturous stalemate for now, but you hold the upper hand and you don’t realize yet.
You follow, slamming the door. “Santi, we were just talking. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“C’mon, we both know what he was doing.” He’s in your house, beelining for the kitchen to open a cupboard. A bottle of tequila awaits him. He pours himself a cup.
You’re silent as he throws his head back, downing the shot. “Okay, what’s your problem?”
His nose flares, eyes shifting to meet yours. “My problem?”
“Yes, your problem.” you counter sharply, pointing a finger in his face. “You do this every time you see me talking to Jax–”
“No, I don’t!” 
“Yes, you do.”
He hates how your voice remains level while his reaches new heights. He does not understand how you remain calm when he feels like he’s boiling over. You’ve always been so annoyingly exceptional at pushing his buttons to the point where he almost can’t decide between two urges; to yell at you or kiss you.
He wants to choose the latter. Every time. And every time he has to choose the former.
Santiago wants to hurl the bottle of alcohol against the wall. But all he does is run a hand through his curls, letting out a frustrated groan. “God, you’re so blind sometimes! Not every guy who walks up to you has good intentions!”
“So?” you counter. “Why do you insist on acting like this?”
He rounds the counter, eager to get away from this fuming mess before it implodes on his face. But you’re just as eager to follow. 
“Like what?!” 
“Like you’re jealous, Santi!” you snap, finally raising your voice to match his. “You shut down every time you see me with a guy. And what’s worse is that you take off and head back to war because you can’t stand to see me happy!”
And something cracks within him as soon as that happens. He stops in his tracks immediately.
You don’t think for a second that he would whirl on you in a split second. But he does and the silent violent rage that comes with his close proximity frightens you. Even if the urge to kiss you threatens to burn him alive.
“Do you want to know what a jealous boyfriend looks like?” He takes a step towards you, and another. You don’t resign to his simmering rage, your expression remaining impassive, even as he backs you into the kitchen counter.
He wants to show you what a jealous boyfriend looks like. He wants to show you how much he hates not having your attention on him at all times.
There is nothing that can make him understand how or why he’s so drawn to you. He’s known Frankie longer than you. Benny and Will nearly just as long. They get on his nerves nonstop, but never to this extent.
Never to the point where he wanted to tear himself from the inside out at the thought of telling you how much he yearns to put his lips against yours, yet the mere thought of you turning away from him the minute he says it instantly seals his mouth shut.
He remains at that crossroads. He wonders if you’re there with him, trying to decide which path to take. Do you know that this time– this time he’s wading into dangerous territory? Do you know that he hopes it’ll lead him to you?
“You don’t see it, do you?” You don’t say anything. He chuckles dryly. “You don’t see how much it hurts when you’re with someone else–”
“How do you think I feel when the guys talk about your informants?” you harshly interject, eyes burning like dark flames. “You don’t think it hurts when they joke about how pretty they all are?”
Those fuckers. Why the fuck would they tell you that?
His shoulders draw in, ears burning with shame, even though he knows he’s done nothing wrong. He’s never slept with any of his informants. Yes, there is a pattern. His informants are women. Beautiful women. But he doesn’t sleep with them.
Not when he’s constantly thinking of you. This last job, getting rid of Lorea, all he could think about is getting that money so he can make a better man of himself. For you. All for you. That’s why he was so determined, so driven. Not by greed, as everyone thinks. But by love.
He did it because he loves you and he would do it all again if it meant it would give him the slightest chance.
He feels himself careening towards the point of no return. He takes a steady breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Do you know how much I wanted–”
But it’s like no matter how much he tries to choose his words carefully, they all lead him back to the definitive truth. The one truth he’s always tried to keep under heaps of soil, in the deepest grave he could dig.
It is unearthing and unbinding itself from every restraint, every chain and rope. Finding its way to you.
You wait for him to keep going. Only to be met with silence and it does not sit well with you.
He feels your hand graze his chin. The soft caress sends him spiralling further and further away from his sanity. “Wanted what?”
How many times has he let you touch him like this –like you weren’t his best friend? Too often, that line is blurred and the singular question of “what are we?” hangs in the balance. Taunting him every time his knee brushes yours under a table. Haunting him with your scent when you stand too close.
When his eyes flutter open, he falls right into the deep end. Whatever restraint he’s been clinging to all this time, it snaps as easily as a twig.
He inches forward, pushing against you, pushing past that line, pressing his lips against yours.
His hands grasp your arms, pulling you closer. He couldn’t bear it if you decide to draw away when he’s just getting the taste of you for the first time, and maybe the last. But you don’t. You don’t move away, you don’t push him away.
He takes another kiss. Then another. He can’t get enough. Years of orbiting around you and he realizes how starved he is after only having you in small doses. Each kiss feels like an overdose. It feels like it will kill him, but he doesn’t care. He wants more.
“You.” he rasps sharply against your mouth. “Wanted you.” You don’t stop his hands from cupping the back of your neck, angling your head as he quickly amends, “Want you.”
A weak moan escapes you as he touches you, a sound that melts right through his ache. He brings you closer, letting you sigh into his mouth, your hands slipping through the curls of his hair, wondering how he could’ve gone without this for years.
“Oh, Santi…” you peck his lips as he does to yours, nudging your nose against his. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”
But you’re giggling. You’re laughing and it makes him weak at the knees and when you draw him close, closer until your lips meet his again–
It’s like he’s learned a new meaning to breathing again.
He starts to laugh a little too, at the ridiculousness of it all. The record number of years he has gone without telling you how he felt seemed silly now. He was worried over nothing.
“For the record…” you murmur into his mouth, grinning. “Jax is gay.”
Jax.
Tall blond, baby blue-eyed, who’s got the women giggling and whispering Jax.
Santiago is momentarily stunned by the revelation. It doesn’t correlate. He thought that… No, because Jax was all over you. Constantly talking to you every chance he got. Touching your shoulders, your arms. Smiling sweetly as he speaks. Kissing your cheek to say goodbye. It never occurred to him that Jax might just be friendly. That he might not be attracted to you.
He groans, frustrated more at himself than anything. “Oh, for fuck’s sake–”
You’re laughing when you kiss him once more, wrapping your arms around his neck while he’s muttering curses in his native tongue. Yet he smiles as he walks forward. His mouth slinks against yours while you walk back against his steps until your knees hit the couch and you both fall back.
You’re still laughing, half moaning as he draws the zipper of your hoodie open to plant kisses along your neck, your shoulders as he mutters “tu puta madre– idiota–”
You’re still laughing because you’re overjoyed. Filled with such warmth because finally–
“Pendejo–” he’s still murmuring curses into your mouth, though they’re more directed to himself for being plain stupid.
Finally, he has you in his arms the way he wants. Finally, the boys are really going to dig into him for saying something.
“No way he’s gay.” he whines, pulling his head back to look at you with a stern expression. “Did he tell you that?”
“He’s been checking you and Frankie out since he got here.” you explain, smiling and shaking your head. “Wanted to know if either one of you is available.”
Santiago clicks his tongue, cheeks heating heavily as he shakes his head. “Get outta here.”
He feels stupid. Blinded by jealousy. Throwing tantrums like a petulant child over nothing. He should’ve come clean a long time ago. 
When his mouth meets yours, he comes to one final conclusion.
He really is an idiot.
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Can't Hold Back
AN: Hey y'all! This is kind of an unofficial sequel to Down Time, in the sense that I was thinking of while writing but made no actual references to it lol. ANYWAY. This was written for @triplefrontier-anniversary! Hope y’all enjoy 🥰
(Un-beta’d)
You can’t go on like this, having him but not having him. You want more, you deserve more…
Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,554 Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x F!Reader Warnings: Very light on the plot here lol, friends (who are secretly in love with each other) with benefits, p in v, a smidge of angst then cliche fluffy fluff (please let me know if i missed anything). AO3
——————
Santiago fucks into you, his thrusts slow and deep, his body draped over yours as you cling to him, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you try to stifle your moans. He buries his face in your neck, muffling his groan as he loses himself in your warmth. He mouths at you, his tongue dragging over your sweat-slicked skin before coming to rest just below your ear. 
“Feel so good, cariño,” he slurs, his voice low and raspy. “Feels like heaven when I’m inside you.” 
Your cunt clenches at his words and he grunts, his movements stuttering slightly. Your chest heaves in an effort to stay quiet, knowing your friends are sleeping just on the other side of the thin walls of your shared vacation rental. They didn’t know about you and Santi, didn’t know that you’d been secretly fucking for months, didn’t know that you were head-over-heels in love with him. 
To be fair though, Santi didn’t know that last bit either. 
Your arrangement had been fun when it started, had scratched the proverbial itch, but as time had gone on, you’d started to want more. The sex was great, but you hated when it ended. Not just because it was over, but because one of you always left. That had been part of the arrangement: no staying the night. So you didn’t, he didn’t, and you ignore that ache you feel in your chest every time he rolls off your bed and starts putting on his clothes, ignore the queasiness that roils in your belly when he leans in and kisses the side of your head gently in goodbye, ignore the way your heart cracks as the door to your apartment clicks shut and you’re left in silence, alone. 
You’d been planning to tell him, tell him that you couldn’t do this anymore, that you wanted (needed) more, more with him…but then he’d started kissing you and every other thought had flown right out the window. So here you were, writhing in pleasure beneath him as he played your body like a well-loved instrument, willing yourself to stay quiet so as to not alert the rest of your friend group. You shiver, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers the filthiest things. The sound of his voice, coupled with his words, pushes you higher and higher, and you whimper softly as you near the edge, your cunt fluttering around his cock.  
Santi shushes you gently, pulling back a little to watch you, his dark eyes heavy and blown wide with lust. Your gaze locks with his, and you swallow hard to keep your moans at bay, your lips parting and releasing a soft, strangled sound. He pulls his lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring as he breathes hard through his nose, his body moving steadily over you. 
As you watch him, the moonlight illuminating him from behind like an angel, you’re struck with the urge to cry. No, not just cry, full on sob. You can’t go on like this, having him but not having him. You want more, you deserve more…but you’re worried. Worried about how ending this will affect your friendship, that you’ll have to put up with seeing him date other women (or worse, that he won’t care when you start dating). You want to be present, be in the moment, want to enjoy yourself if this really is to be the last time. Even so, you can’t stop the tears as they slide down your cheeks, can’t stop the weight pressing on your chest, can’t stop the fracturing of your heart. A strange combination of euphoria and sorrow war within you, and you can’t do much more than ride it out, can’t do much more than cling to him like it’s the last time you’ll ever hold him (because it likely is). 
He must notice your crying because he suddenly leans in, whispering comforting words that don’t really register in your brain as he kisses away your tears. He presses his forehead to yours, pushing you closer and closer to your peak, grinding his hips into yours and making you see stars. 
You whimper softly as you come, your body shaking, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure washes over you. Santiago leans in, smothering his moans in your neck as you squeeze him, pulling him closer to the edge until his body stiffens, his sticky warmth coating your inner walls. The urge to wrap yourself around him, to keep him with you, keep him inside you, is so strong, but you resist, knowing it won’t make a difference.  
Santi pulls back, smiling softly as he gazes down at you. You try to smile back, thankful for the darkness of the room as it means he can’t see the tears that are still leaking from the corners of your eyes. He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks and pauses, his lips twitching down when he feels the wetness there. 
“Estás bien, cariño?” he whispers, his eyes quickly darting over your face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 
You shake your head, willing your tears to stop falling. 
“I’m okay,” you say, forcing a smile, “Just emotional, I guess.” 
He grunts, and you can tell he’s not buying it. You never were very good at lying. 
You do your best not to look at him for too long, knowing the longer he looks, the more likely it is that he’ll see, see it all, everything you’re trying to hide, trying to bury. Just when you think he’s going to let it go, you feel his hand cup your cheek. 
“Look at me,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your cheek. 
You try not to, really you do but, when it comes to Santi, you just can’t help yourself. 
Your resolve crumbles the moment your eyes meet his, the words you’ve held back all these months spilling from between your lips like water from a broken dam. Tears blur your vision so much that you can’t really tell what effect your words are having on him, but you suppose that it doesn’t really matter in the end. You can feel yourself spiraling, your chest heaving with barely suppressed sobs, when Santi’s finger presses against your lips halts your descent. 
“Did…you just say you loved me?” he asks softly, his voice and face unreadable. 
Icy dread slices through you at the question. Had you said that? That you loved him? You don’t remember, but you must’ve, right? You panic, stuttering as you try to explain, your brain racing a million miles per hour as you search for the right words…but it turns out you don’t need them. 
Santiago stops your lips again, this time with his own. 
You’ve kissed him a thousand times before now but, somehow this time it’s different, this time it feels different. He takes his time, his kiss somehow both gentle and deep, like he’s pouring everything he has into it. He pulls away before you can kiss him back, a faint glimmer of something unfamiliar shining in his eyes when he meets yours again. 
“I love you too,” he rasps, smiling down at you softly. 
Your eyes widen a little, searching for the truth of his words in the darkness. “You do?” 
He chuckles, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I do.”
You exhale sharply, a relieved laugh slipping from between your lips before you can stop it. You clap your hand over your mouth in surprise as Santiago’s smile widens, his eyes shining. You spend the next few hours wrapped in each other’s arms, talking about everything and nothing, content to just be.  
You wake hours later to the sun streaming in through the windows and Santiago’s warmth at your back, your still-naked bodies tangled in the sheets and blankets. His arms are wrapped loosely around you, his face pressed into the back of your neck, and you can’t help the mix of relief and giddiness you feel knowing it wasn’t all some crazy fever dream. Your eye lashes flutter as sleep tries to call you back, the warm tendrils reaching for you, pulling gently— 
Until the sound of someone clearing their throat drags you back to full consciousness. 
Your head snaps toward the sound, your widened eyes meeting amused blue ones. 
Santi stirs behind you, sighing softly as he presses a kiss against the base of your neck and rasps, “Morning.”
“Mornin’,” Benny responds, a smug smile on his lips as he takes in the sight of the two of you tangled in each other. 
You feel Santi pause briefly before turning to meet his gaze.  
“Breakfast is gettin’ cold,” Benny continues, suggestively pumping his eyebrows as he backs out of the room, leaving the door wide open. 
Benny walks back to the kitchen, his footsteps thunking loudly against the wooden floor of the house as he calls out something about the other guys owing him a hundred dollars.  
Santi snorts behind you, pushing his face against your shoulder as he dissolves into laughter, and you can’t help but follow suit. 
“Guess we should go deal with that,” you chuckle, looking over your shoulder at him. 
He smiles, his eyes shining with laughter as he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. “Guess we should, cariño.”
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noisynaia · 11 months
Note
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
Text
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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reallyrallyauthor · 2 months
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Santiago Garcia- Delta Babysitters Club
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Summary: Frankie, Will, and Benny come over to hang out with Santiago and his toddler son.
Contents: fluff, baby fluff, pregnancy talk, language, afab reader, reader has hair long enough for a baby to play with. (~3k)
based on a lovely anon ask for more dad!Santi
which is based on an adorable ask that turned into Santiago, Baby
-----------
Santiago Garcia is constantly surprised by how much he loves family life.
As he sat in his backyard on a sunny day, bouncing his toddler on his knee, with Frankie, Will, and Benny, in Adirondack chairs around a full cooler, he really wondered why he hadn’t calmed the fuck down years ago.
“Santi,” you yell out the back door, “I’m leaving.”
Oh yeah, he remembers. He hadn’t thought of settling-down, because he hadn’t met you yet.
He pushes his sunglasses up to rest on the top of his head and waves to you. You look beautiful, just jeans and a t-shirt. Since the baby, your clothes are just a smidge tighter, just a touch curvier in places that are incredibly distracting to him.
Then again, he got a little hot looking at your ankle last night, sticking out from under your Eeyore pajama pants.
You’d been pressing him for a weekend away, just the two of you. He’d been surprised you wanted to leave the baby for a whole weekend, but if you wanted to shack up with him like old times, then who was he to say no twice? Maybe he could convince you to pack just your toothbrush. Somewhere out in the country, where you could be as loud as you wanted-
Frankie kicks his foot, bringing Santi back to reality. “Quit looking at her like you want her clothes to melt off, man.”
That’s a visual Santi will be saving for later, thank you Francisco Morales.
“…and I should be back by dinner,” you yell.
“Not a problem. We’re going to grill and I’ll save you a plate if you’re not here,” Santi yells back, hoping it’s an appropriate response.
You weren’t walking over to say goodbye because you didn’t want your son to have a meltdown when he sensed you leaving.
The guys all wave to you.
“I love you, Santi,” you yell.
“Love you too, sweetheart. Drive safe and text me when you get there,” he yells.
Benny makes a kissy face at him and Will slaps the back of his head.
“Call if you need anything. Bye guys. Have fun.” 
As you pull your car out of the driveway, you worry a little, smile a little. Any of those men would lay down his life to protect your baby, but, the fact that they all looked so relaxed is what bugs you. 
Even Santi, who knows your kid is going to notice you're gone at some point, who knows the baby still fights his naps like they were death itself. A precious cherub who is going through a phase where he’d rather throw food and be stubborn and …. oh no. Was your kid turning into a spoiled little punk? 
Well, whatever, you can always say he got it from his father. 
You drive off, radio on blast, windows down.
*****
“Just the boys,” Benny says with a big smile. “I have so much to teach that kid.”
Will gives his brother a patient look. “If you try to give that baby any advice, ever, I don’t care if he’s one, or eighty-one, I will put you in a headlock until you pass out.”
Santi looks at his son. “I don’t know. He could do worse than us, right?”
Frankie’s eyes widen. He takes off his cap thoughtfully and runs a hand through his shaggy hair. “He could probably do better, though.”
The men all silently agree.
Santi kisses his son’s forehead. “So what do you want to do first, buddy? Head to the range? Pick up a date at the mini-golf place? Straight to the bar where I met your mom?”
Your son blows his tongue out between his lips and tries to put Santi’s watch, wrist and all, in his mouth. He looks at his dad, seeing if he can get away with it. He can.
Frankie leans forward to the grocery bags he’d brought. He gets out a little container of cookies and starts opening them.
“Can he have these?” Frankie asks Santi.
Santi shrugs. “Sure. Package has a baby on the front. Why not?”
“My kid used to love these,” Frankie says wistfully.
“Oh here we go,” Will mumbles, reaching into the cooler for beers.
“Treasure these times,” Frankie says almost sadly to Santi. “It goes by so fast. And then one day, your kid’s going off to pre-school, and they don’t even look back when they go in the door.” Frankie’s face scrunches up and relaxes a few times. “Like you’re not even important anymore.”
Santi reaches over and pats Frankie on the back. “S’okay, Frank. You can come over and play with this one any time you want.”
Frankie nods, hands a cookie to the baby, overjoyed at the look of utter bliss on his face when he shoves it into his mouth and starts gnawing.
Will offers Santi a beer, but he declines, passing the bottle to Frankie. Someone has to be able to drive in case of emergency, and Frankie clearly needs a drink more than anyone else here.
The baby throws the cookie on the ground and reaches out to Frankie for another, which Frankie happily provides.
Benny reaches forward into the cooler, then a little further for the discarded cookie laying in the grass. 
It’s halfway to his mouth before Frankie snaps his fingers loudly.
“Benjamin! Put that down!” He yells.
“What? Why?” Benny pops the whole thing in his mouth and chews.
“It was on the ground. It’s covered in dirt,” Will says, disgusted.
“Don’t worry about it,” Benny says, chewing off to one side. “I wasn’t going to feed it to the kid. But I’m not going to let it go to waste. Tastes like fucking sand. These are gross.”
“Well, they’re not really for you,” Frankie says, “asshole.”
The baby looks up at his father, second cookie forgotten in his lap, eyes and mouth open slightly.
Santi looks down with a big smile. “What’s up, buddy?”
The baby reaches out and puts his chubby hands on Santi’s scruff. “Asshole,” he says clearly and loudly.
Will spits out his beer laughing.
“Oooooh shit,” Benny says with a big grin, “you are in trouble now.”
Frankie’s big, brown eyes are so wide he looks like he may never blink again.
Santi presses his lips together briefly, shaking his head. “She said that was going to start happening. I was hoping he’d learn the first swear word from her and I’d be off the hook. But thanks to Uncle Frankie, we’re all gonna take the heat.”
“I’m sorry,” Frankie says.
“Asshole,” the baby says, picking his cookie back up and playing with it. “Asshole asshole asshole.”
Frankie starts laughing, which makes Santi laugh. “Come on, you guys. We gotta teach him something else.”
“That never works,” Will says.
“How would you know?” Santi fires back, holding his happy son up so he can push his little feet into Santi's thighs.
Will shrugs. “Babies aren’t stupid. He knows he gets a reaction out of us. That’s why he does it. I’m familiar with the concept.” He points a finger at Benny.
“Well, nobody swear anymore,” Santi says, looking each man in the eyes. “Whoever does, picks up the check the next time we all go out.”
“Deal,” Frankie says. “You know my kid’s first word was dada. Now, they’re in school, learning letters and numbers.” He sighs and Santi pats him on the back again.
Santi leans back in his chair and snuggles the baby up against his chest, sensing that he might be sleepy. He will never get tired of the warmth and weight of this little body. The little thigh rolls and fat arms. The impossibly small fingers with an impossibly strong grasp. The way he giggles when his dad kisses his little cheeks. 
Oh God, he’s starting to sound like Frankie.
“I better put him inside for his nap,” Santi says, but as he stands up, the baby fusses and starts crying a little. 
Will stands up too, holds out his hands. “Give him to me.”
Santi looks suspiciously at Will.
“Fucking relax,” Will says, then winces, remembering about the swearing. “Damn it. Just give me the baby. I can hold still while he sleeps. He won’t wake up for three hours.”
Santi looks at Frankie and Benny. 
“Two hours. Fifty bucks,” Frankie says.
“He wakes that baby inside of forty-five minutes,” Benny says with a lopsided grin.
“Betting on my own child,” Santi says, gently handing the baby over to Will, “I should call CPS on myself. And I think it’ll be an hour ten.”
Will talks in low rumbles to the baby, cradling his head as he sits back down. His big hands and fingers move gently over the baby’s back and head, settling him into his lap comfortably. 
