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unstoppableforcce · 4 years

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trivia night

pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader

masterlist | next part

a/n: oh so very smutty so [18+] y’all. thank you to everyone who inspired and encouraged me to enter the triple frontier fic world, if y’all like this one be sure to let me know so I can keep more coming !! ( and a special thank you to @mandoplease for publishing such incredible work that I had to join the Santi fic world !! )

“No, Jango Fett is from the prequels--”

“Boba Fett is also in the prequels--”

“And the originals--”

The whisper fight was not unusual for a Thursday night trivia night with the boys around the table at the brewery but it was unusual for Frankie, Benny, and Will to get away with the discussion for so long.

Santi was almost always the first to jump in and set the record straight, no matter the topic of the question asked by the bald and Irish host up by the bar, but not this Thursday. His stare passed over the few tables packed with housewives eying up Benny and ignoring their husbands, and over the twenty-somethings with purple and pink hair holding similar arguments. It was directed straight to the bar across the concrete floor and no where else.

Because it wasn’t tall and lanky Bram the bartender behind the counter like it had been every Thursday night for the past six months since Frankie moved two blocks away from the brewery. It was you.

And he couldn’t pull his attention from you, not even to correct the absurd whisper fight happening at the table around him that had spiraled into an even stupider battle between the brothers for the pen to scribble down the answer.

You were too distracting.

“Pope— Pope— give me the goddamn pen, Benny— Pope, come on is it Boba or Jango?” Will fought, nudging him enough to snap him from his thoughts but also nudging him just enough to send the beer in his hand clattering to the side, spilling out all over the table.

Frankie and Will were quick to grab their phones off the table, Benny scrambling exclusively for the tiny slips of paper for the trivia game, but Santi had no choice but to slide his chair back to try and avoid making a mess of his pants. Except it made a screaming noise that echoed around the large brewery warehouse, the metal chair against the concrete making people throw their hands to their ears and groan instead of focusing on the question at hand.

“Dammit,” he cursed out, reaching for a handful of napkins as his jeans got wet but as he began dabbing, he glanced around and realized the whole brewery shifted their attention to their table, “sorry, we’re all good.”

“Convincing,” Frankie chided and Santi quickly hit his hat off his head, earning a chorus of laughter from the table, but doing little to hide the blush on either of their faces.

“It had to be my beer?” Santi scoffed, grabbing another handful of napkins to begin wiping at his chair and the table.

“You weren’t helping with the question—”

“You two would have figured it out—“

“I told you it was Boba—”

“Turn in your answers to the front so we can move on to the next question!” The host called from the bar and Benny quickly stood with his answer on the slip of paper, taking it up to the front as everyone’s tables did the same.

But as Pope tried to keep cleaning with his futile napkin pile, a dry towel appeared on the table next to him, between him and Frankie.

“Here, let me...”

It was you, not Bram the bartender, pushing the dry towel into the spilled beer on the table, and he froze.

If he thought you were distracting from afar, it was worse up close.

Frankie didn’t freeze though, he quickly scooted out of the way, careful to lift his chair so it wouldn’t screech the way Pope’s did, but Pope still stood just a foot behind you, frozen in place.

The hustle and bustle of the trivia night continued on around them and you worked quickly, drying off the table and wiping down the floor where most of it ended up, but he didn’t snap out of it until you bent down in front of him and he realized he was just staring.

“Sorry, it was an accident...” He sighed, trying to get back to himself by bending down next to you, trying to help with his sloppy pile of napkins even as you waved him off.

“It’s okay, trivia can get pretty intense.” You chuckled, using your towel to collect the mess of napkins he had in his hands. “I’ll take that.”

“Oh um, thank you.”

“No problem--”

“I don’t know any of the Spice Girls!” Benny whisper shouted from across the table, interrupting the two of you as both of you slowly stood back up.

Santi took a glance around, realizing the trivia night had continued on around the two of you and that was what Benny was talking about, not any other random reason.

But he could still care less, focused more on you as he dragged his seat back to the table. Except you didn’t flee the table immediately and retreat back to the bar like he expected, you hung around, leaning into the table.

“What’s the question?” You hummed, quickly earning all of the attention of boys around the table.

“Umm who was the only Spice Girl not to sing a line during Wannabe...?” Frankie meekly offered from beside you.

“Posh.” You whispered before pulling back, flashing Santi a smirk and finally retreating to the bar while Benny scribbled the answer down quickly.

“Thanks—” “Thank you—” they all cheered behind you and you offered the same smirk you gave to Santi to the rest of them.

“That’s not Bram...” Will laughed out, sipping at his beer.

“No, definitely not.” Frankie continued to muse, nudging Pope again and almost making him drop the pitcher in hand as he moved to pour himself a new drink. “Was that what was distracting you--”

With his glass only halfway filled, he brought it to his lips to give himself an escape while the boys began to laugh around him.