“Nothing to it,” Will says with a confident smile. “Babies are calm when you’re calm.”
Benny rolls his eyes. 
Frankie holds up his phone, stopwatch already running, and sets it on the arm rest. “You still need help with those shelves in the garage?” He says to Santi.
“I remapped out the whole thing. I’m going to use French cleats, should be able to put a lot more weight on them and I can take my time putting everything up. Spend a few hours every weekend on it. You should come over, bring your crew. Good excuse to hang out on Sundays,” Santi takes a pull from his water bottle. “We used to carry loaded weapons and a hundred pounds of gear through the desert, just to go after one guy. Remember that?”
“My back couldn’t take that anymore,” Frankie shakes his head.
“You all sound like old men, by the way,” Benny says.
Will glances at his brother. “On our way over here, you told me your doctor told you to add more fiber to you diet.”
Benny gives his brother an angry look. “You’re a fucking Judas, you know that?”
Will chuckles silently, making sure not to disturb the baby in his arms. He hasn’t been around babies much. Frankie’s kid had been a little older by the time he’d been introduced. Surprisingly, Will finds that he really likes babies. 
Of all his friends, he’d thought he’d be the first one to find a nice girl, get married, smooth out his rough edges. But he’d had to put his mental health first. It had taken a long time. Lately, he’d felt solid enough to start thinking about a family again.
He feels Benny tap his arm and looks up. Benny winks at him, like he knows what his brother’s thinking.
“Looks good on you,” Benny says supportively.
“Thanks man,” he says quietly, his gaze sharpening, “but I haven’t forgotten you bet against me in the nap thing.”
Benny shrugs casually. “I’m not going to pass on taking a hundred fifty off of you guys. Besides, if the baby wakes up, I get next.”
Will’s eyes widen slightly.
Benny sets aside his beer, looking at the sleeping baby. “Just because I’m not sure if I’ll have any, doesn’t mean I don’t like them. We all know Frankie’s kid likes me the best. And this one will too.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure my kid likes me the best,” Frankie says, holding up his beer and then taking a drink. 
Will’s instincts hum and Santi catches his gaze, both of them sensing it.
The baby starts crying before he’s even really awake. He pushes against Will as he opens his eyes and looks for around for you, his cries getting louder and louder.
“Now I actually do feel bad taking the money,” Benny says.
Santi rushes over and takes the baby from Will. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here. Daddy’s here.” He walks to the outside of the chairs and starts walking around. The baby finally recognizes Santi and his crying slows a little, even though he’s still tired and unhappy. As he passes Frankie, he hands Santi a bandanna. 
Santi cleans up his son’s face and presses his mouth against his chubby cheeks, blowing air and gently tickling him until his cries turn into laughter.
“The famous Garcia charm. Even works on babies,” Frankie says. He grabs his cell phone and looks at it. “Forty four minutes, twelve seconds. God damn, Ben, that was impressive.”
“I’m more than just good looks,” Benny says. “Let me hold the kid, come on.”
Santiago takes one more lap, until his son’s eyelids start getting heavy again. Benny gets up and quietly takes the baby in his arms, resuming Santi’s laps around the chairs.
Santiago sits back down, digs into the grocery bags for some chips. “A couple of weeks ago he wanted to walk everywhere, couldn’t stop him,” he says as he opens the bag. “Now, he just wants to be held again all the time. And he’s still on his sleep regression shit.”
Will leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees. “Good thing you’re used to operating on no sleep. I think you’ve gone soft on us.”
Santiago gives him the finger. “I could still out-think you any day of the week.”
Will leans back, folding his arms, “oh, Pope, you have no fucking idea. I’m so far ahead of you on this one, you can’t even see my dust.”
“On what?” Santi says. He passes the bag of chips to Frankie. He’s missing something. He can see it in the slight warning look that Frankie shoots Will. It’s infuriating that he can’t figure out what, though. Something at the edge of his brain tingles. 
“Ironhead, leave it,” Frankie says, concentrating on eating chips like it’s as complicated as flying an overweight helicopter over the fucking Andes. 
“Don’t leave it,” Santi says, looking between his friends. “We’re not keeping secrets. Not anymore.”
Frankie heaves a gigantic sigh, leans back and folds his arms in a mirror image of Will.
“Your wife usually disappear for two hours on a Thursday afternoon?” Frankie asks.
And that’s all it takes. Santi feels his face go completely slack.
Needing time for yourself, but only from 1500-1700 on a random day of the week.
You’d wanted to get away, just the two of you, to talk and have some quiet time, you’d said.
Your body was just a little more… more, the way it had been before you’d started showing the first time.
And if there was a first time, then naturally-
“She’s having an affair?” Benny says as he passes behind Santi.
“No,” Frankie says, outraged.
“You’re an idiot,” Will says, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“Well she can’t be pregnant again. This one’s not even two yet.” But his eyes widen and he looks at Santi. “I think our boy’s malfunctioning.”
Santiago is staring into blank space. Inside, he is jumping up and down screaming. He wants another baby so badly, but he didn’t want to bring it up yet, didn’t want to put any pressure on you. 
He’d been so focused on the day-to-day, trying to get his son to sleep again, recording all the new foods you were feeding him, doing the dishes, making sure the bed was made, stopping for groceries on the way home from work.
He’d missed the bigger picture. Him. Santiago Garcia. 
Frankie, Will, and Benny experience something they’ve never heard in their long years of knowing each other. A solid hour of Pope’s silence.
Santi had taken his baby back from Benny and paced around the yard until he’d heard your car pull into the driveway. He’d made an immediate beeline for it, the boys hot on his tail. Busybodies.
Santi tried to move quickly and evenly, but the baby wakes up anyway. He spots you and immediately reaches out with a big smile, which you return happily, setting your purse down on the hood of your car to take him. He pushes a wet kiss onto your face and grabs your necklace to chew on.
“Hello, my baby. I missed you so much.” You shift him to your hip, looking at Santi and the men standing behind him. “Weird energy. What’s going on?”
Santiago’s handsome face looks almost blank, a little shocked. You lean forward to kiss him on the cheek, but he backs away.
Your face must flash the hurt you feel because Santiago reaches out and holds your elbow. “Give the baby to Frankie for a sec. Let’s go inside and talk.”
You hold your son tighter. “Is something wrong?”
Will pushes Santiago’s shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong. Pope just needs to get it together.”
Santi rubs the scruff of his chin, his gaze melting back into that warm brown that you can never look away from. His jaw relaxes and his eyes crinkle a little bit at the corners. “You want to tell me where you were just now?”
The baby pulls on your necklace, his other hand tangled in your hair, as you weigh your options.
“How did you know?” You ask Santi, who only shrugs. “I was so careful. I didn’t want to say anything until I went to the doctor. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Or, I don’t know, maybe you don’t even want another one. Not so soon.”
You feel tears start to well up in your eyes. Cursing your hormones, you wipe them away. Frankie pulls the baby gently from your arms, but stays close by so he doesn’t start crying.
Santiago gathers you in a huge hug, lifting you up on your toes. As soon as he sets you down, you’re relieved to see he’s smiling too, a sheen of tears in his eyes. 
“So it’s okay?” You ask, your son reaching for you from Frankie’s arms. You take him automatically, resting him between you and Santi.
“Okay?” Santi says, laughing. “Baby, it’s more than okay. It’s a dream come true.”
You nod, smiling, as the guys congratulate you both and your son touches your wet cheeks with his hands to comfort you.
“So,” you say when things calm down a little, “how’d the guys do as babysitters?” You ask Santi.
Your son’s tiny face looks up at you lovingly. “Asshole,” he says.
Santiago winces. “I promise I was going to tell you about that.”
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**masterlist**
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pimosworld · 20 days
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Unrequited
Pairing- Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Francisco Morales
Series Summary- Francisco was always afraid of settling down. He left Santiago to pick up the pieces after Colombia and now someone else is taking his place. Now he must cope with repairing the past without disrupting his future.
CW-18+,NSFW,MDNI, Angst, hurt/comfort, lovers to enemies to friends, friends to lovers, PTSD, mentions of addiction, therapy,canon typical violence, depression, anxiety, smut, m/m, m/m/f, eventual poly relationship, alcohol consumption,infidelity, unprotected piv,oral f receiving, oral m receiving, marriage proposals)
WC-5.2k
A/N- I hope you enjoy the first chapter and I’m just going to apologize now for the angst but it will get better…eventually. Happy Frankie Friday. @triplefrontier-anniversary
[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]
Not beta read
Chapter 1 Love sick
adjective: love-sick
in love, or missing the person one loves, so much that one is unable to act normally.
  Frankie hates how everything feels the same. When the wheels touched down and he exited the plane, it smelled the same. All of his favorite places to eat, the usual stores, the same amount of unbearable traffic. He wanted this to feel different when he returned home. Like he expected his friends and him to be waiting at the airport to greet him with open arms. Like they would roll out the red carpet for him because they all missed him so much. How could he expect that when he couldn’t bother to tell anyone he was still alive let alone returning home? That’s like expecting to win the lottery but never playing. That delusional part of your brain where you imagine how you would spend the money and how you wouldn’t tell anyone.
  He’s home now. 
  The bile starts to rise up in his throat as he approaches the neighborhood he was going to spend the rest of his life in. He was going to live a peaceful, quiet life with him. After Colombia they would have enough money to do whatever they wanted. Relax and finally work out some of that trauma from their shared experiences in the military. He supposed everyone did settle down anyway. What choice did they have after coming back with practically nothing. He heard Will eventually got married and Benny took what little money he had and opened up a boxing gym. Santi-
  How was he supposed to return to this life with him after everything that happened in Colombia. Santiago finally gave him everything he wanted on a silver platter, everything Frankie had been asking of him for years. Love me out in the open, Love me out loud, Love me without fear or consequence of failure. So he did. He finally told him ‘after this, no more playing games. We do this for real or not at all, I'm all in if you are.’ 
  His response was to flee. One month turned into six, six months turned into a year. Now three years later he’s coming back to the man he broke and he’s not sure what he’s expecting but it’s making him nearly break out in hives. The outside of the house looks a little different but he can’t put his finger on why. It’s brighter and somehow cleaner. Maybe Santiago had it painted recently. He huffs his bag out of the cab suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier than any pack he’s carried through the jungle with rain soaked clothes all the way down to his socks. 
  The bench is still there on the front porch that Frankie found at a garage sale. The first piece of furniture that graced the home they picked out together.Frankie told the guys it would be easier if they bought it together. He’s not sure who he thought he was fooling but it certainly wasn’t Benny and Will. Tom didn’t give a shit, he was such a cheap bastard he truly believed they would buy a house together to save money. Another example of Santiago going along with whatever Frankie said as long as he got to call it theirs. 
  His hands are sweaty and his arms are shaky as he raises them up to knock on the door. Santiago hated doorbells, such a weird quirky thing he never explained makes him laugh now, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. He waits…an uncomfortable amount of time before he thinks he could just turn around and act like he was never here until the door flies open. 
  You’re standing there practically beaming at him, he’s sure he’s got the most dumbfounded look on his face as he takes you in. You’re adorable as you lean against the door frame in a pair of leggings and a shirt he sort of recognizes, waiting for him to say something. Maybe he has the wrong house and you’re just sparing him the embarrassment. He’s completely bewildered when you surge forward and wrap your some around his middle, he instinctively despite you being a complete stranger embraces your hug. You’re like liquid in his arms as you press your chest to his and he can feel something awaken in him. The amount of warm bodies he found himself under or on top of over the years couldn’t compare to this consuming feeling. The worst part is how innocent you seem and how his thoughts are nothing but. He can smell you, a hint of orange and peach. Body wash, shampoo or perfume he doesn’t really care at the moment. 
  You mumble something that’s inaudible as you pull back and look at him, something sparkling in your eyes. “I was beginning to think you were like bigfoot, or the Easter bunny…or maybe even Santa Claus.” You giggle and it’s something else he has to add to the list. “Forgive me…it’s nice to meet you Francisco.” 
  “I see you’ve met my girlfriend.” That voice. The low sultry voice he’s sure he could never forget, not even if he tried. Frankie cried the day his phone was smashed and the voicemail Santi had left for him was lost forever. The last one he left, begging for him to come back, to come home. “Sorry she’s a hugger.” You sheepishly extract yourself from him as his body goes taut. 
  Santi steps up behind you, protectively and it cuts like a knife. His hand starts at the small of your back and wraps around to your front as he pulls you into his chest. You preen at the touch as you lean against him, kissing the dark stubble on his cheek. Frankie’s sure you don’t notice the fire in your boyfriend's eyes, a threatening stare that was usually only reserved for his enemies. He can see it then, shrouded in hurt and anger. She’s mine. Santiago won’t let him hurt you the way he was hurt. Thrown away and cast aside. That’s how Frankie thinks he’d paint the picture but that’s far from the truth. He was sparing him a lifetime of disappointment. 
  The feelings he had for you are going up in gray smoke like water doused onto a fire. This is a dangerous feeling, seeing you in his place. It’s not your fault at all that you met Santiago and walked into years of love,torment and jealousy. Frankie can tell how blindly you love Santiago, the way he loved Frankie all those years. He would lay down on a live wire for him, take a bullet for him, take public scrutiny and throw away his family’s judgmental stares for him. Being that vulnerable only puts you in danger. 
  “Invite him in silly.” You nudge Santi and he barely budges as he scoops up Frankie’s bag and slings it over his shoulder. You yelp as he pats you on the ass to coax you inside. 
  “Come on in Frank, make yourself at home.” His voice is raw and open, like Frankie’s heart. He grinds his teeth at the name he hates and the implication of home. But he deserves that. Santi is going to make him hurt. 
  ****
  The house looks relatively the same on the inside.
Some extra plants and a bookshelf, the distinct smell of lavender and vanilla are the only differences. He wishes it wouldn’t look the same, like everything else. It was like he never left, the same couch they used to spend late nights on, watching the same tv that sits in the corner. The same dining table that they would eat breakfast before going to work and dinner after a long day. 
  “I’m gonna make some cookies, since it’s a special occasion.”  You wink at him and start moving around his kitchen like you know everything. The oven is preheated and you're mixing something into a bowl before he can blink. Humming some tune he’s sure he’s heard as he realizes the shirt you’re wearing is Santi’s favorite. 
  Santi slides up behind you kissing your neck. “Sounds like a good idea baby.” You glance up at Frankie looking a little bashful as you narrow your eyes at Santi. 
  “Why don’t you go put your stuff down in the spare bedroom.” Santi doesn’t move and that annoys him even more. He doesn’t have to show him where the room is because this used to be his house, still is technically. He stomps down the hall glaring at some artwork and photos he’s never seen. Stopping in his tracks when he sees a photo of the five of them in Delta. A stupid grin on Santi’s face because Frankie’s grabbing his ass while the photo is being taken. The younger faces of the Miller brothers and Tom.
  He stops again when he sees the bedroom they used to share. Nothing much has changed about that either. The bedspread and the ungodly amount of pillows maybe…hopefully the mattress. 
  He sets his bag down against the wall and opens the window to let some air in. It’s stale and muggy so he shuts it immediately. He can still smell you on him and it’s driving him nuts. He got a whiff of Santi’s cologne during the brief greeting. That was different. He stopped wearing the one Frankie bought him on a mission in Morocco. Santi hadn’t so much as touched him during their hello and he’s not sure if that hurts worse than being able to hold him. 
  His body eases into the queen mattress as he leans back against the pillows. It’s much more comfortable than the previous one. Frankie never cared about the comfort of others and they argued about it. "It's just a spare bed, what's the problem?” Santiago would roll his eyes and he wanted to kiss that smug look off his face. ‘Our guests should be comfortable too.” He didn’t think they would ever have guests staying in their home other than Benny or Will and those bastards didn’t need a four star plush hotel stay. Now he’s a guest, in his own home and he hates how comfortable he is. 
  He’s exhausted…mentally, physically, emotionally. Too fatigued to even stand and turn on the ceiling fan that he’s staring at. He’s  just starting to close his eyes when he hears a soft rap on the door. He sighs out in frustration, he needs a break from you right now, you’re too perfect and he’s too broken so he just needs a moment. He goes to protest when the door opens but it’s not you who greets him. 
  Santiago stands in the doorway with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. He looks as though he’s approaching a wild animal in a cage with their favorite treat to calm them down just before they tranquilize them. Frankie sits up as he steps into the room and sets the items down on the bedside table. 
  “They’re still hot.” His tone is warning like he knows Frankie is going to shove one whole in his mouth the moment he leaves the room and then complain that it burned his tongue. 
  Frankie wants to say something but now doesn’t feel right. His tongue is heavy like lead in his mouth and his eyes can’t quite possibly say all that he wants to. I love you, I’m sorry. “You look good.” It’s weak, Santiago knows it as he huffs out a laugh. 
  “You look tired.” It’s said more of a truth than an insult. He’s sad when he looks at him like someone he used to know. Frankie probably hasn’t had a good night's sleep in three years and that is Santi’s only consolation prize. He got a broken heart and Frankie got perpetual insomnia. “You can stay as long as you want Fish…dinner will be ready in an hour.” Santi exits the bedroom, closing the door softly, leaving his new cologne in the omnium of your scent that clings to him. 
  As long as he wants and as long as he needs are two very different things. He’s just glad as he takes a bite of the cookie that he’s graduated from Frank to Fish. This cookie tastes how you look. Sickly sweet and warm on his tongue. He’s glad Santi has left the room because he didn’t recognize the sounds coming from him as he savored his first homemade provisions in over three years. Surviving on street food that his stomach hated and questionable canned meat products. He can taste you on his tongue as he finishes the first cookie in the blink of an eye. Four of them stacked on the plate before eating dinner seemed like overkill at first but Santiago had tasted your cookies... He gets to indulge in them whenever he wants and this is just his way of taunting Frankie. He knows Frankie is a weak man who hasn’t let himself enjoy the pleasures in life for quite a while. Temporary pleasures don’t measure up to this. 
  He kicks off his shoes and props himself up against the pillows again as he absentmindedly reaches for another. A cool breeze whips his face as he looks up at the spinning blades. Santiago must have turned it on without him noticing. His mama always used to tell him to slow down and enjoy his food so he does in this moment. The first one he ate with such urgency like it would be his last, this one he can savor the hints of cinnamon and vanilla. The gooey chocolate makes a mess on his fingers. He glances over to see no napkin so he licks it off getting a hint of salt and peanut butter. There’s no way you could know unless Santiago told you. He holds it in front of him to inspect and sees the small peanut butter chips melted in. That was always his favorite and only Santi knew. 
  It’s much easier to fall asleep as he polished off the last cookie and most of the milk. This one hour felt better than any full night of sleep he got when he wasn’t home. 
  ****
  Frankie feels like his body weighs a ton. Waking up from his nap is disorienting as he remembers where he is. Sleeping in a room he never thought he’d be in, in a place he never thought he’d ever come back to. This short slumber after being sleep deprived for so long is like serving someone an appetizer and telling them the restaurant is closing early. 
  He showed up unexpectedly and you took it in stride. Like you’ve been here waiting for him this whole time to put the pieces back together. Frankie doesn’t think you’d mind if he skipped out on dinner for some much needed rest but his stomach grumbles as he stares at the empty plate next to him. The smell of garlic,onions and peppers coax him out of the bed as he stretches his creaky bones. He can hear laughter and the clinking of plates as he walks down the hallway, it dawns on him that he hasn’t showered in twelve hours but he doesn’t want to keep you waiting any longer. He’s been enough of a burden these last few years and he won’t let you bear the load any longer. 
  “Hola bella durmiente.” Santi’s teasing voice hits his ears before he sees him. He wants to flip him off but he’s too tired and that feels too normal. 
  Frankie glances at the time on the oven as you finish plating something that smells like home. “Shit it’s been two hours.” Santi whistles at him to sit down as he scrubs his hands through his hair. 
  “Don’t worry about it Francisco, this man takes four hour naps.” You lean over setting the plate down in front of him and your boyfriend. He watches you plant a kiss on Santi’s head, not to flaunt it but just because it’s second nature. 
  “You never take naps.” 
  “I’ve learned to relax.” Santi says with a mouthful of food as he points his fork. “You should learn to do the same, Frankie.” 
  He can breathe a sigh of relief that he can be Frankie again, even in jest. 
  He takes a bite as you settle in across from him, it’s perfect much like the cookies as he closes his eyes not afraid of the moan that leaves him. “Holy shit this is better than Santi’s Chile verde.” 
  Santi takes your hand placing a kiss on your fingers. “That’s why I don’t make it anymore.”
  “Well don’t be shy, there’s plenty on the stove.” You smile at him and he notices then that you changed. A light touch of makeup and a little perfume. Santi’s still in his tee shirt and jeans but you’ve ditched the old ratty Metallica shirt and swapped it for a bright yellow blouse and jeans. 
  Santi clears his throat interrupting Frankie observing you. “She’s an amazing chef. She takes a lot of pride in her work, and I take my job as the Guinea pig very seriously.” He leans back and pats his belly. 
  You’re practically beaming at him as you stand to take his empty plate. He gently grabs your wrist urging you to sit as he absentmindedly grabs Frankie’s to serve them up some more. 
  ****
  Frankie used to run from his compliments or brush them off as nothing. He was always too afraid of the praise not realizing how hurtful it was to the other man when he would wave him off. Santi loves you in the way he always wanted Frankie to love him. 
He’s grateful for the small talk during the rest of the evening. A few beers and a way too nice bottle of wine has him comfortably buzzed as he listens to you talk about how you met Santiago. In true Santiago form he almost ruined it before it even began. 
  It was at Will's wedding a little over a year ago.Santiago assumed you were a guest of the bride because he’s certain he would remember meeting you in the many years he’d known Will. He saw you just before the ceremony in a navy blue silk suit, the plunging neckline leaving nothing to the imagination. You looked lost and a little irked when he approached you asking to save him a dance. 
  He looked for you in the sea of unfamiliar faces during the ceremony and again during the reception. It wasn’t until a very unfortunate moment with a clingy bridesmaid in his lap drunkenly telling him about her new piercing that he locked eyes with you. There was a humorous look on your face as you winked at him. Two men approached you in matching white button ups and black ties and you snapped to attention. He could always tell when someone was giving orders and needed to be taken seriously. The men scurry away when you’re done speaking and start gathering plates and cutlery. Your face relaxes again and you wink at him exiting the ballroom as the girl screeches in his ear ‘are you even listening to me?” 
  “No sweetheart I’m not.” He quickly displaces her from his lap as she stands there dumbstruck by his actions. 
  He bursts through the doors and is met with a mostly empty kitchen. You’re standing there wide eyed with another girl in the matching uniform. “Finish boxing up the leftovers for the newlyweds and then you’re good to go.” You brush her arm as you walk past and beeline it straight for him. 
  “Lost?” You raise an eyebrow at him. 
  “No I ugh…you…-“ He’s scrambling as you stare him down unwavering. 
  “A man of many words I see.” You pick a piece of lint off his suit jacket and he notes your close proximity. 
  “You never danced with me.” He teases and you laugh a little. It’s a start
  “You seemed to already have a dance partner…and as you can see.” You gesture around the kitchen. “I was a little busy.” 
  “Oh her…I don’t even know her name.” He winces as you give him an incredulous look. 
  You��re already walking away toward the ballroom doors before he can recover. He’s hot on your heels, never one to back down from a challenge. “So I can’t convince you to dance with me?” 
  You spin and he has to stop himself from crashing into you. “Maybe some other time Santiago.” You kiss him on the cheek, leaving a red lipstick reminder for any unknown nameless women. 
  “Wait…how do you know my name!?” 
  “I was warned about you.” You yell over your shoulder as you exit the kitchen leaving him there stunned. 
  It took a lifetime of bribes and I owe yous and promises of future baby sitting to get your number from Will. His wife Emma was pissed until you weaved your way into their lives and the rest is history. 
  ****
  It’s been at least an hour since you went off to bed, saying your goodnights to both men. They stayed mostly silent on the couch as they stared at some movie on the tv. Neither one of them paid any attention. Just waiting for any signs of life from you to die down in the bedroom down the hall. 
  Santi knew your night routine like the back of his hand. You’d wash your face of any makeup and apply what he thought was an absurd amount of creams and oils. You’d sit gingerly on the edge of the bed as you applied this lotion that smelled of rose and coconut, taking your time to cover every inch of your body. Smiling at him all the while asking if he’d like to join to which he’d just tell you one of you had to be rough in the relationship. On the nights he didn’t personally see to it that you were passed out you’d read a few chapters of your book before falling asleep with your finger marking the page and he’d gently retrieve it from you before kissing your forehead making sure not to wake you. 
  It’s this thought that’s ticking away at him as he counts down the minutes silently while he watches Frankie’s leg nervously bounce beside him. He’s sitting in the spot he used to but he feels miles away. Stark contrast to how they used to be on this couch, cuddling and laughing while they talked about their future. 
  “Do you love her?” 
  The words that leave Frankie’s mouth rip through the silence like the sound of a thunder clap. Only the light from the tv illuminates the look on Santi’s face but Frankie can see it clear as day. It’s moments like these that Santi’s aware of his high blood pressure as the sound of his heartbeat whooshes in his ears. 
  “How dare you ask me that.” His voice starts low but the rage behind it is threatening to boil over. 
  “You didn’t answer the question.” 
  “Yes I love her.” He says a little louder, no lie or waver to his voice. 
  Frankie scrubs his jaw as he huffs under his breath. “I’m glad you moved on.” The sarcasm dripped from his tone and now Santi is seeing red.
  Santi grabs the remote, flicking off the tv plunging them into darkness. “You think I just moved on the moment you left. You do remember being the one who left right?” He hates how Frankie can so quickly get under his skin. This is the exact reaction he wanted from him and he took the bait. “I waited for you. I waited and waited until Will had to pick me up off the floor and make me shower and eat and really take a look at the situation.” 
  Santi stands and paces the room as Frankie watches someone he thought he knew open up like he’s never done before. Santi loved him but he always let Frankie take the lead. He never put himself first and it almost swallowed him up whole. Frankie knows it’s not fair to judge any of his actions but he’s a scared animal backed into a corner and this is all he’s got left. One last fight before he lunges out in hope’s that Santi will tell him something to justify what he did. 
  “You may have been torn up for a bit but you look pretty comfortable to me.” Frankie gestures around the room as he stands in front of Santi. “You’ve got nice home cooked meals, all your friends, a beautiful house and someone to fuck at the end of a long day.” 
  Santi grabs his shirt shoving him back down to the couch. “Don’t act like your bed wasn’t warm these last three years. You and I both know how you are Frank.”  Fuck he’s back to Frank. 
  “I didn’t love any of them.” Frankie says as Santi rolls his eyes. 
  “You want an award for not falling in love with them.” Frank grits his teeth as the sing song words ooze out of Santi’s mouth while he claps his hands in his face. 
  “You should keep your voice down, you wouldn't want to wake up your wife.” Frankie says and with no remorse Santi knows he’s wounded. A small part of him is glad for it. 
  With his voice barely above a whisper as he leans down face to face with Frankie. “She’s not my wife, and you’re not my husband.” 
  ****
Santi quietly closes the door as he watches your sleeping form. It’s one of his favorite things to do. The steady rise and fall of your chest, wondering what peaceful things drift in your dreams. You’re wearing one of his shirts and probably nothing else. Majority of your wardrobe when you weren’t at work consisted of his clothing. It stirred something in him he’d never experienced before you. The way he was possessive over you…he never understood why Frankie would act the way he did when men and women would flirt with him until he met you. 
How dare Frankie question his love and his loyalty. He was the one who walked away. How dare he look at you the way he did, thinking Santi wouldn’t notice the desire in his eyes. 
“Baby, are you coming to bed or do you want to keep holding the door up?” Your sleepy voice grabs his attention as you pat the spot beside you. 
He pushes off the door and pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside.”I thought you were asleep.” His jeans and belt hit the floor with a thud as he sits on the edge of the bed. 
“I was but I could hear your thoughts in my dreams.” You sit up wrapping your arms around him. Your hands drift to his stomach, his soft abs flex under your touch as he relaxes against you. You know he wants to say something. The elephant in the room that is Frankie. 
“I love you.” His voice barely above a whisper. He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his chest. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart under your fingers. 
“I love you too.”He shivers as your lips graze the faint scar traveling down his neck. A reminder of something he’s been through with you that Frankie wasn’t there for. His need for you is made all that more evident with the man he loved, loves in the room down the hall. 
He shifts so fast your head is spinning as he pins you underneath him. Whatever thoughts were plaguing him before are long gone with his hands roaming underneath his shirt to graze the soft skin under your breast. His lips swallow your whine as he rolls your nipple between his fingers reveling in the way your body responds to him. 
You can feel the hard press of his cock beneath his boxers as he rolls his hips into you. Searching for some kind of friction. 
“I need this off.” His voice is strained as he pulls the shirt over your head. 
You chuckle trying to reach for him as he shoves his boxers down, laughter dies in your throat at the sight of him. The moonlight in the room illuminates his hard cock, dark at the tip leaking precum on the sheets below. 
His hands slide up your thighs as he squeezes the flesh between his fingers. His grip tightens as he cups your ass, lifting you slightly to wrap your legs around him. “Look at you…and you’re all mine.” 
You’re breathless as you reach for him, pulling him into your chest.”Santi, kiss me.” You don’t have to ask him twice, your voice is like a siren song as he dips his tongue into you. He can taste the mint from your toothpaste and your cherry chapstick. Mine. 
He should go slow, work you open like he always does. He drags the tip through your slick folds and a soft whimper leaves your mouth. You’re being too quiet…because of him. His hands gently press your throat as he buries himself to the hilt. A louder whine escapes you, he knows it drives you crazy as he squeezes just enough to have you panting. 
“Fuck I need you, I’m sorry.” He releases your throat and starts an unrelenting pace as you quickly adjust to his size. He’s never been this desperate, not willing to make you come on his mouth or fingers first. 
Your body doesn’t seem to care as the slick wet sound of your bodies and your pussy clenching with each thrust has him growling in your ear. “I want to hear you.” He wraps his arms underneath you and grips your shoulders. 
“Santi…please.” You don’t want to be used for his anger and revenge but you can’t think straight with his cock ramming that spot deep inside you. 
“Please what baby?” He fucks you harder as he watches your face contort in pleasure as you chant his name. He bites down on the swell of your breast and you cry out as he licks and soothes the spot with his tongue. 
“Santi…I’m so close.” He knows…he can feel how close you are as your heels dig into his back, your blunt nails scratch at his scalp and you arch your body as your climax washes over you. “Come inside me please, Santi.” 
Images flash in his mind of Frankie fucking you through your orgasm as you scream his name, his cock is pulsing and throbbing inside you as he fills you up. His deep ragged breaths in your ear as the aftershocks jolt through him. “I love you.” He says it over and over as he kisses your face, your mouth, your sweat soaked forehead. He’s really saying I’m sorry but those words mean the same right now. 
“I love you too baby.” Your voice is wrecked from screaming, having long forgotten about your houseguest. You know this is what he wanted and a small part of you wanted it to. Santiago is yours to keep. 
****
Shame washes over Frankie as he cleans his spend off his stomach with his tee shirt. He pulls his boxers up and sits on the edge of the bed staring out into the backyard. 
It’s quiet now, in his post orgasmic clarity. All he has are the thoughts running through his mind. The thoughts that have plagued him since he set foot back into this house. How selfish it is to want what’s down the hall in a place he called home. 
Next
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romanarose · 27 days
Text
Ouch!
Santiago Garcia x fem!afab!reader
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Triple Frontier Masterlist
Summery: You have really difficult periods, but Santi is there for you.
A one shot but takes place in the Santi period fic verse after Santi with a Reader on her Period and Gross Reality but also in the universe of Honest Mistake written with @missdictatorme
Warnings: Blood, period se, v painful periods, butthole cramps, tummy cramps, backaches, Santi's pretty fingers. mentions of breeding kink, accidentally cumming inside, mentions of plan B
Immersivity: reader can get periods, is fem, can be picked up.
This is my submission for Triple Frontier Write-a-Thon !!! come join in the fun and follow @triplefrontier-anniversary to find more fics!!!
840 words
***************
“OOOOOWWWWWW!” You wine on your stomach, Santi knelt behind you.
“I know baby, I know, you’re doing so, so good.”
You were lying on a heating pad, your cramps killing you. It fucking hurt. Santi was massaging your lower back, which also hurt.
“Shut up!” You snap, then immediately apologize. “I’m soooorrryyyyyy”
“It’s okay, it’s alright.” This had been going on all day. You felt bad for snapping at him when he was trying to help, but god today was awful. 
Santi had to pick you up at work, bringing Ben to drive your car home because you felt so faint. After getting home, Santi wrapped an arm around you to make sure you didn’t pass out before getting you set up in bed. It. HURT. It hurt so bad everyone in your torso and you just cried half the day away. The only time you were off the heating pad was to cry and poop and maybe throw up a bit. This was not Santi’s first rodeo with your horrific periods, and he took good care of you. Luckily, things had eased a bit by this point, although still painful, it was not unbearable.
YOur voice is muffled from the pillow. “Santi, I need you to fuck me.”
This was not what he was expecting from his pained girlfriend, face down in the pillow unable to watch The Office he had put on just for her. Santi hated The Office, he was a Parks and Rec man himself.
“Oh. Like… with my dick?”
You lift your head off the pillow. “No, with a beer bottle-  yes with your dick, Santi! I heard from Will’s wife that orgasms help periods.”
“You talk about sex with Lana?”
“Oh yeah, all the time. Did you know sometimes when he eats her out he’ll put his-”
Santi shoved your face back into the pillow.
*
Santi set it up after helping you get up to remove your period cup, placing a towel down on the bed. You came back without bottoms but your Star Wars t-shirt still on, which Santi understood. This was to help your cramps, not his pleasure. Wasn’t his fault you still looked sexy as hell with your grumpy little pouty face, giving him a boner. Santi tried to touch you, but you snapped back.
“I’m clearly already soaked, Garci.”
He swatted your ass. “The goal is to make you cum, carino not to shove my dick in the wettest hole.
You mocked his words in a high-pitched tone, layed back down on the heating pad. God this was awful. You needed to see a doctor about this, you couldn’t go on this way. Santi’s fingers were- ohfuckinghellowowowowowwww- they were fucking magical. You’d admit his pussy eating game was not where it could be, but honestly neither was your head game. It worked. What mattered was your pussy was gorilla grip and he had a massive shlong he knew how to use, and god DAMN his FINGERS. It wasn’t long before you were moaning, Santi sliding hot cock into your bleeding cunt, fucking your brains away. Fuck it felt nice. Your tummy still hurt.
“Owwwww” You moan.
He slowed. “You okay?”
“No I’m dying!”
He sighs. “You’re going to the gyno tomorrow, right?”
“UUUGGHHHH” you kick your feet. “Yes just fuck me!!”
You’re on the verge of cumming, Santi’s cock hitting nice and deep just the way you liked it when- 
“OOOWW!!!!” You shout, clamping down hard as you had a butthole cramp “OW OW OW OW OW!!!!”
Santi mumbles some swear words, pulling out of you “Shit, baby are you okay?” His hands are warm on you, desperately looking if he hurt you.
“Yeah…” You mumble, rolling over onto your back. “I got a butthole cramp… Maybe this isn’t working.”
“Yeah, maybe not. I can still do it with these bad boys though!” Santi wiggles his blood covered fingers with a dopey grin on his face.
You laugh, sitting up to kiss him when you notice. His dick gone soft and although red, was leaking white. “Santi.” You give him a pointed look. “Did me yelling in pain make you cum inside me?”
His eyes are wide with panic. “NO! No that’s not it! You just-” He stopped himself, looking nervous so you give him a break and chuckle.
“I just what, baby?”
He groans loudly, but mutters when he speaks. “Just so tight.”
You tackle him, tickling Santi’s body, not caring that both of you are bloody. “You’re a 40 year old man, your pull out game is ASS!” You’re both laughing, rolling around on the bed and forgetting about your pain for a moment.
“I”LL BUY PLAN B!” Santiago picks you up, tossing you on the mattress and climbs on top as you bounce.
“YOU SHOULD’VE BOUGHT PLAN CONDOMS! YOU’RE GONNA NEED TO BUY PLAN BABY CARRIER IF YOU DON’T STOP!” You playfully bite his arm. 
“OW!” He pinned you down. “Oh nooooo, breeding my beautiful girlfriend, whatever will I do!”
***************
thank you guys!!!! i really hope you take part in the write a thon, spread our love for triple frontier!!!! santi is my most special guy!
i did a poll today with what blorbo you associate me with and santi has ben the winner so far
anyway, this is just a starter for the write a thon bc i at LEAST want my santi x will fic an them something different, i really wanna branch out with something.... different. im not sure with what yet! also: part 2 of puzzle pieces with benny
lots coming in addition to my other works and a commsission.
anyway, love yall!
make sure to follow @romana-updates for more!
@fandxmslxt69 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @whatthefishh @k-ra @eyelessfaces @ivystoryweaver @steven-grants-world @campingwiththecharmings @ahookedheroespureheart @littlenosoul @miraclesabound @mikaelak @runa-falls @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @scarletthefierce @faretheeoscar @del-ightfulling @boysddontcry @mrsoharaxx @pedge-page @vickie5446 @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring
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spacecowboyhotch · 1 year
Text
Over a Ledge
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summary: just the taste of his name on your lips can be too much— until you taste him.
pairing: santiago ‘pope’ garcia x fem!reader
warnings: symptoms of ptsd, water/swimming, friends to lovers, perceived unrequited feelings, kissing, cuddling
wc: 1.9k
an: wanted to write the one-bed trope with santi in a non-violent setting and birthed this lol
oscar characters masterlist | requests are open
He’s on vacation with his closest friends, a rest and reset that you’ve all practically forced him into, and the pool has a waterfall.
The sound is tolerable during the day, in the bright warmth of the sun, in the comforting cocoon of being with all of you. His brain can tune it out, make it soothing background noise, a simple distraction easily pushed into the back of his mind to be dealt with later.
It’s later now. Yes, the pool has a waterfall and his window is nearest to it. In the quiet of the night its cadence rings loudly in his head. There is no escape, nowhere to run. The window is shut tightly, a pillow over his head, and still, it plagues him.
All he can think about is the rain they froze in. The weight of the water, how the raindrops fell so hard they seemed like they were the size of baseballs. How at least then, even as they sat on the brink of hypothermia, soaked to the bone, there were 5 of them, that he’d have lived the rest of his life there if it meant that Tom lived.
It’s the middle of the night and he goes to find the switch. There is no way he can spend a week in the house like this.
He pokes around, walking circles around the waterfall in hopes to find a switch. When he has no luck, he looks at the filtering system for the pool. Still nothing. Maybe it’s in the pool. He knows it’s a long shot but he’s out here, he might as well try. He’s in his boxers already, so he strips off his shirt, before jumping into the deep in near the waterfall.
With the chill of the night, the water is colder than usual, and goosebumps ripple across his skin. It feels as if every strand of hair on his body is up, standing at attention. He paddles through the water, dipping under the surface as he searches for a switch of some sort.
“What’re you doing?” You call from behind him.
He whirls around in the water, sending a wave to wet your feet. He glares at you, crossing his arms, “Fucking Christ, announce yourself would you?”
You glare back at him with a feigned offense, “I was here first, actually, Santiago.”
“And you just sat in the shadows like a fucking creep?”
“Maybe. What’re you doing?” You repeat your question, but this time you get up, coming to the edge of the pool.
“Trying to turn this goddamn thing off,” He gestures to the waterfall, water splashing.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
Santi is quiet for a moment. So much is wrong. There’s not enough time to explain all the things that are wrong with him, some of them so old and faded he’s not even sure they count anymore. There’s always been something wrong, some empty feeling has sat in his chest since he was too young to name it. His service didn’t help, the gorge had just grown bigger and deeper. New wounds accompany it.
“It’s uh, just keeping me up,” He finally offers, his gaze faltering.
You can tell by his tone that there’s more to it. But, you've never been privy to meaningful information from Santi, never been deemed important enough.
“I’ll switch with you.”
“I couldn’t ask that of you.”
“You didn’t, I offered. I mean, you could sleep with me if you’re really worried about kicking me out. It’s a king-sized bed.”
You’re skating on the thin ice that’s between you and your feelings for Santi. When Frankie offered to introduce you to his friends, you hadn’t given it much thought. You take care of his daughter while he and Vanessa work, he’s like family— it made sense to get to know him better through his friends. And so you’d said yes, not realizing that you were going to meet Santi.
Santiago.
Just the taste of his name on your lips can be too much. But, he’s never shown any interest in you— and if there’s one thing he’s good at it’s flirting. You’ve seen him in action, seen him charm many women in various places, from bars to grocery stores to the concession stand at one of Benny’s fights. But, he’s never tried to charm you, and that’s enough for you to keep your mouth shut. Keeping him at a distance? Well, that’s harder than it should be knowing what you do.
“Sleep with you,” He repeats clumsily, as if he is speaking some language he doesn’t know.
“Yeah, so you won’t hear the waterfall, I won’t have to move all my things. You wake up early anyway, you could head back to your room before anyone else is awake, y’know so no one thinks—”
“They won’t think anything.”
“Right, of course not,” You say sharply, and Santi immediately notices your tone.
“Wait a minute—”
“There’s a towel I brought down just in case I decided to swim, take it,” You point back at where you were sitting. “Just knock on the door once you’re good to go.”
Before Santi can explain what he meant you turn on your heel and head back into the house. He doesn’t get to say that none of them think anything because they know he couldn’t risk losing you. Since Frankie had introduced you two, all of the guys noticed a change in him. Santi is tender with you, even if you don’t realize it. You are delicate, as delicate as a flower just as it blooms, and he’s known for destroying anything he touches. The last thing he could bear is destroying you.
He wades to the stairs, slowly climbing from the pool and drying himself with the towel you spoke about. Once back inside the house, he dresses in some sweatpants and an old army tee that’s much too thin for him to be holding onto. He hesitates when he makes it to your door, standing with his fist raised for several moments before he knocks gently. There is no answer and so he knocks again. And again, a bit harder this time.
He’s about to head back to his room when you finally open the door, out of breath.
“Sorry.”
He frowns, reaching out for your arm, “Are you okay?”
You fight off the urge to shiver, moving with the opening door so that his hand falls away, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. C’mon.”
The two of you do this song and dance, awkwardly asking about which side to take. Staring at each other and looking away as you make it to your respective sides of the bed. Quickly sliding in and turning over, as if the sight of the other amongst the sheets is some sacred ritual for worthy eyes only.
You’ve never seen him like this before and the only thing you can contribute to is him having to spend the night with a woman he doesn’t want. With you.
You turn that thought over and over in your head, the start of a spiral you’re sure will keep you up all night when he speaks.
“What I said earlier, about them not thinking…I didn’t mean it in the way you thought I did.”
“There’s one interpretation of what you said, Santiago. We don’t need to talk about it.”
“What were you doing when I got to your door?”
“What?”
“When I knocked, you answered out of breath. What were you doing?”
“Pacing.”
He turns over to face your back, hoping that you’ll turn over so he can read your face. “Pacing?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you—“
You refuse to go through this back and forth with him. You’ll face it hea-on, get it all out in the open so that you both can look it in the face once and never again. Maybe this way, you can still keep in your life with minimal awkwardness. If you’re honest with yourself, you’d bear any amount of awkwardness if it meant you got to keep him in your life.
Turning over with a frustrated huff, you say, “Because you’re you, and I’m me and this is just…not in the cards for us, Santi. Okay? Do we have to talk about it? Is it not glaringly obvious enough?”
Santi blinks rapidly at you before his face softens, “Not for the reason you think.”
Now it’s your turn to blink, confused by his words, his tone, his soft eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“There’s too much here,” He gestures to himself, to his heart. “I can’t let you see it. I won’t. I won’t do that to you.”
For a handful of moments, all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. All of the pieces fall into place. He’d held back for you. He’d ignored this for you. He’d been resigned to holding onto his feelings and doing nothing about them for you. To hide you from his pain. To protect you from whatever overwhelming mixture of emotions bubbled inside of him.