“Yeah, definitely not Bram...” He joined them with a laugh but the next question came on quickly and they all moved on.

Except for Santi. He didn’t. He couldn’t, not that quickly.

He glanced back to the bar, looking past the bald man leading the questions to you at the bar. Though the second you felt his stare, you looked up from the counter and briefly caught it. But he only sent it back to the guys around him, missing the smirk that stayed on your lips as you stared.

As halftime from the trivia game sounded off, most of the crowd escaped out to the food truck in the back alley, including Will who refused to take orders for the others.

“If you want a taco, go out and get your own taco.” Will scoffed out, earning a round of groans in response.

But as Benny got up with his glass of beer to intercept the stares he had been getting from the table on the other side of him and Frankie excused himself for the bathroom, Santi really had no choice but to get up himself. And if he was getting up, he was going to talk to you.

At least, that was if he could catch your attention out of the crowd of men waiting for refills.

Nabbing a small section of counter top next to Bill, the older office worker who came to play alone nearly every week and oggle the owner, Santi patiently waited as you passed pitchers and glasses across the counter to the hoard of waiting men. He contemplated heading back to the table, not wanting to make things more difficult for you, but as he caught your stare again while you worked, he figured you might prefer for him to tough it out.

So he waited, and waited, past the ten minute warning from the bald host, then past the five minute warning, but eventually you cleared out the crowd and made your way over to him.

“Pitcher of the Amber or...?” You prompted, wiping some of the spillage from the last pitcher you past over the counter away as you maneuvered yourself across the counter from him.

“Yeah, please...” he sighed out, clenching his eyes shut as you turned your back to him.

No. No, was what he should have said, they still had almost half a pitcher left on the table but It came out before he could help himself.

What was wrong with him? He never had any problem asking for a name, or a date, or a phone number, especially when you set him up so well.

Hopefully the tacos made the boys thirsty because you quickly turned around with a full pitcher and he had to fish his wallet from his pocket, tossing a few bills out between the two of you. Enough to cover the pitcher and a healthy tip.

But nothing to wow you. He had no charm, no confidence. What was wrong with him—

“Need me to carry it back to your table or you think you can handle it without spilling?” You mocked easily, the smirk building on your lips again and practically drawing him further into the counter.

You had your own gravity to you, it was simple, effortless, unlike anything he had felt in a while. He leaned his elbows forward onto the counter next to the pitcher and you leaned closer just the same almost on instinct.

“I think I can manage that myself... thank you though...”

That wasn’t smooth, that could’ve been so much smoother, what the hell was wrong with him—

“Need anything else?”

“Your name?” There was his recovery, better late than never. He quirked his head and slyly dropped his stare to the counter with a chuckle before dragging it slowly back up to your eyes. “Maybe a phone number?”

The smirk didn’t even drop when you laughed at him, amused by the display.

“I don’t even have your name,” you mused, letting out a wistful sigh, reaching for your towel to wipe at the counter again.

“Santiago.” He extended his hand over the counter and you took it easily, offering your name back as you did.

“Maybe if y’all win trivia I can see myself offering up a phone number.” You shrugged, pursing your lips out slightly.

He didn’t let any blush rise to his face, just a hum of his own amusement. The blush for the whole room was worn by Bill just one seat over, trying desperately to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping though both of you could clearly tell he was.

“Maybe?”

You shook your head but the smirk on his lips only grew on his face, “Maybe,” you repeated.

“I think I can work with maybe.” He liked this banter, and he more than liked the smile you sent it his way with.

“Yeah? Then you better up your Spice Girl’s knowledge.”

“I know my Spice Girls—”

“Good for you man.” Frankie joked, having overheard just his line as he approached the counter behind Santi. “I thought I had the next round?”

Santi stuttered a bit at that, back off his game, searching for the words he needed but you had already chuckled out and shifted your attention away, grabbing the money and turning to the next customer.

“Oh, did I interrupt—”

“No, why would you think that?” Santi kept his voice down but let the sarcasm flow freely, throwing his hands up in some minor annoyance and Frankie hid his laughter and the heat of his cheeks behind the brim of his hat. “Just take the pitcher, will you—”

He looked back to the counter to push the pitcher his way and you were back, holding a handful of napkins out to him, “just in case.”

“Thank you.” He said again, taking them from your hand as you just shook, turning your back to him as he walked away with Frankie, the host calling for the start of the final few rounds.

He was no longer useless to the team. He magically shifted into the leader he normally was when they came out for Trivia night, answering questions before some of the guys could even process them, scribbling out faster than even Benny could manage. But in the end, it wasn’t enough.

Team ‘the boys’ worked their way into second place just behind the two assholes at the bar, clearly having just gotten off work with their loosened ties and rolled up sleeves. Team ‘rich and delicious’. That meant they got the applause and they got the free beer growlers.

It also meant Santi got nothing.