“I’m not afraid of what’s inside of you, Santiago, it’s all you. That’s what love is, it’s witnessing every part of someone and staying.”
“Love?” He repeats cautiously.
“Love,” You say again, reaching out slowly to run your thumb over the swell of his cheek. It feels like had always imagined it— a contrast of smooth and prickly from his stubble.
He leans into your touch eagerly before he grasps you by the nape of your neck, every piece of his resolve crumbling under the weight of you. The weight of your love and care for him. The gasp you let out dies when his mouth presses against yours. It is not gentle, not slow, or steady. Santi is starved for you, his kiss firm, tongue licking into your mouth like he’s finally found all he’s been searching for. He’s so frenzied that the kiss turns sloppily, loud, and wet and exploring as he holds you tightly in place. You groan, trying to match his fervor, his passion, but there is no matching Santi— there is only succumbing to him.
“Love,” He whispers affirmatively, his eyes cloudy with it.
Your smile is bright, giddy like a kid who’s won some sort of contest and gets to pick out their prize. But you've already gotten yours. You hug him, latching to him tightly before you pull away to look at his face again.
This is all real. Santi is yours. All yours. Will he let you in now?
“Tell me about the waterfall?” You ask delicately.
There’s no holding back once he sees the sincerity in your eyes. You want to know, to be there for him and he trusts you in a way that he trusts no one else. Sure he trusts the guys, but there's something different about the vulnerability he’s sharing here with you tonight.
So he tells you all of it. Every single detail. He lets you gather in his arms, holding him close to your chest as he spills, not only words but tears. You wipe his eyes, listening intently and when he’s done, you know there’s nothing you can say to make things better. But you aren’t trying to be his savior, just his support, a shoulder that he knows will always be there and unbiased by his work, a sliver of peace. Eventually, he goes slack in your arms, the tears melting to snores.
You grin, holding back your giggle as his snores grow louder and louder. You had told him what love is, that it means witnessing it all. But, you had never promised you wouldn’t tease him about some of it—not when he currently sounds like a freight train.
santi taglist: @hotchaways, @honeybrowne, @jitterbugs927, @theconsultingdoctor10, @awesomemikaus, @tanzthompson, @siezethenights, @clairevoyanceee, @moonmalice, @tiffanypooh, @dearvirtualdiary-blog1, @marc-spectorr, @xbellaxcarolinax, @toracainz, @roseqzpd, @rosecentaur1916, @mccn-bcys, @hotchs-bitch, @missdictatorme
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missdictatorme · 11 months
Text
Look What The Cat Dragged In - Triple Frontier
Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Thief!Fem!Reader
Genre: Smut, lil bit of Action
Summary: For being a succesful thief, you sure were unlucky sometimes. What happens when the house you were robbing was supposed to be empty, but the owner catches you in the act?
Warnings: little bit of fighting, bondage, soft dom Santi, bratty Reader who turns subby real quick, dirty talk, name calling, knife play.
A/N: Okay, listen. When I first had this idea I was like: oh yeah, Santi's a rough dom in this, someone broke into his house they are fighting back when he wants to catch them, they tried to rob him, he is pissed off, he's gonna wreck them. Then I was like: Santi is the softest dom that ever walked the earth, if he hears one tiny whimper from you when he is being too rough or edges you, that man crumbles and wants to give you everything. He's a 100% giver (at least for me).
Also I wanna thank @twwcs for the idea, cause I wanted to write for Santi for ages, but couldn't come up with a plot. I know it's not exactly what we were talking about, but close 🥴💕 This is my first time writing for Santi, so sorry if he's OOC or something 🙏
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You lifted your eyebrows as you looked around the dark livingroom after you closed the door behind you. There were several locks on the front door that you had to pick so you thought the house is gonna be a goldmine. Especially after seeing the nice fence, the well kept front yard, and how modern the house itself looked from the outside. Whoever lived here had money, it looked newly renovated. But the interior design... well, it was minimalist to put it lightly. The hall and the livingroom only had some drawers and a couple of shelves, a couch, a coffee table and a tv with a stand. You huffed and decided to search the livingroom anyways in case you find something worthy.
The only interesting thing you could find was a Rubik's cube that layed unsolved on the coffee table. You picked it up, inspected it for a few seconds as you rotated it in your hands, then about in 60 seconds you solved it, and put it back on the table.
The kitchen wasn't fruitful either, so you decided to go upstairs to check out the bedrooms.
"There better be a safe full of cash somewhere." - you muttered under your breath as you walked towards the stairs. At this point you'd be satisfied with an envelope filled with a few hundred dollars too.
Before you could reach the stairs you heard as a key entered the lock and the door opened.
Santiago let out a yawn as he fished out his keys from his pocket and walked to the front door. He just got back from Frankie's house where he had some beers with him, Will and Benny. He frowned when he turned the key in the lock but it wasn't locked. Had he forgot to lock it? Impossible. When the door opened he saw a dark figure making a run towards the kitchen possibly towards the back door.
"Oh fuck, you don't!" - he growled as he started spriting after them and he was barely able to slam them to the floor after they hopped over the kitchen counter like nothing.
The whimper they made was surprisingly feminine and when he turned them on their back and held down their wrists, he saw that it was a young woman indeed.
Before he could ask what the fuck were you doing there, you managed to wiggle free one hand from his strong grasp and you slapped him across the face.
Santi grabbed your wrist again, much more aggressively and slammed it down next to your head, then he shook his head and narrowed his eyes at you.
"Don't do that again."
You glared at him in response, but didn't say anything, just tried to wiggle free. He was sitting on your thighs and fuck, he was heavy.
He pushed his hips down more, and put more of his weight on you.
"Stop squirming. And answer my questions: Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"
"Santa Claus. Wanted to leave some presents, but I decided to put you on the naughty list for obvious reasons." - you growled while still trying to get free.
Santi's eyebrows shot up surprised, from all the answers he imagined you're gonna give him, this wasn't among them. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, but one corner of his mouth curled upwards.
"Let's see if you're still gonna have this big of a mouth when the cops come." - he said and smirked when your eyes widened and you suddenly stopped squirming.
"Please don't call the cops! I'm gonna disappear, I swear you won't see me ever again!"
"Sorry to break it to you, carino, but burglary is against the law. I'm gonna reach for my phone in my back pocket. Stay. Still." - he warned, then when you nodded with a gulp he slowly let go of one of your hands.
The minute it was free you slapped him again with a pissed off expression.
"Fuck! Okay, that's it, you're in trouble now!" - he said and grabbed your free wrist again and after he stood up, he pulled you up too while you still tried to get free, trying to pull your hands out of his fists and kicking his legs. - "Stop kicking my fucking knees!" - he growled as he turned you in his arms, to have your back to his chest and he pulled out a rope from one of the drawers.
"Then let go of me!" - you growled back.
"I wanted to be nice, but you're making me do this." - he reminded you, and he tried to ignore how your ass was rocking against his crotch as you wiggled more and more.
"In what fucking universe is calling the cops considered nice, you asshole?"
Santi pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and shoved you in it and quickly pulled your hands back and tied them together.
When he was done, he straightened up and took in a deep breath, then slowly let it out as he walked around you. He turned on the lamp and you squinted at the bright light, then glared at him again.
"Why my house?" - he asked as he sat down at the other end of the table and crossed his arms across his chest.
"Thought someone rich was living here not a brute with a questionable interior design taste."
He scoffed at you and you saw as his eyes travelled all over you. Not that yours weren't doing the same to him. Maybe he was an asshole, but he was a quite handsome asshole. He then reached for his phone again.
"So that's it? You're gonna call the cops?"
"Sí."
"And you expect me to just sit here and wait for them with you?"
"You're tied to the chair, I'm afraid you don't have any other choice." - he said as he dialed 911.
"Are you sure?"
Santi stopped and his eyes narrowed at you.
"What?"
"Are you sure I'm tied?"
What the fuck were you talking about, of course he is sure he just tied you himself.
"Yes."
"Are you reeeaaally sure?" - you asked, tilting your head.
Santi hesitated for a second.
"Yes."
"Okay, then. If you feel safe, I feel safe too, hun." - you said casually as you shrugged your shoulders and pulled your very untied hands forward and threw the rope on the table in front of him.
Santi's eyes widened watching the rope land on the table, then his gaze snapped back at you. There was a moment of you giving him a smirk, then you suddenly stood up and bolted out of the kitchen, since he was sitting close to the back door.
You got lost for a second on the corridor just outside the kitchen, you weren't sure where to run, but then you chose the right path towards the front door through the livingroom and the hall. When you opened the door, the asshole just stopped in front of it on the outside, panting heavily.
"Fuck!" - you tried to slam the door in his face as you turned around, but you knew he caught it, because you didn't hear it slam.
You started running up the stairs.
'Why the fuck am I running up the stairs, this is such a fucking horror movie cliché!' - you thought panicked, but the only thing on your mind was to get away from the man chasing you. If you have to jump out of the window, you will... yeah, you will try to bribe him to let you go, fuck the window.
Just as you entered one of the rooms, you felt him slam into you again from behind and he tackled you to the ground.
"Fuck, you're fast!" - he growled in your ear as he yanked you up again and started pulling you somewhere.
"Clearly not fast enough!" - you grumbled, then you grunted when he pushed you roughly and you landed on something soft with a bounce.
You tried to get up from the bed, but Santi pushed on your chest and you fall back, then he crawled on top of you quickly, and grabbed your hands again, moving them towards the headboard. The unmistakeable sound of cuffs clicking into place hit your ears and you growled annoyed.
"Fucker!"
"Try to get free from these." - he gave you a mocking smirk.
He was leaning over you, with his hips between your legs and you were still wiggling, like you had any chance getting free.
"Wouldn't be my first time." - you said.
"Stop wiggling." - he warned you. His hands were holding onto your wrists through the cuffs, his warm breath hitting your face.
"Or else?" - you asked back and this time you moved so your hips rolled just the right wrong way against his, making both of you let out a small moan.
Santi shouldn't find this hot. You broke into his house for fuck's sake, you wanted to rob him, you slapped him twice, you played football with his fucking knees and you tried to get away. Still, he felt as excitement was pumping through his veins next to the adrenalin while he was chasing you through the house, felt as his lips curled upwards when you talked back to him and right now he felt as his jeans became inappropriately tight while you were trying to get free under him.
He couldn't possibly be this lonely, this touch starved, this desperate, right?
Both of your ears perked up when you heard the other moan, and it doesn't escape his attention how your eyes turned softer.
"Let me go." - you whispered, as your breathing became heavier.
Santi's eyes took in your face, spending a little bit too much time on your slightly parted lips as you panted softly.
"Or else?" - he asked you this time, voice deeper than before and eyes hooded as he squeezed your wrists just a little more.
To his satisfaction you rolled your hips again, but much slower and much deeper than before. There was no way you didn't feel his hard on, and he knew you were fucking asking for it when you repeated the action while your eyes rolled back as your head lolled back against his pillow, letting out the neediest moan he ever heard.
He grabbed your jaw to pull your head back and when you looked at him, he rolled his hips this time, making you moan louder, and he was a fucking goner when he saw the subby look you gave him, eyes big and pleading and filled with lust.
"Need something, you little slut?" - he asked in a whisper as his lips brushed yours.
"Please, Sir." - you whispered back shakily.
Oh, he shouldn't fucking enjoy this. Just call the fucking cops, Garcia, and let them deal with this fucking thief.
No. You broke into his house. You are makig his cock hard. You need to be punished. Bad girls need to learn their lesson.
Without kissing you, he licked softly your lower lip as he pushed his tongue into your mouth and he hummed when you immediately started sucking on it. He rewarded you, kissing you deeply and his hold on your jaw loosened. He cupped your face instead to angle your head in a better position to kiss you deeper, hungrier. His other hand slipped lower to grab the back of your knee and pull your leg around his hip as he slowly rocked into you, making you let out those delicious sounds against his mouth, which he gulped down eagerly.
When the need for air became too much, he pulled away and he started leaving soft, but wet kisses all over your neck, going lower and lower, until he reached your shirt. He pulled away frustrated, murmuring a small 'fuck' and he reached for the bedside table to pull a combat knife out of the drawer, after he turned on the small lamp on it so he could see his little thief better.
He knew you complitely submitted yourself to him when you didn't even bat an eyelash when you saw the knife, just waited for his next move.
You were trusting him. Fuck, it made his cock twitch hard. You were such a good little girl for him, you deserved a reward. He slowly, carefully pushed the knife under your shirt and cut it from the bottom, moving the blade up towards your chest. He pushed the material to the sides, revealing your soft skin and beautiful, black bra covered breasts. He bit down on his lower lip and he let out a small hum at the sight, his cock swelling even more if it was possible upon seeing your chest rise and fall with each deep breath you took.
He carefully touched the tip of the knife against your skin on your stomach and slwoly pushed it up towards the middle of your chest, without cutting you. When the blade slid under the bra between your breasts, his gaze lifted to yours like he was asking for permission.
You didn't say anything just continued giving him that subby, needy look, rubbing your inner thighs against his sides, trying to roll your hips so you could feel him rub against you again.
Santi loved that look. Your eyes were pleading, begging him to continue. To touch you. To fuck you. With a quick and precise move of his hand he cut the bra too and the material slid down from your boobs to the sides. This time a low growl vibrated through his chest at the sight of your hard nipples and he threw the knife to bedside table. He pushed your breasts together roughly and leaned down to lick one nipple then the other too, and then he sucked one of them into his mouth moaning at the taste of your skin on his tongue. You arched your back into his touch with a gasp and your legs locked around his waist to keep him trapped there.
"So needy." - he whispered against your skin as he hungrily sucked on your boobs and nipples.
"Says the one drooling all over my tits." - you moaned.
Santi smirked and lifted his head.
"I can stop if you don't lik-"
"Don't you fucking dare."
Santi chuckled and continued his worship on your boobs, kneading and lightly slapping them to hear more of those beautiful sounds you make.
Saying you didn't imagine your night to go like this was an understatement. But you didn't mind it. You didn't mind at all. The man above you was incredibly handsome and he definitely knew what he was doing. He was teasing you to rile you up, to make you wet and ready, but at the same time he is giving you just enough to make you enjoy every second of it without making you impatient.
Or at least he tried to. Cause you were more than ready to take him the second he slipped that experienced tongue into your mouth.
"I need more." - you whined.
"I know, hermosa. And I'm gonna give it to you." - he responded immediately, and you felt one of his hands slip lower on your body to work on your belt as his mouth followed the path downwards.
He was leaving love bites all over your abdomen as he was unbuttoning and unzipping your dark jeans and when your panties were revealed he leaned down to kiss your mound through them. He then sat up and pulled off both of your boots and socks, his eyes never leaving your form. You were a beautiful sight with your hands tied to the bed, hair disheveled, lips swollen and body glistening with his saliva.
"Up." - he commanded as he grabbed your jeans, and you lifted your hips up to let him pull them down. - "Spread." - he threw your jeans next to the bed somewhere and he licked his lips when he saw you were soaking through your panties.
He looked back at you as he put his hands on your thighs and rubbed them up and down.
"You sure turned very obedient for someone who called me a fucker and an asshole earlier and tried to kick my ass."
You bit your lip as you smiled.
"Just wanna make it up to you, Sir."
Santi smiled too as he got on his stomach between your legs, sucking deep kisses into the soft flesh of your inner thighs.
"That you were a bad girl?"
"Yeah." - you replied shakily as you watched him get closer to your pussy.
"I should be punishing you for that." - he said and he put his forefinger at the side of your panties and caressed your skin there, moving his finger up and down slowly.
Your whole body shuddered and he saw as your thighs flexed then relaxed at the action. Oh, he fucking loved your reactions. You were so responsive to his touch. He moved his finger over your pussy through your panties and rubbed your skin next to the material on the other side too.
He saw as you turned your head to the side and bit down on the inside of your upper arm as you rolled your hips.
He smiled again and leaned closer, taking in a deep breath.
"You smell like you wanna get fucked." - he growled lowly.
This time a primal groan escaped your lips and your legs shook at his words and the way he said them.
Santi slowly pulled your panties to the side and he gulped big when he saw all the slick that was glistening on your pussy. He reached out with his other hand and caressed your lips with the pad of his forefinger, smearing your juices over your pussy, avoiding your clit on purpose.
"Please..." - you whispered as you lifted your head to look down at him between your legs.
"I don't know, carino." - he said looking up at you as he pulled back the hood from your swollen clit. - "Do you think you deserve it?" - he asked as he kissed your inner thigh again.
"Yes, please, yes!" - you begged, barely able to make out the words as you threw your head back, trying to angle your hips to make his finger rub against your clit.
You needed to be touched so bad. You were sure you're gonna go crazy if he doesn't do something, anything soon. You were pulling on the cuffs and Santi could see your arms flex from the force of it. He heard as the wooden headboard protested under the pressure of the iron cuffs.
"Apologi-"
"I'm so sorry for breaking into your home, I'm sorry for slapping you, I'm sorry fo- aaAAAHH!"
Your quick apologizing suddenly turned into a loud, pornographic moan when your capturer suddenly licked your clit then he wrapped his lips around it and started sucking on it gently.
Santi couldn't wait anymore. You were so desperate, so needy, so obedient, so quick to apologize, so beautiful and so fucking wet. He wanted to reward you. He wanted to give you relief, he wanted to make you feel good. He was way too good to you, he knew it, but he couldn't resist you. He was also fucking hard and he couldn't wait to bury his throbbing cock into your hot, wet cunt.
The relief was so overwhelming that you felt as tears welled up in your eyes and your throat squeezed as a small sob escaped you.
"Yes, yes, don't stop, please don't stop!" - you begged as you pushed your pussy more into his mouth.
Santi's cock twitched again, and he had to start moving his hips against the mattress to give himself some relief when he heard your sob. Fuck, you're gonna be the death of him. He couldn't believe how fucking needy you were and how much it turned him on. You had a big mouth, but the minute he had you in the cuffs you turned into a subby little girl. He loved the duality. He loved he could have this effect on you.
When you pushed yourself more into his mouth, he growled and pushed his hands under you to lift your hips from the bed and he let out a chuckle against you when you cried out in pleasure.
"Fuck, yes! Yes, yes, yes...!" - you chanted breathlessly and you licked your lips as you felt your orgasm approaching already. - "I need your fingers, please, Sir!"
Santi provided, pushing two fingers inside you and he started poking around searching for your sweet spot. When you cried out again, screaming 'there!' he made sure to rub it nice and steady, moaning at the amount of slick that was dripping out of you, as he was lapping and sucking on your clit.
"You're so good, you're so fucking good, oh my god!" - you praised him, feeling as your orgasm was just out of reach, and a few more seconds later your thighs began to shake as the knot in your stomach tightened more and more until it snapped. You cried out long and loud, riding your orgasm out on his fingers and mouth wave after wave, until your clit became too sensitive and you pulled yourself away from his face.
Santi kissed, sucked and bit into your inner thighs hungrily as a reward for letting him witness your beautiful orgasm. He pulled his fingers out of you and licked them clean as he got on his knees, ignoring the ache in them. He pulled off his shirt quickly and undid his belt and pants as he got up from the bed to undress completely, his eyes never leaving your body.
Your eyes were closed as you tried to bury your face into your upper arm while your breathing slowly evened out. Your knees were pushed together until you felt the mattress dip and you looked up at the now naked man that gave you the best oral experience of your life. You let him pull your panties off as you sniffled and tried to wipe your eyes into your arm.
Santi couldn't help but smile again when you spread your knees and he kissed your chest and breasts as he climbed between your legs. He then reached out to wipe your tears away from your cheeks.
"Are you okay?"
You nodded quickly with a smile and leaned up. Santi leaned down, understanding your silent request and kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue.
"Lo siento, hermosa, but I really need you." - he murmured against your lips as he rubbed his cock up and down on your slit and positioned his tip at your entrance.
"I want you to fuck me." - you whispered and it was enough for him to push himself into you fully.
You both moaned out and Santi gave you a few seconds to adjust to his impressive size. Your head rolled back and he put his hands on your wrists that were tied to the heaboard and when you rolled your hips, he started to fuck into you slowly, but deeply.
Your foreheads were pushed together and you were watching each other as he moved on top of you, forcing moan after moan out of your mouth with each skillful snap of his hips.
"You broke into the wrong house, bebita." - he said in a husky tone, thrusting into you harder when the pleasure inside him started to increase.
You spread your legs as much as you could to help him go deeper, and you mimicked the move of his hips, rolling yours up when he was pushing his down.
"From the way I see I broke into the right one, Sir."
Santi chuckled breathlessly and he nuzzled your nose before he kissed you again passionately, trying to memorize the feel and taste of you. His hands slipped over the cuffs and he intertwined his fingers with yours. When you squeezed his hands back he increased the tempo, fucking into you faster and harder, making your cries gain volume.
"Your pussy feels so good, hermosa, you're so wet for me."
"Yessssir, so wet for you."
"Only for me?"
"Only for you. You're fucking me so good, never had someone like you." - you moved your head to push your nose under his jaw and you lifted his face up. You licked his neck and sucked on the skin where you felt his pulse beat out of rhythm, making him moan.
"Fuck..." - he cursed, slamming into you rougher, almost violently.
"You're gonna cum?" - you asked needily.
Santi leaned down and this time he was the one to bury his face in your neck, to suck love marks into your skin everywhere he could reach.
"Sí, you're gonna make me cum so hard, carino, this tight little pussy is driving me crazy." - he grunted, making your cunt pulse hard around him. - "You dirty little girl. Fucking slut, breaking into my fucking house." - he moaned, pushing himself up, so he can fuck into you harder.
"Yes, punish me, Sir, I deserve it." - you moaned in pleasure, spurring him on.
He saw as tears welled up in your eyes again. With one hand he grabbed your hip firmly and his other went to your throat, squeezing it, but not hard enough to not let you breathe.
"Call me Santi." - he said as he threw his head back.
Hearing his name, your pussy throbbed around him again.
"Fuck me, Santi, cum inside me!" - you whined out as you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling yourself nearing the edge again.
Santi growled lowly as his thrusts became more violent and erraric until his orgasm hit him and he cursed loudly, shooting his seed deep inside you, pumping you full.
You cried out when he pushed you over the edge and his hold loosened around your throat, instead it slipped down to your breast to knead it while he continued to thrust into you, prolonging your pleasure. Seeing your ecstasy and knowing he was the one responsible for it, he couldn't help himself and he leaned down to kiss your lips, swallowing your moans.
When all of his energy left him and his knees couldn't hold him anymore, he collapsed next to you on the bed, panting heavily.
"Fuck..." - you breated out, trying to stop the shaking in your legs.
Santi's eyes were closed, but he reached out to put his hand on your thigh and he started rubbing it to help you calm down.
He took a few more seconds to try to slow his wildly beating heart, then he leaned over you and kissed your hair quickly.
"You'll have to stay like this for a few more minutes, then I'll be back and help clean you up." - he promised and when you nodded, he got up from the bed to go to the bathroom.
He opened that fauclet and washed his face with cold water and when he wiped his face he saw in the mirror that he had a few red love marks on his neck. He smiled at the sight, then he made the water warm and cleaned his now soft cock. As he wiped it with a towel, he was thinking about how nice it would be to come home to a girlfriend every night, like how Frankie goes home to a wife, to make love to her, to fell asleep in her embrance. It was a shame he had to meet you like this, you were very attractive and amazing in bed, he liked your big mouth and how he can make you shut up with just a kiss. He didn't have the heart to call the cops on you, but it was more than possible that this was the last time he saw you. He knew if he met you in a bar or in a store, he would've asked you out, but you were a criminal, and he was a veteran. Then he thought about the money he used to renovate his house with, how it has blood on it, even some that belonged to one of his friends.
He sighed then shook his head and grabbed a clean pair of boxer briefs from the clothes drying rack and pulled them on. He then made a clean towel wet with warm water to bring out to you to help you clean up. When he walked to the door and looked into the bedroom his eyes widened and his heart dropped into his stomach when he couldn't see you on the bed.
"Shit!" - he hissed, dropped the towel and walked out, looking towards the other door, then when he didn't see you, he quickly inspected the room.
Your shoes, socks and pants were gone, but your ruined bra and shirt were on the floor where he dropped them earlier. He tilted his head when he couldn't see his shirt which he was wearing earlier. He saw his combat knife on the bedside table though, but now the cuffs were laying there too. He hurried out of the room and ran down the stairs, but you were nowhere to be seen, and he let out another sigh when he saw the front door was partially open.
He walked there to close and lock it, then he inspected the livingroom to see if you had taken anything. The only thing that seemed to be out of place was the Rubik's cube he had spent days trying to solve was now laying on his coffee table with matching colours on each side.
He walked there and picked it up, then he let out a small chuckle as he fall back against the couch and closed his eyes.
-----
"You look miserable, hermano." - Frankie frowned after Santi opened the door to let him in.
"Fuck you too." - Santiago replied and shut the door after his friend walked in.
"What's up with you? In the last few days you look like a zombie and barely listen when we are talking to you." - Frankie said as he dropped himself on the couch. - "I didn't wanna ask it in front of the others, but it's about a girl, isn't it?"
Why does Frankie have to know him so well? Santi had a mirror, he could see himself looking like a sad puppy who lost his favourite toy. Well, in a way it was true. The night he spent with you was the most exciting he had with a woman, he could still feel the rush that was pumping through his veins when he was chasing you, when he caught you, when he had you under him, tied to his bed while he was...
No. It was in the past. It happened once and it will never happen again. It was almost a week ago. He was hopeful in the first few days, imagining himself coming home after work and seeing you in the house.
He shook his head. He was an idiot. He thought you meant the things you said to him while he was...
No. It was just a one time thing for you. Who knows how many men you lured between your legs to avoid the cops.
"No." - he replied curtly, then he walked towards the kitchen to get a beer for his friend.
Frankie snorted, then his face lit up when he saw something on the table in front of him.
"Look at that! Did you finally manage to solve it? You're not a lost cause after all." - he said as he picked it up.
Santi turned around in an instant and he immediately tensed up, when he saw Frankie touch it.
"Put it back."
Frankie lifted his brows with an amused smile.
"Why? You're afraid you wouldn't be able to solve it again?"
"Frankie..."
"I'm just looking at it, fuck! Get me a beer!"
Santi rolled his eyes then he walked into the kitchen to grab two bottles for both of them.
"Did you order the pizza yet?" - Frankie called from the livingroom.
Fuck. He forgot.
"You want the usual?" - Santi asked as he grabbed his phone from the kitchen counter and dialed their favourite place.
"I can't believe you, that chica fucked you up more than I thought!"
"Guess you want it with extra jalapeno, right?" - Santi warned him in case he don't drop the subject soon.
"Fuck you!"
Santi chuckled and ordered their usual. He opened the beers while he checked the time on his watch. The game will start soon, guess he really should've ordered that pizza sooner.
He almost dropped the bottles when he walked back to the livingroom and his eyes ping ponged between the coffee table and the shit eating grin on Frankie's face.
"The fuck did you do?! I told you to put it back!"
"I did! After rearranging it a little." - Frankie said.
"Fuck you! Seriously!" - Santi said irritated and tossed him the beer, the action made some of it spill on Frankie's shirt.
Frankie frowned, when he realized how truly upset Santi became.
"What's your problem? I just wanna see you solve it aga... Shit." - he cursed when he realized. - "She solved it, didn't she?"
Santi's jaw tensed. He didn't even know your name. This was the only thing you left him on that night besides your torn shirt and bra, but now it was ruined too. He teared his gaze away from the Rubik's cube to look at the TV.
"Shut up. The game is starting."
-----
Santiago walked inside the house, letting out a big sigh when he closed the door and leaned against it. Weekend. Finally.
He didn't even know why he was looking forward to it. Not like he had anyone to spend it with. Frankie is gonna spend it with his family at his wife's parents, and Benny and Will are going to go on a double date tonight, and if it goes well then their plans for tomorrow were set too and he will just stay home and... oh who is he kidding, he wouldn't even go if they invited him anywhere. They weren't stupid either, they could tell he was simping after a woman, and he didn't wanna feel their pitying gazes. Santi knew now why he was glad it was weekend. This way he didn't have to be around people, they would just irritate him. Thank god.
He dropped his keys on the drawer next to the door and shuffled to the couch. He reached for the remote on the coffee table after he sat down, but his hand froze midair. He felt as his heartbeat pick up and he stood up, looking around frantically. He hurried to the kitchen, then when he found it empty, he ran back to the livingroom and to the stairs, hurrying up to the second floor, taking two steps at a time, leaving the solved Rubik's cube on the table next to the remote.
When he reached his bedroom, his heart skipped a beat and he had to grip the doorframe with both of his hands to steady himself.
You were laying on his bed in a black lacy underwear set, twirling his handcuffs around in one of your hands.
"I'm afraid I've sinned again, Sir." - you said with a fake pout.
Santi felt like his heart is gonna jump out of his chest, but he slowly let go of the doorframe and walked inside the room as he started unbuttoning his shirt as a smile appeared on his face.
"Guess I have to really punish you this time."
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Taglist: @marshmallow--3 @minigirl87 @dreamamubarak @lonelyisamyw-0love @melodygatesauthor @pineapplesonsunday @autismsupermusicalassassin @smolracoon25 @flordelalunas @the-fox-den @verexi @energerstar @disregardedplant @pimosworld @latersgaters-steven @welcometostayingawake @all-things-fandomstuck (i know its a Moon Knight taglist, but maybe you're interested in Santi too 😅)
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something-tofightfor · 4 months
Text
Smutsgiving Feast 2023: Mashed Potatoes and Gravy / Frankie & Pope
Pairing: Frankie x Reader x Pope (Caught On)
Word Count: 1,061
Rating: M.
Author's Note: Thanks to @the-blind-assassin-12 for suggesting this pairing ... it was nice to get back to them. And it gives you some hints about where Caught On is going long-term.
Summary: Frankie and Santi keep things interesting at dinner.
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It was hard for you to remember a time before you’d had both of them in your life, and as you looked around the bustling room, you realized that you didn’t want to ever go back to that. Who would? 
Locking eyes with Pope first, you watched his nose wrinkle before he grinned at you, lifting his fork before he took a bite of potatoes. “You’re eating dry ass potatoes, Santiago?” Frankie leaned closer from his seat next to you, his confusion apparent. “No butter? No gravy? That shit makes everything better. Who are you and what have you done with -”
“There’s plenty of butter in them, ‘Fish.” Pope swallowed, head moving back and forth. “And some of us like to taste what we’re eating, not drown it in something else entirely.” He shrugged. “Worry about what’s on your own plate, pendejo.” You snorted at that, lifting the glass to your lips to disguise the sound, but Pope continued. “I can think of a couple things that taste just fine without adding anything else to ‘em.” 
His eyes flicked to you briefly and when Pope winked, you nearly choked on your drink, spluttering as you covered your mouth with one hand. Oh, he didn’t. He didn’t just … Frankie’s hand was immediately on your back, the man patting it gently as you coughed and tried to swallow, refusing to look at either of them. 
It wasn’t exactly a secret to your friends that the three of you were together, but it was bold of Pope to mention it at Thanksgiving dinner, Will’s house filled with the entire extended Miller family along with some of Pope and Frankie’s family members. Benny and Will know what’s going on, but nobody else is … “You’re right.” Frankie’s patting turned into rubbing, the weight of his hand moving in slow circles soothing you. “Some things taste perfect as is.”
“Christ, you two are …” They’re going to kill me one of these days. One or both of them, and - 
“100% correct?” Pope raised a brow, sipping from his beer.  "Qualified enough to know what we’re talking about?”
“Experienced enough to be sure?” Frankie nudged you with his knee, leaning closer so that he could speak into your ear, though you didn’t - couldn’t - look away from Pope. “Maybe we need another chance to test out that theory, though.” Your eyes widened and so did Santi’s smile, the man obviously aware to some degree what his best friend was saying. They didn’t even plan this and they’re still… unbelievable. 
“If the two of you don’t quit it, the only thing you’ll be putting in your mouth for the foreseeable future is fucking microwave dinners, so …” Frankie laughed first and then Pope joined in, your mock annoyance gone moments later when you laughed with them, leaning over to rest your head on Frankie’s shoulder. “I love you, Francisco.” 
“Love you too.” He turned his head to kiss yours, exhaling when you straightened up and caught Pope’s eye again, giving him a soft smile. And you too, Santi. He nodded once, returning the smile. But three can play this game. 
You reached for the gravy boat, picking it up and then tipping it over your plate as your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I think I’m with Frankie on this one though. Sorry, Pope.” Purposely letting some of the liquid drip down the side of the container, you swiped at it with your thumb and then brought the digit to your mouth, licking it clean. “Big sauce fan over here. Especially white sauce. Gravy is good, but -”
“Cool it.” You stopped when you felt the weight of two hands on your shoulders. Your mouth fell open as you jerked your head back, looking up and at Will’s annoyed expression. Whoops. He bent down, lowering his voice. “Unless you want to explain to my extended family that you’re married to Frankie and sleepin’ with Pope, and the three of you are -”
“Sorry, Will.” Pressing your lips together, you winced. “But they started it.” 
“Oh, I know they did. No doubt.” He squeezed your shoulders and then stood back up, looking first at Frankie and then at Pope before  gesturing to the rest of the room. “And for the record, I agree with you, Santi. Some things just taste so goddamn good they don’t need -” 
That was as far as he got before all of you were laughing, the outburst loud enough to attract the attention of a few of the other people on the room. Alright well… that ends that. Picking up your fork you took a bite of your gravy-covered potatoes, focusing back on your plate. The two men were trouble on their own, but together they were a force - and it was something that you were fortunate enough to experience on  regular basis. I’m the luckiest person alive. 
Will wandered off to speak to his mother and you, Frankie and Pope returned to your dinner. The sounds of forks scraping against plates was all that you heard until Frankie finished, standing up and heading to the kitchen with his empty plate. You eyed Pope again, but he was focused on his food, chasing the last remnants of the meal around on his plate with his fork. 
But he reached for his phone at the same time yours vibrated, Pope’s eyes widening as he read what was on the screen before glancing up at you and smirking, the device still in one hand. Frankie, what the fuck are you doing? 
You checked your messages then, too, and were unable to hold back your laughter at the text message - to the point and so Frankie that it made you ache. 
You should probably come over later, Pope. We gotta settle this once and for all. 
“Sounds good to me.” Pope’s mumbled words were accompanied by a few taps on his screen and a thumbs up emoji, and when you replied with a message of your own a few seconds later, you heard Frankie laugh from the kitchen when he saw the message. 
I’m very full. Had a big dinner. You two are terrible influences. 
It only took a few moments, but you got replies from both men at just about the same time, Frankie’s message loading only seconds before Pope’s. 
There’s always room for dessert. 
You think you're full... but I know you've always got room for us. 
— 
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Note
Blurb request?
What if you stole Santiago's favorite hat, and he caught you wearing it, very casual, nothing to see here, nothing at all.
Make you mine: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN!reader
Thanks so much for sending this, Rally! 🧡☺️ I wrote a hat-based thing with Frankie x reader, but I gave this a bash too as I love the concept with Santiago (my beloved) too! I hope you like it!
Warnings: fluff, steam, lots of mentions of erections, cum kink sorta (brief), light-hearted. 🧢 🍆
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A hard swallow trails down Santiago’s neck as he clocks you. Wearing his hat.
He’s arrested by the sight of you, an instant flare of heat blooming across his skin as he realises, in no time at all, that he likes it. Likes seeing you in something of his. Or more so, looking like you’re his by association.
The attached and very intrusive thought is powerful and sudden on the heels of that realisation.
He’d love to see how you’d look wearing his hat and nothing else.
He quirks a brow in interest. He didn’t know that, specifically, would do it for him, but in fairness, he’s pretty sure you are the common denominator here. With you, he’s always discovering new ways that you turn him on.
Shame he can’t act on it though. You and he have been flirting back and forth, sure. But, you’d told him, not long after you’d met that… things were complicated for you. You and him? Maybe there was an instant spark, but you’d been clear the two of you would be nothing outside of friends.
So, he tries to compose himself as you walk over to him. A glass in each hand - one for him. “Thank you,” he smiles smoothly, clinking his glass with yours in a “cheers”.
The other boys have retired inside, after a poker night out on the deck. But you and he have lingered. For some air.
He lets his gaze linger on you, confident enough to drink you in for a stretched moment, your coy gaze even more alluring than usual from beneath the brim of his hat. He tries his best to ignore the blood thudding to his crotch. But you make that difficult to do - no-one else could ever.
“I’m cosplaying you.” You tease, brazenly acknowledging your blatant and unforgivable theft. “Pass me a stick of Wrigleys, Santi? It’ll really up my authenticity.”
He chuckles. Unable to take his eyes off of your bright smile. Your gaze flits gently over his face in return. Lingers on the creases radiating out around his eyes. Dips to his mouth. It makes him self-conscious - which he isn’t used to. Then again, he’s never met anyone who has quite the effect on him that you do.
He perches himself on top of the wooden porch rail. Gestures for you to join him and you seat yourself there too, body angled in towards him.
He can’t help it now. Looks up at his cap perched on your pretty head. He spreads his thighs a little to accommodate his growing bulge between his legs. “-You know. If any of the boys touched my hat…”
“Oh, I know,” you pout comically, shaking your head side-to-side. “Dead to you.” So you know his hat is famously off-limits then? In that case, either you must have put together that he’s a soft-touch for you; or, you’re trying to provoke him. But hey. He doesn’t exactly mind either option. “So.” You take a casual sip of your drink, your eyes flashing with mischief from over the brim. “The boys would be in for it. But what will my punishment be?”
Santiago takes a deep, steadying breath he dearly hopes is subtle as the bulge between his legs grows uncomfortably swollen, pressing up against the seam of his jeans in a way that makes his eyes prick with tears.
Fuck, he doesn’t normally have this much trouble controlling himself; but there’s something about you. Lord knows, he’s trying to keep his internal monologue clean but all he can think is: mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Undoubtedly, he can think of a few (hundred) ways he could “discipline” you, if that’s what you’re into. His palm itches where it rests against his thigh, becoming suddenly tacky.
“Well. First of all. Here,” he offers, pulling a pack of gum from his pocket. “You’re not really nailing ‘me’ yet. Needs more work.”
Nailing him? Fuck, that’s an unfortunate choice of words when he’s trying to take his mind off of ravaging you.
“No?”
“Not seeing the resemblance, cariño.”
“Well. That checks out.” You tug performatively on the brim of his cap as though you know exactly what you’re doing to him, actually. “I am a hell of a lot cuter.”
Fuck, you’re not wrong. You’re fucking adorable.
You take a piece of the offered gum, beginning to chew rather obnoxiously on it. “How about now?”
An easy laugh bobs in his neck. “Holy shit. Now it’s like looking in a mirror.”
You slide closer to him, shimmying yourself along the porch rail. An urgent heat prickles at his skin. Your proximity slips a warm snake down his spine.
“So, you approve, Santi?” Santiago could swear your voice has taken on a lusty quality. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on his part. “You like me wearing your hat?”
He almost chokes on his masking swig of his drink. Christ, if you only knew how much he approves. If you could see the sordid images playing on a loop in his head right now? Well, you’d probably throw your drink in his face, to be honest. Actually - he could do with it, to cool off. Maybe he can pour his own drink over himself if things get really dire.
“You think Frankie’s cap would suit me too? Or do I look better in yours?”
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Even the drum of his heartbeat feels like it’s trying to claim you. Trying to bust out of his chest to reach out for you.
Fuck. Are you trying to kill him? He doesn’t have a gasket, but he’s pretty sure he’s about to blow one all the same. “You know you look good,” he assures huskily, voice hollowed out by want, though still trying his damn best to toe the line.
Friends. You don’t want him to do the things he’s doing to you in his head right now. Right?
You smirk, looking all too pleased with yourself before taking a swig of your drink. His gaze is fixated on you as you wrap your plush lips around the mouth of the bottle, your fleet of pink tongue poking into the rim. The image certainly is… inspiring.
Fuck, he’s sweating. Swipes the back off his hand across his forehead, catching the moisture gathering inexplicably at his temples.
Then, to his horror, you stand, slinking towards him and slotting your hips in between his spread thighs. You crane around his form, careful that the brim of his own hat doesn’t poke his eyes out, and you dip your plush mouth towards this shell of his ear. Your whisper beds down right under his skin. “How do you think I’d look wearing this and nothing else, Santi? Would I look like I was…yours?”
Wearing my hat. Wearing my hat. Wearing my cum.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Santiago’s brain fully short circuits. He blinks dumbly at you, mouth slightly agape, as you simply look on in amusement, biting down on your lip.
It’s not like he doesn’t want to jump at the chance to find out, but…
He sniffs. Shoots for non-chalant and doesn’t pull it off. “I thought we… I thought. Just friends?”
“Santiago,” you purr. “I stole your hat. Catch-up.”
Catch-up? Holy shit. Maybe he’d have a clue what you were up to if he could think straight. His erection is straining against his pants so hard now he has to shift his hands to cover it. Has to bite back a strangled whimper at the painful pinch.
Your mouth twitches around a delicious self-satisfied smirk as you clock the state he’s in. You giggle, brazenly eyeing his bulge with interest. “Benny told me this might do the trick.”
Santiago’s eyes tighten then. He pouts up at you, eyes twinkling, almost wistful. “Honey.” He lifts the hat from off of your head, setting it down on his own instead. “You? You don’t need any tricks.”
“No?”
Fuck, the way you’re both so devious and so shy at the same time is killing him. “Nuh uh. I’ve wanted you for a long time. You’re gorgeous.”
He boxes you in a little more tightly with his sturdy thighs. Slips his hands on to your waist. Your breath hitches, and he likes the fact he’s finally managing to turn the tables. He dips his mouth towards you, and you manoeuvre around the brim of his cap until your mouth is a whisper away from his kiss. “Wait,” you urge. “I have gum.”
He can’t help but laugh - a resonant chuckle shucking in his throat- as you take a moment to toss it aside, and then he’s just looking at you again. Gaze flitting softly over your face. Arms drawing you close to him once more until his lips brush yours. The contact sends tingles all the way down to his toes; he’s waited so long for this.
He deepens the kiss, soft and more tentative than he’d usually pitch it, his tongue probing into your mouth, but you return his growing fervour. Your palms brace against his sturdy thighs, and he swallows the smooth moan which blooms from your mouth as he clasps you to him.
You pull back for air, looking slightly giddy, and you survey him, a cheeky, devilish glint in your eyes. “You know. You look really fucking good in my hat, Santiago.” Your dark, teasing voice is like honey poured into his middle.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You look like you’re mine.”
He shucks air from between his teeth in surprise, his face splitting into a lopsided, awed smile. His eyes turn dark with hunger, pupils eating away at warm umber.
He is. He is yours, if you want him.
He decides then, that he can push this a little further. You seem keen - and Lord knows he is. And so, with a knowing, playful smirk, he dips his lips forward towards the shell of your ear. Whispers to you. “So, how about I wear this and nothing else for you?”
You visibly shiver as his words wind their way into you, your smooth facade cracking apart. “Santiago. Fuck. Are you trying to kill me?”
With his erection continuing to throb against the seam of his pants, he really thinks it’s the other way around.
“No,” he promises. “Only trying to make you mine.”
Mine. Mine. Mine.
That’s all he’s wanted since he met you.
He devours your mouth in another hungry kiss, tongue shoving against yours, opening you up. Stubble raking over your skin.
And, before your delicious kiss knocks every other thought - and word and concept - right out of his head, he logs the fact he definitely owes Benny a favour.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
He always wanted to be more than friends.
162 notes · View notes
bits-and-babs · 2 years
Text
Bunny-Girl || Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Reader
-> Rating: 18+
-> Wordcount: 9.5K!!!!
-> When convinced to retrieve the money left by Frankie and his team left at the bottom of a canyon in Peru, you have to deal with the most annoying person you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Thank you once again to @foxilayde for proof reading!
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Gif Credit doesn’t belong to me!
TW/CW: LONG-ASS SLOW BURN ISH FIC BUT THE SMUT IS WORTH IT I SWEAR. Enemies to lovers ya’ll. Santi being a sassy little bitch. Violence, death. Oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, degradation and dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex.
BANG!
Shocking you out of your tipsy haze is the slam of a shot glass against the wooden tabletop. The dingy bar is rather quiet this late at night and so the sound practically ricochets off of your eardrums. Paired with the raucous laughter of the men sitting with you at the table, you found it practically impossible to tame the wild twitch of your brow that only made an appearance when you were truly at your limit.
Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia had surpassed your limit astronomically. He’d stepped over the fence of exactly what you could tolerate, then set it aflame.
Fuck, you’d never hated someone so intensely. You were beginning to spend time awake at night trying to answer the burning, existential question of whether or not there was anyone, alive or dead, who deserved more resentment than Pope. Needless to say, the list of those who met the requirements was dwindling.
He’d sucked you into this mission so easily. It wasn’t even the promise of enough money that you could retire and live comfortably that enticed you. When Frankie had named you as someone who could fill in for Redfly in the undertaking to bring back the money the original team of five had left in the Andes canyon, Pope laid it on thick. That intense, smoldering gaze as he spoke you through each step of the plan had you wondering whether or not you still had the bottle to enter the firing line. You’d barely even processed half of the information you needed before you’d said yes, coaxed into an agreement when you saw the way his focus raked over your body.
Just looking at him made you want to reach across the table and punch him, to break that stupid fucking nose. Seeing him talk so carelessly with Frankie and the others, as though he wasn’t making your life a misery, was enough to boil your blood. The humid heat clings to your temple in beads of sweat, seemingly boiling your anger from the outside in as you scowl at Pope with an icy glare.
Thinking back on it, you’re not entirely sure when your relationship with Santi soured so significantly over the course of the three days you had been together. Perhaps it was that first night where you kept trying to have a serious conversation about faults in his ‘master plan’ only for him to be utterly engrossed by the bounce of your tits as you spoke animatedly with your hands, or the morning you woke up to him singing in the bathroom of your shared motel room in Peru as you waited for an unregistered vehicle from one of Benny’s old friends with only a towel to hide his modesty.
Everything Santiago did vexed you. Regardless of when it started, the situation had devolved to the point that the two of you could barely spend five minutes together without a petty squabble starting up. It was therefore unsurprising that Frankie and Benny had plied you with alcohol all evening in an attempt to dampen the rage that sparked between the two of you whenever you locked eyes.
It was, however, doing very little to maintain your short temper given the antics he had been pulling all night.
BANG!
A second shot glass practically bounces off the table with the force that Santi sets it down with, and you momentarily consider knocking it off the edge of the table so it shatters on the ground or picking it up and throwing it so it bounces off of his pretty head.
“Could you bang that glass any harder?” You finally snap, voice strained with a bitterness that coats your tongue better than the shitty, cheap tequila you had all been sharing.
“Are you asking if I could bang harder, Conejita?” Pope’s lips pull into a lazy smirk as he watches you fume across the tabletop. He’d purposely misheard your question, intending to frustrate you further with his flirtatious response. The men around the table all chuckle, Frankie sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest as he waits for the firework routine to begin.
“I’m not sure how you expect to ‘bang hard’ with such a small ‘glass’, Santiago. Do you not leave the girls wanting a little more?” You question, feigning innocence as you pick aimlessly as your cargo pants, the quiet ‘oooo’ sounding from Benny spurring you on. There’s a pause, Pope’s jaw ticking as he watches you act very fucking proud of yourself.
“Fuck, Frankie, do you hear this shit?” Santi scoffs, your below-the-belt comment clearly striking a nerve with him. Morales is swift to throw his hands in mock surrender, silently absolving himself of the narrative as Santi gears up to defend his honour- and the size of his cock in the process. “What’s got your panties in a twist, sweetheart? Do you think about me banging you often? ‘S that what’s got you all worked up?”
“Oh you are so fucking dumb, Garcia,” you hiss, irate at this point as you actively ignore the way Frankie halfheartedly slides another tequila shot your way. It’s like trying to douse a forest fire with a water bottle. “What makes you think I’m that easy, huh? Because I’m the only woman in this fucking sausage fest?”
Benny nearly sprays the beer in his mouth as he attempts to hold back his laughter, and instead ends up choking on the now luke-warm liquid while Will breaks out into a fit of hysterical, drunken giggles.
You can practically hear Frankie’s eyes roll in his skull, gathering up empty glasses in a desperate attempt to escape the table that was inevitably going to become a warzone and retreat to the bar.
“I don’t know where you get the idea that I’m a fuckin’ misogyn-“
“That’s all on you, Pope, you’ve got a sex-god complex far superior in size to your fucking shot-glass-sized penis.” You project over him as he exhales slowly in an attempt not to raise his own voice at you. “It’s not like those very same illusions of grandeur have almost gotten us killed or anything, what with you fucking every single one of your female informants. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d fucked the male informants too!”
“You jealous?” Pope returns with a calm tone that somehow manages to incense you further. In what fucking universe would you be jealous of Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcias’ fuckbuddies?!
“No!”
The silence that answers you back is almost deafening. A victorious smirk settles itself on Santiago’s face as he takes another shot of the disgusting tequila, his eyes cast towards the bar as he shakes his head knowingly. Benny and Will remain silent, an awkwardness settling between them as they keep their eyes firmly planted on the label stuck to the bottle that Ben twists in his hand. Like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
It took you a few seconds, given the odd response, to realize none of the men at the table believed you.
“Oh, fuck off!” You sneer, standing from your seat and slamming your glass down on the tabletop in defeat. You’d rather get snatched off the streets of Peru by the cartels you were actively avoiding than spend another second with the narcissistic prick across the tabletop.
In fact, it’s a miracle that you didn’t turn back on your heel and launch yourself at him when he calls out to your back. “Can you bang that glass any harder?!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Frankie was never allowed to buy you alcohol again, regardless of whether or not it was a peace offering to make Santiago more palatable. Your head feels like it has been put in a vice, the sunshine leaking into your motel room through the window causing the migraine that ran down the backs of your eyes enough to make you want to hurl the entire contents of your stomach and then some.
Given the fact you had practically thrown yourself at the mattress the moment you entered the room after leaving the boys at the bar, you would have thought the extra sleep would have shifted the swirling sensation inside your skull. It’s possible that staying up at least another hour and stewing in your rage didn’t aid your condition.
You’d heard the lumbering idiots stumble back into their respective rooms while Frankie tried desperately to quiet them all down at a time that was utterly obscene, given the sun was already rising according to the orange tint in the sky when you had checked. Had you not been so exhausted after the ridiculous length of the journey to the coordinates on that tiny scrap of paper Pope carried with him so far, you would have kicked all four of the inconsiderate bastards out and forced them to sleep in the hallway.
Turning your back to the window to escape the glare of the harsh sunlight that seeps through your closed eyelids, you settle back into the thin linen covers as you try to ease yourself back into sleep. Warmth settles between your shoulder blades where the sunshine floods your skin, lulling you back into the in-between stages of sleep, where unconsciousness ebbs at the edges of your mind, but you’re still aware of your surroundings.
As a result, you hear Santi before you even see him.
“Up, Conejita, we’re leaving in fifteen.” He sounds rough as he throws the door open, his voice still laced with sleep and tone gravelly from shouting across the table all night. Had it been anyone else, you’d consider the drawl attractive, but it’s Santiago, so it’s definitely not.
“Mhmmm,” you groan in frustration, rolling onto your back, “You just burst into women’s rooms without knocking, Pope?” You grumble, making it clear that you’re lacking significant levels of patience to be dealing with his ridiculousness this morning.
Opening your eyes, you wince at the pain that sparks through your head as you glance over at Santi. He looks as rough as you feel, his short curls sticking every which way as though he’d drunkenly stuck a fork in an electrical socket. His clothes are crumpled, creases in every direction throughout his simple, gray cotton t-shirt, like he’d slept in it. Come to think of it- weren’t those the clothes he wore to the bar last night? His salt and pepper stubble has grown back on his chin and frames his cheekbones, despite you knowing for certain you had seen him shaving in the mirror only 24 hours ago.
Despite how tired he looks, you note the way his brown eyes, polished amber from the golden sunshine cast across his face, seem to drag down the silhouette of your body underneath the thin bedsheets. He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is.
“Fifteen.” He repeats curtly, turning on his heel and walking back down the corridor with thumping steps across the wooden flooring while leaving the door wide open.
“Heard you the first time, asshole,” you scoff bitterly to yourself, rubbing your palms over your face in a fruitless attempt to rouse you from your weariness. Swinging your legs over the mattress, you reach down to the zipper of the duffle bag you had stuffed fresh clothes into, reaching blindly into the carrier and fishing for the first shirt and set of cargo pants you could get ahold of. Living around these feckless men meant no real effort was put into your appearance on their behalf. It also meant you were ready within moments, completely contrary to Benny’s persistent joke that the team we’re always waiting on you.
Everyone knew Santi was always the one holding them up, you’d caught him a few times carding his fingers through his hair in the mirror as you screamed at him to get a move on.
Walking down the hallway after slipping on your combat boots to finish off your outfit and duffle bag in hand, you’re careful to observe the relatively damp atmosphere in the communal-kitchen area. Benny and Will are barely managing a plate of scrambled eggs and looking rather sorry for themselves. You lock eyes with Frankie as he leans his hip against the counter. He’s smiling at you apologetically as he holds out a chilled bottle of water.
“Sorry if I woke you last night. Wrangling these lunatics into bed took some effort,” he admitted softly, in that gruff southern accent you had grown to love over the coms in his helicopter over the time your two had served together before he retired. The condensation on the plastic bottle cools your palm as you take it from him, another liquid peace offering, lacking in alcohol, that would probably only maintain the tranquility of the morning for five more minutes.
“Yeah, I bet.” You grumble weakly as you twist the cap off the bottle, raising the rim up to your lips as you glance around the small space to locate Pope. “They were causing quite a scene when I left.”
The brothers audibly grimace at your sly dig, and you can feel the self-pitying, sorry gazes they throw your way without even looking at them. They know better than to side with Pope when the two of you start a verbal tug-of-war.
“Oh really?” Frankie muses, eyes settled on your face as he shoots you a toothy grin. “Last I was updated on the situation, it was you and Garcia who were causing the hassle, man. Bickering over the size of a shot glass really is a new low for the two of you, I must admit.”
“It was a euphemism, Frankie,” you deadpan, screwing the cap on your water bottle once again. “I thought you of all people would be smart enough to figure that out after all the time we spent together.”
Frankie doesn’t bother entertaining you as he points to the door that leads into the corridor of the motel, gesturing absentmindedly with a swirl of his wrist. “He’s outside, setting up the pickup for us.”
“I didn’t ask,” you say bluntly, glancing up at him through your lashes to catch him smirking at you. Frankie never has to say what he’s thinking, his expressions are like an open book written in neon pink. Even the fuckin Inca Tern birds in the trees outside the window would be able to piece together what he was thinking. ‘Just fuck him already’
Perhaps it had escaped you, the evidence that had convinced everyone that you wanted Santiago’s cock down your throat, because you just couldn’t understand why everyone was so certain that you had the hots for him. Sure Pope was an attractive man, arguably the most attractive out of the four, but that didn’t mean you wanted to fuck him. Not with that appalling attitude. If you saw one more set of eyebrows raising playfully, you’d break the nose of whoever they belonged to.
“I said fifteen, pendejo’s hurry up!” Santiago’s voice cut through the room as he opened the door to the motel room, his apparent hangover seemingly responsible for his aggressive tone as he leans against the doorframe.
He’s all sweaty, his light-gray shirt stained dark down his sternum from where his perspiration seeps into the cotton. His tanned skin has a sticky sheen to it, as though he’d been on a run in the middle of the afternoon, and his chest heaves a little as he catches his breath back after running up and down the stairs a few times to load the pickup truck.
Staring down Frankie in an attempt to show your disapproval at his shoddy attempt to play matchmaker, you pull the straps of your bag over your shoulder while making your way towards the door. Pope, in his utter stupidity, doesn’t move from the doorframe and instead puts the effort into slamming his palm against the wood a few times to urge the two brothers from their seats at the dining table. “Move it!”
“Shift, Pope,” muttering under your breath, you attempt to barge through the doorway with the large bag still slung over your shoulder. It’s a tight squeeze, the other side of the wooden beam catching on the bag and forcing you forward into his muscular chest as you attempt to work your way around him.
Meanwhile, Santi is twisting his body towards you to make space for you to squeeze past. You’re certain he’s not sure how close he is to you until your tits brush against his chest and his nose is bumping against yours. Any closer and you were positive his eyelashes would be tickling the skin of your cheeks.
Impossible not to notice, you catch the way his breath hitches at the contact between your bodies. His pupils dart down to your chest, where you’re pressed up against him due to the awkward position, before flicking back up to your face. He makes no attempt to move.
“Could you not have waited?” His tone is firm, if a little breathless- or were you imagining it? It’s not clear to you, your head swimming as though you’d downed another bottle of that disgusting tequila from the night before. You can smell the sweat on him, the pheromones that you’re almost certain are scrambling your brain. He smells good.
“Could you not have fucking moved when I asked?” You respond curtly, the curve of your nose still pushed against Santiago’s as you attempt to force your way through the small gap. Cruelly, your bag is caught on the lip of the doorframe, so your movements only aid in dragging your pinned body against Santi’s. It’s so much all at once, his smell, the press of his warm body against yours- “Fucking move, Pope, I’m serious!”
Santiago is uncharacteristically quiet at first, his eyes set on yours with such formidability that you’re convinced your knees will buckle beneath the pressure against your better judgment and ultimately give way to him. Why is he looking at you like that!?
“You’re not making much of an effort to move yourself,” he murmurs, the rasp of his quiet voice worming its way into your skull and frying your brain. This emotion it pulls from you, a mixture of acrimony and arousal, is so potent that you’re uncertain of the words that slip from your mouth even as you state them.
“You’re so fucking irritating!” The syllables come out sounding strained, vowels drawling slightly.
“Trust me, I don’t consider you an angel.” With that, he’s pushing his body past you, back into the motel room. A final drag of his chest against yours and you’re free, stumbling to grab the wall so the weight of the bag doesn’t tip you backward. “Get in the car, I won’t tell you again.”
You don’t want him to. You’re quick to make your way down the stairs and away from the other boys that you knew would have something to say about that little performance, racing to the street to ensure you had dibs on the seat as far away from Santiago as possible, and hopefully with Frankie Inbetween you to mediate your conversations. Though, you weren’t certain that even Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales would be able to referee the two of you in a confined place for what would be at least five hours after having been so close to Pope.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Luck had never really been on your side throughout your military career. During your time in the Delta Force, you had never heard of someone having as rough of a time as you. Every single mission you seemed to get into deep water; shot at in the open, just barely missing landmines. It came to a point that you were certain you were a cat reincarnated and that you had used up eight of your nine lives already.
Well. Consider this all nine lives used up.
Preempting where Santiago would choose to sit had failed miserably. Having driven the last shift before calling it a night yesterday, you were almost certain he wouldn’t want to take the driver's seat first thing this morning, and so you had sat behind it in the hopes he would take shotgun. Boy, you were wrong.
Santiago’s hands hold the steering wheel firmly and you can see over his shoulder that his knuckles are tight on the leather. He has multiple tie-bracelets on his right wrist, the different brown leather tones complimentary to his complexion. The salt and pepper of his hair peeks out from the seam of his navy baseball cap at the nape of his neck.
There you can see the scar from his neck operation, the one he claims is the reason he’s in this fucking mess in the first place. It’s a pale silvery-pink, raised and thick with a wrinkled appearance. It’s still relatively fresh, apparently, and you’d heard Pope tell Frankie he hoped it would become less noticeable over time. His gold chain rests over it in decoration, glinting in the afternoon sun.
It’s torturous. The three, maybe four, hours you had been in the truck had slowly driven you mad. Pope’s scent clings to you like gun residue, repetitively appearing again just as you think you have shifted it. You can only thank God that the boys are in here with you, Frankie’s knee knocking into yours whenever the tires hit a bump in the road. It keeps you grounded, and prevents you from doing something stupid.
“How far are we from the drop point?” You ask Frankie quietly, your tongue feeling a little too large for your mouth after talking for the first time in four hours. You had attempted to sleep, like Benny who was utterly incapacitated in the front seat, but you were still enraged from Pope’s antics from earlier.
“Hmm. Another hour of driving maybe?” He wondered aloud, scratching at his patchy beard as he glanced down at the map sprawled on his lap, “Then half an hour of climbing to the canyon itself.”
“You’re not having doubts are you, Conejita?” Pope speaks up, ever the instigator. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Frankie tilt his head back against the headrest as he resigns himself to the fate of having to referee yet another petty squabble.
“Don’t insult me like that, Garcia. It’s just that this journey has been long and you’re fucking annoying.” You strain, doing your best to keep your voice down so as to not wake Benny in the front. “You insisted upon driving even though you knew it would take longer.”
You see Pope’s knuckles brighten as he grips the steering wheel harder, the only external expression of his irritation towards you that you’re able to observe.
“If you must know, I ‘insisted upon driving’ because it was a lot more low-key than flying there. If you weren’t aware, the last time we were in Peru we had a whole cartel-army and a village shooting at us and I was a man down. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I didn’t fancy having to go through all that again so I decided to drive,” he drones sarcastically. “Though you would know that if you ever listened during briefings.”
Scoffing loudly, your irritation begins to get the best of you despite the hand that Frankie rests on your knee as though you were about to leap out of your seat, you launch into verbal attack.
“I don’t know why I should listen to you when you’re giving briefings. It’s not like you have any clue what you’re doing, you found all your intel in some girl's pussy.” You know exactly what route he’s going to take in his counterargument before you’ve even finished your sentence, as though you’ve peered into a crystal ball or pulled a card from a tarot deck that spells out THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE.
“You jealous?” How fucking original. “I like it when you talk filthy like that, say it again-.”
“Knock it off!” Will cuts in now, utterly grossed out by now as he covered his ears with his palms like a child. How the fuck more of these idiots didn’t die in the raid last year, you’ll never be able to work out.
“-Besides, you should be listening, Conejita. It’s about your safety during this mission.” He insisted, his tone suddenly taking on a serious note that has you pausing in your seat. “I refuse to lose someone else to these fucks, and you messing around better not compromise that.”
You pretend not to hear him or the demanding tone of his final comment, turning to Catfish with a scowl plastered to your forehead. “Frankie, for the love of God please tell me what that means. He’s called me Conejita this whole fucking time and I have no idea what he’s saying!”
Frankie looks at you with a pitying gaze as Will bursts into laughter at your utter frustration. “Your Spanish is almost as bad as Benny’s.” He mutters weakly, rubbing at his temple in an attempt to soothe the headache that had begun to build in his skull. You were pretty certain that, unlike the others, this headache had less to do with the alcohol consumption of last night, and entirely thanks to yours and Pope’s antics.
Glancing to the front of the car, you catch Pope’s eye in the rearview mirror. That same intense stare, the one that had burnt down your defenses and adjourned you to join him on this wild chase gazed back at you. It makes your stomach feel like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, flipping and twisting in your abdomen and you’re physically unable to look away. It’s really not too dissimilar. Pope is just as thrilling yet utterly devastating, waiting for you to make the jump from the unstable ledge without a parachute.
Instead of leaping you close your eyes, resting the curve of your skull against the window beside you. The vibrations of the truck's wheels against the bumpy road keep you from sleeping, but at least you don’t have to look Santiago in the eyes this way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Temperatures plummet the longer you stay up the mountain. The terrain is treacherous even with your combat boots on. Within an hour of climbing, you were certain you’d almost popped your ankle at least three times, the snow and ice on the loose stones akin to a walking death trap.
In spite of this, you can’t find it in yourself to complain when Will is being hoisted up and down the freezing cold canyon with climbing equipment. Each time he reaches the bottom of the crevice, he picks up as many of the fully-loaded bags as he can carry and the boys pull him back up, stack the bags away from the cliff face and send him back down.
You daren’t turn your eyes away from the horizon to watch their incredible teamwork. You hadn’t expected the area to be quite so open. While that meant you’d see hostiles approaching from miles away, it also dictated that you were sitting bullseyes against the bright background of snow, ice, and light grey stone.
“Still clear, Conejita?” Pope calls over to you, his voice strained with pain. No doubt his knees and neck are beginning to seriously hurt now with the strain of hauling twice, sometimes triple, Will’s body weight in duffel bags of money. At least he’d be able to afford a good masseuse at the end of this shitshow- probably one he could fuck when she helped him recover. The thought makes you hate him more.
“All clear,” you insist, index finger resting on the trigger of your carbine gun with practiced ease. “How much longer?” You’re not sure you can promise them safety after so much time in the open. The cartels have been searching for the four of them for a whole year. No doubt you had been clocked entering the country. It was almost common sense they would lay in wait in the mountains, letting the group come to them.
“We have one more drop.”
“Make it quick then,” you insist, eyes on the horizon still. You can’t shake the feeling things are a little out of hand. Collecting the bags takes much longer than expected- the nylon fabric has been exposed to the harsh weather of the mountains for so long that some of them had begun to degrade, making them more precarious to carry for Will.
“You good Will? Last one!” Santi informs him, “Benny can finally get that Ferrari he wants so bad!”
“Thought you’d learnt not to count your money until it’s in your pocket, Pope,” Frankie cuts in, stacking another set of bags and tying a rope to them like chain links. It helped to carry large quantities of the bags apparently, a trick they acquired last time they were here.
Turning your head over to Benny, you find he’s watching his elder brother with an anxious expression. You understood the feeling, your heart had nearly fallen out of your ass when he first leaped over the ledge an hour or two ago. No amount of combat training or life or death situations could possibly prepare you enough to be willingly pulled up a sheer cliff with only a rope tied to your waist. There’s a sense of relief as the final bag is pulled over the unsteady edge and Will finally plants his feet on solid ground for the first time in two hours. Fuck that.
BANG!
The crack of a gun ricochets off the mountain face, and before you even have a moment to register the sound there’s a tearing sensation that rips through the curve of your shoulder. Military experience kicks in almost like second nature, body dropping to the floor heavily. The rocks jab into your abdomen underneath you, but your spike in adrenaline and the pain of your bullet would mean you barely feel it.
“I’m hit!” You call out to the boys with a strained voice while you feel at your shoulder. Blood comes away on your palm, painting the skin crimson.
“Fuck! Are you okay?!” The tinge of fear in Santiago’s voice is just as loud as the hail of bullets that spray toward him. The larger boulders surrounding you all are the only form of cover you can use.
“I’m fine- it just grazed me. Focus on yourself!” You call back, steadying the carbine as you assess the horizon to find the threat. “Five of them, Santiago!”
“We're pinned here, do you have a clear shot at them?” Frankie called out to you, head shielded by a small rock. When you quickly glance back, all four of them are on their stomachs on the rocky floor. They’re relatively exposed, and they’re without their guns after working on the bags of cash for so long. You’ll have to do the dirty work.
“Yeah!” You call back, facing the hostiles once more. Considering the anxiety you had felt waiting for them to arrive, in the face of open fire you found yourself relatively at ease. Balancing the barrel in a crevice on the boulder you hid behind, you prepare yourself to take them out one by one.
The scope makes it much easier to pinpoint them. It’s like painting a red marks point on their forehead, a big fuck off neon sign that reads ‘shoot here’. Popping your head up with perfect timing, you pull the trigger of the gun. The crack of the bullet ejecting is deafening after years of being out of active combat, and the wait for the lead to travel and pierce between the cartel members' eyes feels like hours.
“First one down,” you call out your kills, dropping down behind the rock as a spray of bullets ricochets off the stone with golden sparks. Fuck fuck fuck this was bad. How the fuck had you even ended up in this position anyway? You swore you’d never see active duty again, yet here you were fighting for your life once more. This was the last time you’d help any one of these fucking idiots with their ‘master plans’.
You wait patiently for a pause in the firing before lifting your head again and glancing down the scope. It’s quiet for a few seconds until their heads peer out from the rocks again. Two take the plunge, but you’re ready for them and pull the trigger within relatively quick succession to take out two in one go.
“Three down!”
“For fucks sake, be careful!” Pope hisses. He sounds utterly wrecked, overwhelmed with nerves. Again, you didn’t know him well enough to say with certainty, but it sounded as though Santi was relatively level-headed given the stories you’d heard from Frankie. It was unlike him to be so anxious.
“Just keep your fucking head down!” You snap back, raising your voice over the hail of further bullets, “They must have kept tabs the whole time we’ve been in Peru.” You’re reloading, wanting a full cartridge for the last two hostiles should things get ropey.
There was a large pause between shots, which indicated to you that the shooters were changing position. Your shoulder stings, pouring blood into your thermals. Sure, you’d been shot before, it was like a right of passage in the Delta Force. Maybe it was because you were getting older, but the pain sears down the muscle of your bicep worse than you’d ever experienced from a graze.
Peeping over the curve of the rock, you scope the area for any sign of where the shooters had settled for the final assault. They’ve fallen back slightly by the looks of things, gathering their thoughts and setting up a plan. It allows you a moment to look to Santi, crawling belly down in the rocks to get to you.
“Hand me the gun.” It’s not a question, it’s an order. You’re swift to pass the weapon over, back pressed against the uneven rock surface and chest heaving. You hadn’t even realized you had been holding your breath until the assault rifle leaves your hands.
When the shots sound again, you’re swift to cover your ears with your bloodied palms. Santi is an expert marksman, it doesn’t take him very long to zero in on each of the two shooters and take them out with deafening cracks of the carbine that bounced off the rock face of the Andes mountains. He counts them off one after the other, punctuated by shots that cause your eardrums to ring even with the muffling effect of your hands.
Busted eardrums are disorientating. You’d experienced severe tinnitus following a botched mission in Chile a few years ago, and for weeks you didn’t know up from down- so when Santi grabs ahold of your chin and forces you to look at him you find yourself gazing up at him with what’s probably the dumbest expression you could ever imagine, like a child caught stealing chocolate from the fridge.
He looks enraged, yelling at you with a creased brow and reddish face. The veins in his neck protrude and the force in which he holds your jaw with his fingers is bruising. You can’t hear him, the sound of his voice faded and is overshadowed by the prolonged ringing in your ears. Reading his lips, you can only really catch that he’s calling you stupid, totally on brand.
When his hand reaches for your shoulder, you flinch in pain and the pressure bubble in your ears pops suddenly. The flood of sound is dizzying, the heaving of Santiago’s breath and the rattle of the carbine rifle as it hits the floor. “Fuck, baby I’m so sorry, I should have been more careful-“ he’s stumbling over his words, applying pressure to your wound despite the cry that sounds from your throat.
“Benny, pass me a medkit now!”
“Pope, she’s okay, it’s just her should-“
“Now!” You’re certain he’s hyperventilating, the wheeze of his breath rattling against his ribs as wild eyes assess your expression and the wound at the same time. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m- I’m okay, Santi, I-” you’re trying to reassure him, but he appears to panic further, ripping the fabric of your thermals in a desperate attempt to gain a visual of the damage. Cold sweat covers his brow, and you realize, a little late, that he’s having a panic attack.
Pushing his hands away despite the fight they put up, you grab ahold of Pope’s gorgeous face with both bloodied palms, painting his tanned skin with blood as you try to get him to look you in the eyes. “I’m okay! I am okay, Santiago. Breathe.” You tell him softly, stroking your thumbs across his cheekbones soothingly.
Recognition bleeds across his expression, and his head drops suddenly. Tears are streaming down his cheeks within seconds, grasping onto your wrists with his thumbs pushed into the flesh there. He can feel your pulse, the blood flowing there indicating you were still here. “Oh fuck,” he chokes weakly, straining so hard to keep it all in. He thought he’d lost you, thought he’d find you slumped against the rocks with a hole in your forehead, eyes rolled back into your skull like Redfly. He couldn’t afford another Redfly.
“It’s okay,” you whisper gently, easing him down from that emotional ledge with a soft voice, “I’m okay. We’re okay.” It’s a simple word, but it does exactly what you intend it to as you hold Santiago close. Within minutes, he’s okay too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pressure against your wound keeps you awake at night, the searing pain having dulled to a mild ache with the aid of some strong painkillers. The cool linen of more hotel bedsheets eases the humid nighttime air against your relatively bare skin, having stripped down to a thin T-shirt and your underwear to battle the oppressiveness of the warmth. The team hadn’t stopped for three days until the truck's tires passed onto American soil in an attempt to stay one step ahead of the cartels and avoid further confrontation.
Santiago refused to allow anyone else to get hurt, staying awake the entire time to keep his eyes out for any sign of a threat.
Closing your eyes slowly, you feel the buzz of the painkillers working. Things feel a little slow, your vision taking a few seconds to catch up with you whenever you turn your gaze to the other side of the small hotel room. It’s a surprisingly pleasant, warm feeling and you settle back into the pillows as you allow the sensation to wash over you.
“How are you feeling?”
It takes significant effort for your eyelids to peel open again. Santiago stands in the doorway, hand on the doorknob in a firm grip. He looks exhausted, dark shadows coloring under his eyes, and his stubble having grown further since your observation from a few days ago.
“Still don’t knock, huh?” You drawl, words a little slow to sound from your lips. He chuckles weakly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he approaches the bottom of your bed with careful steps like he’s concerned he’ll fall through the floor. Once again, he leaves the door wide open. Classic.
“Oh come on, don’t start that shit, man,” he grumbles, rubbing at the nape of his neck with his palm with a flat expression. “I thought you’d at least thank me for saving your ass back there.”
A scoff works its way up your throat, bitter and acrid like that fucking tequila from Peru that haunted your every waking moment. “I didn’t need you to ‘save my ass’, Pope. I had it under control before you wheedled your way over and demanded control like you always do. I killed three of them-“
“They almost killed you. Shit, a blind man could do a better job of keeping an eye out than you, you’re lucky that they were such a shit shot!” Typical Santiago Garcia, deciding to have a critical conversation while you’re doped up on meds, exhausted, and utterly fed up with his bullshit.
“Did you even listen to anything I said in the truck?” he speaks firmly, jerking his outstretched palm animatedly while he speaks with a tone that you just know he uses with those inferior to him in the force. “I was trying to keep everyone safe and I could have fucking lost you!”
“Oh fuck you Garcia!” You snap loudly, “I was one person doing a 360 sweep for two hours while you and your fucking pals fucked around trying to get every single dollar you could get your hands on! How the fuck was I supposed to have eyes in the back of my head? Huh?! Besides, I’m not yours to lose!”
“Why are you being such a shit, Conejita?” He grits his teeth, a vein protruding at his temple.
“Because you’re such a shit yourself, Pope! You’re constantly manspreading. Makes it impossible to be comfortable in the backseat with you when you take up so much space. You listen to Metallica on repeat at top volume in your earphones, you might as well play it out loud at that point because I can hear everything,” you count off the infuriating things he does on your fingers, voice raising slightly with each point. “And you never know when to shut the fuck up. Just shut up!”
Santi has crossed the floor so he’s standing in front of you on the bed. He reeks of alcohol and his face is flushed- you didn’t notice before.
“Did you go to the bar and not fucking invite me?” You whisper now, voice a little breathless from your blinding rage. You’d fucking helped these fuckers, got them out of deep shit and they didn’t bother to ask you to celebrate with them?!
It’s Santiago’s turn to scoff, rubbing at his beard and across his mouth. The divots in the skin of his lips, the creases, drag slightly against his touch, and the crackly sound of his knuckles brushing against his stubble permeates the quiet room much louder than it should.
“Alcohol thins the blood,” Pope grumbles, eyes closed with exasperation while matching your volume, “I didn’t want you to bleed any more than you already have, Conejita.”
“God, fuck you Santiago!” You snap, grabbing ahold of the collar of his shirt so you’re face to face now. “Fuck your and your fucking ego- You always have an answer for everything! I fucking hate yo-“
It all happens so quickly that you’re not even sure what happens at first. Santiago’s lips smash to yours in a devastatingly needy kiss, the force in which he kisses you is almost bruising, and you’re scrambling to push him away.
“What the fuck Santi?!”
“Just shut up, for fucks sake,” he grits his teeth, pulling you in again. Santi’s palm is at the nape of your neck, and the rage you feel for him bubbles over before you’re reciprocating with equal fervor almost instantaneously. You can taste the tequila on his tongue, along with the slight hint of salt and lime. It’s almost as intoxicating as if you had downed half a bottle on your own.
Pushing your fingers through his short trimmed curls, you settle your grip on the hair at the base of his skull, pulling at the strands with a harsh tug. He groans low and deep, the sound causing your abdomen to spark with arousal as he pushes his palm roughly into your lower back so your chest is pressed impossibly closer to his.
Jesus, you hate him. Hate the way his teeth push into the flesh of your lip, despise his hands for grasping their way down your waist with ardor and squeezing at the pliant flesh at your hips. It’s infuriatingly sexy, the burn of his stubble against your chin as he kisses you with such zeal that he’s practically bending you backward.
You fall back against the mattress once more, yelping into his mouth as your shoulder makes contact with the mattress.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he groans against your lips but doesn’t make the effort to stop. You don’t want him to, he’s climbing over your body that’s now splayed across the mattress, one hand pressed into the bed above your injured shoulder and the other trying to feel at the hem of the shirt you had been trying to sleep in. You know he wants to rip it from your body, but he’s careful to go slow so that he doesn’t hurt you, dragging the fabric over your waist and tracing his thumb across the expanse of your ribs before pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it across the room.
“No you’re not!” you gasp weakly, pulling away from him to press the base of your skull into the mattress, but he’s chasing your mouth and pressing burning kisses to the corner of your lips.
“No. I’m not,” he repeats, eyes dragging over your bare chest before lowering his head so he can sink his teeth into your clavicle. You cry out at the sharp pain that blooms through your skin, hips rocking upwards. He’s a fucking prick, laughing condescendingly as he’s sucking at the indentations his teeth leave so a bruise definitely blossoms in its place.
His body is settled between your thighs as you hook your ankles at his lower back, sobbing out weakly as his stubble scratches down your chest, mouth biting and sucking a path down to your nipple before dragging the flat of his tongue over your hardening bud. Meanwhile, his hands are exploring the flesh of your thighs, groping hard as he pushes his fingers underneath the fabric of your underwear and squeezes at your ass with a feverish need.
With the hold he has on the lower half of your body, he’s lifting your hips off of the mattress so they grind into his own, his hardness pushing into your clothed cunt and practically winding you with the sudden intensity of how quickly a typical argument has turned into dry-humping your best friends colleague in a hotel room at four in the morning.
His cock is straining against his cargo pants, twitching against the fabric as he swirls his tongue around your nipple. Fumbling with your hands, you reach down between your bodies and grasp shakily at the brass buckle of his belt. It’s a struggle to undo, given Santiago is grinding his hips into you while you fight with the metal prong.
“Fuckin’ stay still!” You snap, desperate to have his cock out of his pants. The only response you get is a particularly vicious bite around the skin of your breast, causing your hips to rock up in shock. “Fuck!”
Finally, despite your blind arousal, the buckle comes loose, and you’re pulling it out of the loops of his pants with such vigor you can hear the thwip sound of the leather coming loose. The metal clatters to the wooden floor as you throw it blindly into the darkness of the room, but you’re too engrossed in battling with the button and zipper of his trousers now.
Again, Santi is laughing at your struggle, skimming the sore skin of your breasts with the flat of his hot, wet tongue. He blows at the saliva that paints your skin and the sensation is icy cold, causing goosebumps to settle on your skin which is now littered with all forms of color from crimson red to deep purple.
Somehow you work his pants open, immediately slipping your hand past the fabric to palm at his erection through his boxers. Fuck he’s throbbing in your hand, a groan ripping through his throat and causing his hot breath to fan across your sternum. Got him.
“Hah, cat got your tongue, Pope?” You tease breathlessly as his eyelashes flutter against the bare skin of your chest. His cock is drooling in his boxers, a wet patch forming in the fabric. You focus there, brushing your thumb against the tip of his cock through his underwear. Jesus Christ, it’s like he’s in heat. He’s grinding his cock up into your hand, chasing the pleasure that’s settling in his stomach. You allow yourself a moment to imagine how embarrassing it would be for Santiago if you got him to cum in his boxers, how empowering it would be for you, and how you could hold it over his head for the rest of his life.
“Fuck!” He practically growls, violently ripping his body from your touch. He’s no longer gentle with you, grabbing your thigh and hooking it over his shoulder. The position is a little awkward, hips lifted off the mattress and focusing all of your weight into your shoulder blades. Yes, the ache of your bullet wound settles deep in your flesh, but the sharp pain of Santi’s teeth sinking into the flesh of the junction of your inner thigh, nose pressing into your panties and brushing against your clit as he does completely throws you off complaining with anything more than a wordless yelp.
His digits work your now soaking panties to the side, groaning as your cunt is exposed. “Fuck, Conejita. You’re dripping.” The slick sound of his fingers passing through your soaked cunt is mortifying, and you’re squeezing your eyes shut to escape your embarrassment. It means you’re not prepared for the feeling of his tongue swiping through your folds, nor the loud cry of shock that accompanies it.
Pleasure rocks through your lower body and you find yourself mindlessly chasing it. You use your heel in his back to push your hips further into his face, forcing your palm into the curve of his head. He’s ruthless with his mouth, nipping at your clit and swirling his tongue to ease the sparks of sharp pain. He’s humming at your taste coating his tongue, the vibrations rushing through your pussy.
You sob brokenly, back struggling to arch at this awkward angle. You can see his eyes peeking over the curve of your sex, dark with need as he watches your expression twist in ecstasy. You must look stupid, hair a mess, and jaw slack. Even as it begins to get intense, your eyes welling with fat tears, he doesn’t let up.
“Santi- Santi, oh fuck, pl-please!” You barely recognize your own voice, the pitch is all wrong. Cramp tightens your calves as your toes curl into the flesh of his back and you’re struggling to see straight. “Oh god- Oh god Santi please don’t- FUCK SANTI!”
You didn’t mean to yell, you really didn’t, but Santiago is pulling his lips from your cunt the moment your orgasm begins to crest. The pleasure wound up so tightly dissipates almost as quickly as it had been built, and your tears spill down your temples as you mourn the loss of what could easily have been the best orgasm of your life.
Meanwhile, Pope is moving to his feet and pushing down his cargo pants, taking his boxers with them. His cock is weeping precum now, the clear substance slipping down the top of his purple-tinged cock.
“Act like a bitch and I’ll fuck you like one,” his voice is gruff with arousal when he grabs your hips, pulling them to the edge of the mattress so he can angle you *just* right.
“Oh god!” You sob loudly, the lewd sound devolving into a scream of bliss as Santiago pushes the head of his cock at your entrance and pushes all the way in with one particularly harsh thrust. He’s splitting you open with gritted teeth, punishing your cunt for your shitty behavior. “Fuck Santi! Fuck!”
The brutal pace he sets liquifies your brain. You’re reaching over your head for something to hold onto, to either side of your body, but there’s nothing for you to find purchase and you find yourself sobbing louder. His grip on your hipbone is bruising while using his grip to bring you down harder on his cock as it spears deeper into your cunt.
You knew Santiago seduced his informants, knew he fucked the information out of them, but none of this knowledge could have prepared you for just how skilled he was at coaxing mind-blowing pleasure from you. Within moments of him finding his preferred angle, his perfect pace, you’re biting down so hard on your lip you can taste blood as you whimper his name pathetically.
“Santi-“ you hiccup, tears once again settling in your waterline, “Santi I can-I can’t!”
“You will,” he growls, moving forward to hold the crown of your head with his palm. This way he can feel your tits bounce against his chest with each brutal snap of his hips. “After everything you’ve put me through these past few days, you fucking will.”
You can’t help it, can’t stop the debauched moans of pleasure that he forces from you. They punctuate each of his thrusts, rising in volume each time he hits that perfect spot inside you that has your thighs shaking violently around his hips.
“Yes, that’s it,” he breathes, focusing so that he tortures that spot inside you every time he works his hips forward, “That’s it, I want them all to hear. Let them all hear it, baby, come on.” He’s begging you now, coaxing you to cum on his cock.
The coil of pleasure that he’d spoiled a few minutes ago was working up again, this time quicker than before. Your knuckles are white as your nails dig into the flesh of your palms, but you can’t feel the pain where they cut in and leave four crimson crescent moons, because Santiago is grinding into you with such obscene precision that all your mind and body can focus on is the way it teeters on the precipice of a blinding orgasm.
“Come on baby girl, come on. That’s it~” You hear Pope whisper in your ear, his own voice unsteady as he reaches between you. His fingers manage to brush shaky circles over your clit once, twice, three times.
You cum so hard your voice cracks when you scream his name. Intense pleasure works its way through your abdomen and leaves utter devastation in its wake. Shocks burst up your spine, causing your body to twitch violently as you grasp onto his short curls.
Uncertain just how many more times Santiago thrusts into you, all you know is that when he cums, he gasps your name brokenly. Your real name. Cum seeps from your cunt with each thrust, soaking the inside of your thighs while Pope finally comes to a halt, resting his head against your sternum with a shaky groan.
Panting heavily, you lay perfectly still underneath him. It’s mortifying to admit, but the idea of moving an inch resulting in him leaving you alone in this bed terrifies you. The afterglow of your orgasm buzzes through you, skin sticky with sweat and cum, but you refuse to adjust.
As you scan the room, you note the mess you’ve made. The bedsheets had somehow slipped from the mattress and fallen onto the floor, pooling at the base of the bed. Pope’s belt lays haphazardly across the wooden flooring, and you find your cotton t-shirt balanced on the lampshade on the bedside table. It’s only now, as you scan the room, that you notice the door is still wide open.
“… Do you think they heard us?” You whisper, hoping that at least talking isn’t enough to convince him to move. Pope lifts his head, gazing up at you with a shit-eating grin that’s wide enough for you to want to break his perfect nose.
“Oh, they heard us. Benny banged his fist against the wall a few minutes ago.”
Horror runs through you at the concept that you had been loud enough for one of the boys to complain, your face heating up at the thought of even having to face them in the communal kitchen tomorrow after everything they’d heard Pope say. They were never going to let you live it down. “Oh god!” You hadn’t even heard it!
Santiago laughs, pressing soft kisses to the hickeys that paint your chest. He seems entirely unbothered, far too preoccupied with easing you both down from your post-orgasm haze to feel guilty about ruining his colleagues' sleep.
“How is your shoulder?” He asks with a whisper, sitting up in order to assess the bandages that cover the wound. When you tilt your head down to check with him, the gauze is still a cream color, lacking the crimson blotches that had stained the previous dressings.
“It feels okay,” you admit, watching as Pope reaches over to gently ease the pillow behind your head to support your shoulder. He’s extra delicate, far more tender towards you than he had been previously.
When you note that it doesn’t appear as though Santi plans to leave the comfort of your arms, you finally allow your tense muscles to ease beneath the weight of his body. Closing your eyes, you listen.
“Where were you thinking of going with your millions?” He murmurs as he continues to press kisses against your skin now that you’re comfortable, fingers brushing down the curve of your waist.
“Monaco.”
“Oh funny! That’s where I was thinking too!”
“Fuck off, Pope.”
END
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hi baby<3 can i please have a uhhhh “next time we get into an argument, i’m reminding you that i took your virginity” WITH A LARGE SIDE OF SANTI PLEASE OH MY GOFFJKNKJFN
Long Time Coming
AN: Thanks for sending this in, Hads. And thanks also for being so patient with me lol. I struggled a little with this prompt for some reason, but I hope you still enjoy what I ended up with. ❤️
(Un-beta’d)
Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,950 Pairing: Santiago Garcia x F!Reader Warnings: p in v, praise kink (if you squint), a little angst, a dash of inner turmoil, overuse of italics, probably too much softness but i'm a sap so 🤷‍♀️ AO3
——————
Your breath stalls in your chest when you see him, body stiffening, eyes widening in surprise.  
“Santi?”  
He shifts awkwardly on his boot-clad feet, averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck. He’s older than you remember, but it’s definitely him—those deep, brown eyes, tight curls, full lips, chiseled jaw. 
“Hey,” he says quietly, the look in his eyes hesitant but hopeful. 
You twist your lips, crossing your arms over your chest as anger flares in your belly. You’d been best friends growing up, pretty much inseparable. So when he’d joined the military a week after high school graduation, you’d been understandably gutted. You’d tried to be supportive, knew this was his best chance of getting out of this shithole of a town, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was abandoning you. Maybe it was silly, but you’d always assumed you’d eventually end up together, maybe married, maybe not, but together nonetheless. The idea of losing him, of losing that future was difficult to deal with.  
Him confessing his love to you the night before he was set to leave didn’t help matters. Especially when you’d told him you felt the same. 
He’d kissed you, his hands cupping your cheeks almost reverently, like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched, and you’d melted into each other, an awkward tangle of lips and hands and teeth. He’d admitted afterward that you were his first, something you’d found hard to believe given how flirtatious he always was. You can still recall the faint flush of his cheeks when he’d said, “Yeah well, the only one I wanted was…you.” 
Needless to say, neither of you had gotten much sleep. 
The memory of that night had gotten you through the many long stretches of time apart that followed. You’d kept in touch as much as possible, writing letters and emails and talking over the phone. He’d come home to you a few times, warming your bed for a week or two before shipping out again and starting the cycle over. You’d dreamed of a day when he’d stay, when he’d come back and never leave, when he’d finally be yours. 
Sadly, that day had never come.  
It had happened slowly, responses to your emails and letters taking longer and longer, scheduled calls being rescheduled or missed completely, until they just…stopped all together. You’d panicked, thought that something had happened to him, thought he’d been killed in action, but no one would tell you anything because you “weren’t family.” You’d held out hope for months, hope that’d he’d call, that he’d write, that he’d come home to you. But he hadn’t. 
Until now. 
You’re not sure how he’d found you; you’d left your childhood home years ago, and had moved around quite a bit since, just searching for a place to belong. You’d finally settled on this place a few months ago, the quaint little town making you feel at peace for the first time in ages. 
Seeing him takes you back, back to the place you were before, to the place where you’d lost him, to the place where he’d left you without a second thought. 
Ignoring the part of you that is elated at his sudden, unannounced reappearance, you say, “I thought you were dead.” 
He winces at your bluntness but maintains eye contact. “I can explain…if you’ll let me.” 
You glare at him, the pain you’d felt all those years ago, the pain you thought you’d overcome, rearing its ugly head and stabbing you in the chest like a knife. When you don’t say anything, he sighs, stepping closer.  
“I’m so sorry, cariño.” 
You swallow hard, willing the tears welling in your eyes not to fall. After a moment you blink, looking away and inhaling shakily. 
“Come in,” you say flatly, stepping to the side so he can slip in past you. 
After grabbing you both a drink, you settle on the couch where he tells you about how right before he lost contact with you, he was recruited for this special ops team and they told him that he couldn’t tell anyone about it, that he couldn’t have any communication with the outside world. He’d made the mistake of thinking this was only during missions and was devastated when he’d discovered it wasn’t. He tells you he’s thought of you every single day, sick with guilt over the fact that he hadn’t been able to tell you where he was, what he was doing, that he was even alive. When he’d finally gotten out (and he was out, for good, he says), he’d gone home, hoping that you’d still be there, hoping you’d let him explain. He’d been gutted when they’d told him you left. 
You ask him how he found you and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck and mumbling something about calling in a few favors. You nod, unsure what to say, unsure what to do. You want him, God do you want him. For years, you’ve been trying to forget about him, to move on, but no one has ever made you feel the way he did….the way he does. When you meet his eyes again, you know he feels the same. 
“Do you remember that night? The one right before I left?” he asks, leaning closer as he sets his empty glass beside yours on the coffee table. 
Emotions swirl inside you as the memories come flooding back—the awkward tangle of limbs as you’d torn at each other’s clothing, the desperation you’d felt, the need. You nod, swallowing thickly. 
“I think about that night all the time,” he rasps, a soft, nostalgic smile forming on his lips. 
His eyes are unfocused, as if he’s reliving that memory now, just as you had only moments ago. He looks so soft, like the man you remember, the one that you’d fallen for all those years ago. You still love him, you never stopped, and now that he’s here with you again…all you want is to start over. 
Unable to help yourself, you lean in, tentatively pressing your lips to his. His body stills, limbs going rigid, and you almost pull away, but then he sighs in relief, his breath shaky as he kisses you back, hard. His hands cup your cheeks, holding your face to his as he devours your mouth, his tongue hot as it slides against yours. You moan, your fingers fumbling with the hem of his shirt. He lets you pull it over his head, immediately reclaiming your mouth as you toss it somewhere behind you. Your shirt is next, thumping lightly as it hits the floor beside his. His hands rove over every inch of exposed skin and you arch into it, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. It’s clumsy, much like that night, and you can’t help the smile you press against his lips at the thought. 
You both rush to divest each other of your remaining clothing, giggling when Santi trips as he steps out of his pants. He lays you on the couch, covering your naked body with his, arms braced on either side of your head. He pauses as he settles over you, his warm eyes greedily roving your face. 
“I love you,” he whispers, leaning in and nuzzling his nose against yours. 
Something settles in your chest, something warm, something light, and you smile, reaching up to comb your fingers through his salt and pepper curls. He leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering in pleasure. 
“I love you too, Santi,” you breathe, right before you pull his mouth back to yours. 
He smiles against your lips, his mouth sliding languidly over yours. You sigh at the feel of his skin against yours, at the comforting weight of him on top of you. This, right here, right now, this moment with him, it feels more like home than any other place you’ve ever been. Maybe those sayings were right, maybe home isn’t a place, but a person. Tears well in your eyes at the thought and you will them not to fall. Santi’s groan is broken as he pushes inside you, his cock stretching you, filling you better than anyone else ever could—like he was made for you, and you were made for him. 
You moan, arching into him as he buries his face in your neck, his muscles tight as he stills, trying desperately to pull himself together. It was like this that first night too, you remember. He’d been so keyed up, so lost in you, he’d almost come the moment he slipped inside your warmth. You smile, rubbing his back soothingly, wordlessly telling him it’s okay (because you know he’s stressing right now).  
He relaxes not long after, the tension in his body lessening as he grinds into you, pulling your leg higher around his waist. You moan as he somehow slips in even further, shivering as his cock bumps against your cervix. He groans when you flutter around him, his mouth finding yours against as he pushes and pulls, taking you both higher and higher. It’s soft and it’s slow, all the emotions you’d thought you’d buried long ago swirling like a hurricane in your head, in your heart. They’re so strong, you can’t help the tears that begin to fall, slipping out and winding down your cheeks as you and Santi cling to one another. 
You fall over the edge together, so wrapped up and lost in each other you no longer know where he begins and you end. Finally, after all these years, you feel whole, feel complete.
Later, after a much-needed nap (followed by more sex), you order take out and settle back onto the couch. You’re curled into his side, clad only in his shirt (him in his boxers) as you share a carton of lo mein, chuckling as he stuffs a ridiculous amount of noodles into his mouth. He smiles at you with puffy cheeks and you laugh again, cleaning the corners of his mouth off with your thumb. You still can’t believe he’s here with you, that he’s staying.  
Santi catches the look in your eyes and he softens, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. You kiss him back, humming at the taste of him. When you pull away, he presses his forehead to yours, your breaths mingling. 
The carton of lo mein is in your lap and you frown when you notice it looks lower than you’d realized. 
“Santi, you ate all the noodles,” you pout, pulling back enough to shoot him a half-hearted glare. 
He bites his lip, eyes guiltily flicking down to the mostly empty container before meeting yours again. 
“We had Chinese that first night too, didn’t we?” he rasps, a teasing glint in his eyes. 
You snort, shaking your head. “That’s not gonna work every time, you know.” 
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says airily, clearly fighting back a smile. 
You raise an eyebrow, smirking at him. “Fine. The next time we get into an argument, I’m reminding you that I took your virginity.” 
His eyes darken a little, running his tongue slowly over his bottom lip. He’s silent for a moment, then reaches for another carton on the coffee table. He holds it up between you, as if it’s an offering and you take it with a smile. 
“Good boy, Garcia,” you say with a smirk, eyeing him teasingly as you crack open another carton of noodles, “Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.”
Later, he makes you pay for that comment (“How’s this for a trick, cariño.”)
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thirsty-flygirl · 6 months
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Good With Their Mouths
My fave fictional men have some very specific talents in the bedroom.
A/N: Back from the dead, put me in horny jail, whatever. I thought about it and I wrote it. Also, if you have any other Oscar/Pedro, Triple Frontier/Ted Lasso characters to add, let me know - this was way more fun that it should have been.
Spicy times ahead - minors DNI
Frankie Morales
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We all know what Frankie is good at, and it’s keeping his idiotic buddies in line and eating pussy. That man has memorized every single sound and movement that you make during sex and he uses it to his advantage when he’s DTF. Which is all the time. He’s a tease, kissing down your body, stopping at all the hot zones from your lips to the apex of your thighs. He’ll nip at your mouth, slide down to circle his talented tongue around your nipple, then slowly make his way down your torso. He loves sucking a mark on your hip bone, marking you as his in a way that no other person can, but keeping it discreet because the man does not kiss and tell. Once he gets to your thighs, he will pepper the insides with kisses and nips while you whine and press your hips toward his generous mouth. After you’re nearly insane with arousal, he will gently suck at your clit, almost igniting your fuse right away. But again, this man knows exactly how to prolong your pleasure, so he will pull back just before the point of no return. You might bitch for a second, but the man dives in, tongue fucking your cunt and moaning so loudly your neighbors can hear him. He will alternate for an hour, sucking you off and licking up the taste of your slick until he finally lets you cum. You, of course, almost blackout from the sensation, but he doesn’t let up, working you even higher. You quickly cum again, squirting, and Frankie will swallow down everything you give him, then clean you up and ask for more two hours later. 
Jamie Tartt
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Jamie doesn’t always eat pussy, but when he does you can count on cumming hard.  While his favorite thing in bed is to fuck you from behind while staring in a mirror at the way your tits swing and the face you make when you shatter around his (very impressive) dick, he will gladly eat you out if he has the time and he’s not too exhausted. What he lacks in finesse, he makes up for in effort. Jamie eats you out like he plays football - with one goal in mind. He wants to make you forget every name but his and, damn him, it works every time. He knows exactly what gets you off and will get right down to business when given the chance. He talks just as much in bed as he does on the pitch and holy shit, can this boy talk dirty to you. “Fuck, love, your pussy was made for eatin’,” he grins up at you as he swipes his tongue through your folds, blue eyes crinkling because he knows you’re just dying for it. “Mmmm, c’mon, you can do better than that,” he says while you beg him to let you cum, “tell me what you want, and you know I’ll give it to you . . “ All you can do is moan incoherently, which makes him absolutely smug because he knows exactly what you want and exactly how to give it to you. He spends his time between your legs sucking your clit the way you like and telling you what a good girl you are, how your cunt was made for him to fuck, that you taste so fucking good right now that he might cum before he can even sink his cock into you.. . . yeah. Jamie Tartt eats pussy. 
Benny Miller
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It’s hard for Benny to slow down, but when he does it’s literally the best you’ve ever had. He takes his time, stripping you down to your panties and breathing you in before he ever thinks about touching you. Your quiet whimpers whenever his lips brush against your most sensitive spots, still covered by your soaked panties, drives him wild. But he is a trained soldier and he knows how to wait out his target, so he’ll wait until you’re absolutely begging him to put his mouth on you. Once he does, it takes you about 30 seconds to reach your peak, but that’s okay, because your boy will spend as much time down there as he needs to make you come at least two more times before getting his dick wet. The second one is a slow burn, lots of kisses pressed against your clit and gentle pressure as he sucks on your folds. He loves to stroke his tongue inside you, following it up with his fingers, as many as you can take. Once you give in to him and cum for the second time, he will ramp it up, relentlessly licking and biting at you until you flood his mouth with your arousal. He will quickly move up to kiss you hard, fucking your mouth with his tongue so that you can taste yourself while sliding his thick cock inside you. 
Santiago Garcia
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We all know Santi fucks. Like, one look at this guy and you know he’s down for it any time, any place. He will turn that baseball cap around as soon as you give him the go sign and he’s on his knees ready to send you to heaven. He’s made a career out of paying attention to minute details and scanning for possible weaknesses, and making you cum is, in his mind, another mission. He has every sound, every breath cataloged. He knows when it’s too much and when it’s not enough, and he uses your body the way he knows you like it best. That said, he eats your pussy when he wants to eat your pussy, not the other way around. Luckily for you, he wants it almost every fucking day. It’s usually a surprise attack from Santi; you never know where or when, but he makes you so hot that the minute he initiates something you want it now. Something as innocent as washing dishes turns into a fuckfest; he’ll dip his hands in the warm, soapy water, flinging a little onto your white t-shirt so he can see your bra clearly underneath. As your nipples harden, he will stand behind you and massage your tits, pressing against you so you can feel his cock harden. His fingers will trail down your body, slipping underneath your shirt to softly stroke the curve of your belly before gently pulling your shorts down, kneeling on the floor despite his shitty joints because when he’s got your sweet pussy this close to his face, nothing hurts.He will begin from the back because he’s a goddamn KING, spreading your ass cheeks and letting his tongue lazily lick your hole(s). He’s a talker, but it’s more in quiet groans and whispers against your skin than actual words: “Oh, sweetheart, you’re so wet . . . let me take care of you . . . ‘s that all for me? . . .” Once you’re trembling and gripping the sink to stay standing, he will lead you to a more comfortable location for the main event. 
Roy Kent
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Okay. Okay. OKAY. Roy gives Pussy Eating King Frankie Morales a run for his money. This man serves cunt and eats it too. He will give it to you any way you want it. You want it slow, romantic? Roy Kent will gently lick your clit until you feel like you might explode from the sheer pleasure his mouth can bring you. The man doesn’t miss a spot, softly sucking and kissing your clit, your lips, the skin of your thighs, and everywhere in between. But the way you moan his name, like you’re on another plane of existence and he is the singular thing keeping you tied to Earth? Drives him absolutely feral. He can turn on a dime, eating your pussy like a starving man eating his first meal in a month. His groans are absolutely filthy, his big hands wrapping around your thighs so he can keep you right where he wants you. He’ll press his hips into the mattress, just to relieve some of the pressure on his cock, and he’ll cum, just like that, and be hard again for you in less time than it takes to get through halftime on match day. Once he’s completely wrung the pleasure from your body, he will grip himself and look you in the fucking eye as he slides into you. The intensity in his gaze and way he says, “Fuck, you’re incredible,” makes you nearly cum again. 
Javier Pena
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One of my OG fictional boyfriends, Javi doesn’t eat pussy. Okay, he does, but it’s definitely not his favorite thing to do. Thing is, the man is so fucking good at it, he deserves a medal and a membership card, or something. Everything about him screams sexy, from his swagger to the way those big brown eyes just need to give you a look (yeah, you know the one, where he eye fucks you from head to toe and then just licks that pouty bottom lip) to get you wet. He’s a little like Santiago Garcia, the way he will eat your pussy when he wants to, not when you want it. Once he’s down there, though, he savors you. He’s not a chump and if he’s gonna do it, he’s gonna do it well. He pays attention to the things you like, and will nibble and suck your clit in alternating rhythms, slow and fast, to get you off. The one thing that sets Javi apart is the way he uses those thick fingers to help push you over the edge. While his lips and tongue are working your clit, he thrusts his fingers inside you, stretching you so good. Curling his fingers up until he finds the spot that makes you explode, Javi will work you until you’re almost there, pulling back before he can taste your sweet cum. Instead, he’ll trail those wet fingers down to your ass, slowly working them against your skin and dipping inside you, watching your pussy clench around nothing. Eventually he’ll finish the job, but not until you’re a sweaty, teary mess on his bed and swearing you’ll do anything for him if he’ll just let you cum. 
Poe Dameron
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Poe, my baby, my true love, and the one that got away (yes, I’m delusional). This man does not have a lot of time, so most of your sexual liaisons are a bit rushed and there’s not enough time or space to really get down to business. BUT. When you both have a few unoccupied hours to yourselves? You will be absolutely torn apart, put back together, and shattered again. Poe Dameron loves you. He loves every. Single. Part of you. Every curve, dimple, roll; the hard places and the soft places and the places that you hate - Poe finds you absolutely stunning and would gladly spend hours worshiping every inch of your body if your little whines and breathy moans didn’t make him want to get right to the main event. His sexy, panty-melting smirk as he runs his tongue down your body floods your core to the point where you would feel embarrassed if it didn’t feel so fucking good. And Poe loves how wet you get for him. He gently tugs your underwear down your legs, eyes glued to the heaven between your thighs. He’s almost reverent at this moment, settling down on the mattress and letting his thumbs pull you apart - just a little - so he can see your slit leaking. You hear a shaky breath, and those brown doe eyes will just stare into yours. In that moment, you can see how badly he wants you, and you feel beautiful under him. “I love how wet you get for me,” he mumbles, eyes never leaving you as he dips his head and licks up a taste with the tip of his tongue. Just the smallest touch makes your hips jump and he spreads that warm hand flat on your belly to keep you grounded. “Shhh, sweetheart, I’ll make you feel good,” he says and you believe it with everything inside you. Poe gets messy when he eats you out, using every part of his mouth to make you feel good. He loves it, really, the scent and the taste and the sight of you, coming undone on his bed. When you cum, it’s a long, rolling orgasm that just won’t stop, one right into the second, and maybe a third if you have the time. When he’s sure you’re satisfied, he’ll lick his lips and kiss back up your body, taking your mouth with his and letting his tongue swipe against yours as he urges his thick cock inside your wet heat. Eyes rolling back, Poe will let out the most satisfied groan as he begins thrusting, bringing you both quickly to release. When the two of you cum together, he’ll rest his forehead against yours and give you a soft kiss, the ring he always wears resting between your breasts on its chain.
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eyelessfaces · 5 months
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𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄
𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
santiago garcia x reader
𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: dirty talk
warnings: reader wears a skirt, exhibitionism kink, public teasing, creampie
word count: 0.9k
updates blog: @eyelessupdates
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Santiago had developed the habit of being the worst kind of tease in public. 
He knew it made you slightly embarrassed, not to the point of uncomfortability though; he would never do something that you didn’t feel comfortable with, and he knew you liked playing along, acting like it bothered you when in reality you enjoyed it.
It was rather frequent for his public teasing to resurface, especially at parties like the one you were at at the moment. 
It was Benny’s birthday, and his garden was rather crowded, including with people you weren’t familiar with. That fact didn’t particularly bother Santiago, and you both knew it. It actually excited him more to have complete strangers around, so you knew he could be insufferable, and it had already started when everyone started eating and his hand had conveniently settled at your thigh, progressively going higher up under your skirt as he acted completely oblivious and chatted with Frankie across the table.
This was step one, and the day was far from over.
Despite your best efforts to always be surrounded just so he could be annoyed by the fact he wouldn’t be able to tease you, you forgot the game for a second to take another drink in the kitchen, and Santi took advantage of that weakness. 
You hadn’t even heard him coming, you only felt his arms wrapping around you when he hugged you from the back, making you jump in surprise, your glass almost slipping from your grip.
“I can’t wait for everyone to go to sleep so I can wreck you” he whispered into your ear as he shifted his position to grind his hard on against your ass, making you bite back a moan. 
Goosebumps raised over your skin, your grip tightening over your glass. “Really, I can’t wait, maybe I could take you right here, where anyone could come and see us” he mutters as he puts his hands over the globes of your ass, kneading the tender flesh over your skirt. 
“Bet you’d love someone walking in while I pound that pretty pussy” you can hear the teasing tone and the sly smirk in his voice as he raises the piece of cloth, exposing your underwear, a small whine leaving your mouth as you feel air hitting the damp patch between your legs. “Mh?” his hand pushes onto your lower back so you could bend against the counter, and you don’t even put any force to try to stop this – objectively – unreasonable decision. 
“Tell me to stop, baby” he whispers, pressing himself over you to speak to your ear, his erection pressing even more firmly against you. You don’t say anything, because you don't want him to stop, and that’s when you hear the sound of his fly before feeling him push your underwear to the side, the feeling of his tip circling your entrance eliciting a small grunt of anticipation coming from your throat.
“Quiet” he murmurs as he gathers the wetness pooling at your folds before progressively inching himself inside you, a low groan escaping his own mouth as he bottoms out and really plunges his cock inside of you. 
Benny’s bathroom had already seen its fair share of action from the both of you, but having your way in the kitchen was a whole new experience, no lock and the possibility of everyone and anyone walking in on you at any moment.
Technically, the chances that someone would walk in on you or hear you were low. Everyone was outside, music was blasting and almost every drink was within reach; you only came to the kitchen to get a fresh glass of water.
Now you were gripping onto your filled glass, knuckles turning another color from how hard you were holding onto it while Santi was pounding into you. His rhythm was demanding, restless and a bit desperate; you feel his hands bunching up your skirt, holding onto it tight as the obvious sound of skin on skin resonates in Benny’s open kitchen. 
You have no idea what you would actually do if someone walked in while Santiago was taking you, and despite your best efforts to think of a backup plan, you give up on trying to ponder over that subject when Santi’s hand wraps around you and his fingers settle to rub rough circles over your clit.
Your body jolts at the feeling, the glass in your hand being the least of your concern at the moment; it rolls over the counter with a coarse sound as you come, its content spilling in a trail falling to the floor as you writhe under your boyfriend, drips falling beside your feet. 
His movements hasten as he helps you ride out your high, seeking his own; he presses himself flush against you, his breath halting as he pumps his seed inside you, your head falling to rest over your extended, numb arms. 
You feel him gently ease himself out of you, pull your underwear back over your sensitive cunt.
"Good girl." he smirks as he slaps your ass, smoothing the fabric of your skirt so it could look like no one had ever touched it. “My pretty little slut.” he hands you a kitchen towel, kissing your cheek before leaving, as if nothing had ever happened, like every single time.
No one would ever know what happened here, if it wasn’t for Benny’s high tech fridge having a camera.
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