Or at least, he assumed that was the case, letting his stare fall to the guys around him as they cheered for their first second place victory since they started coming.

“Nice work man,” Frankie touted, patting him on the back as Will freshened up each of their glasses with more beer.

It was a fun night and it felt good to do better than ever before, but he was competitive to say the least. He wanted to win. Not just for the principle of winning, though it would have certainly been reward enough to beat the two dicks at the bar. But more so for you.

Though as he caught your stare across the brewery again, your smirk told him it wasn’t over yet.

After about another hour of drinking, you shouted out “last call,” and by then, most of the brewery had began to pack up and head home anyways.

Will had planned to drive Benny home, Frankie had planned to walk from the beginning but Pope steadfastly remained confident in his sobriety. Dolling out a few hugs or handshakes to say goodbye, he excused himself to the restroom and when he came out, his team was gone.

Making his way to the bar, now one of the few remaining patrons, he caught your stare and attention much quicker than he had before.

“No win for you tonight...” you joked and he rolled his eyes, taking claim of the seat across from you.

“Second is better than we’ve ever done so I still have that to be proud of.” He fought back, watching you wave to the last group of people as they left, kind enough to bring their glasses back up to the counter for you.

“Really?” You quirked your head over your shoulder as you continued to clean.

He quirked his head right back, amused to say the least, “Yeah, we aren’t the smartest band of guys—”

“No, I mean, you’re proud of second?”

He laughed out at that, meeting laughter from you as well and smiling, “is second not something you reward? First only?”

“I may have a prize for second...” You laughed, “but you don’t really strike me as a guy satisfied with second.”

“Satisfied?”

“Satiated, content, accepting of—”

He shook his head, another spell of laughter falling from his lips, “No, you’re right, I’m a competitive guy.”

Grabbing a tub out from under the bar, you settled it on your hip and maneuvered out of the bar, going table by table and grabbing the rest of the glasses laying around. “I know, you put up quite the fight for second, the ‘nearly grandma’s’ team was only two points behind.”

“I guess Posh Spice really helped us.” He laughed.

You settled the tub back out on the counter and reached over for a wet rag to begin wiping down each of the tables. “So what do you think you should get for second place? Especially if I’m the one who boosted you to second...”

“What should I get?” He couldn’t remember the last time he was around someone and kept his smirk up for this long, he’s never been so amused by someone, so playful with someone...

He felt light. Honestly, light. When was the last time he could say that?

“Well the phone number was for first, what’s for second?” You tempt your smirk back his way as you bend over the first table, wiping it down.

“I mean, a first date, a first kiss, I’m very interested in everything... what are my options here?”

“I’m starting to think maybe I should have reworked my tiering here, you know, put phone number on the bottom, third place or something.” You mused, moving to the next table as he turned on his seat at the bar to follow you with his stare.

“So I’ve already won the phone number?”

“Insatiable...” You mocked, finishing up with the last few tables and pushing the chairs in. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you quickly unlocked it, passing it his way, “How about you give me yours?”

“And then?”

“Well,” you spun around some as he began typing, looking up at you between his name and number, “it’s nearly midnight and I’m not off work yet, and I normally work everyday but Thursdays and Sundays so, I’m not much for dinner dates but I’m a big fan of breakfast.”

“That’s convenient, I make a mean breakfast.” He smiled, quirking his chin up as he handed your phone back to you. “How about tomorrow?”

“Now we might be a little ahead of ourselves, I just got your phone number.”

“I haven’t gotten anything.” He shook his head with another laugh.

He liked laughing this much. Sure, he laughed with the guys but he didn’t have plans to sleep with any of them. And the people he did sleep with weren’t like you. Maybe that’s what he’s been doing wrong recently.

“Second place...” you mutter, shaking your head as you take a few steps closer, effectively eliminating any space between the two of you, no bar to lean over, no nothing. “Second place would really be lowering my standards you know...”

“Should have told the ‘rich and delicious’ team to stick around.” He mocked as you leaned closer, his voice getting quieter and quieter as you did.

“Nah, second isn’t too bad when it looks like you.”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

In all honesty, he’d been staring at your lips since the two of you ended up alone at the bar and watching you bend over to clean... he had shown incredible restraint so far.

And judging by the way your stare fell to his lips, he wasn’t the only one. He felt more confident than he had felt all night.

More confident than he had felt in a while, if he was being completely honest.

He surged forward off the bar stool and grabbed your face with both hands, dragging your lips to his. The kiss was heated and full of fire, but far too short. He couldn’t let it linger for too long, almost all of his confidence coming out in the single surge. But as he pulled his lips back from yours, keeping his nose up against yours, he felt a spark of electricity flow through him from head to toe.

The way his lips hovered over yours, dancing against yours ever so slightly as he tried to catch his breath, it was like two live wires sparking against each other.

Electrifying.

Clearly you felt it too, because he couldn’t even catch his breath much less get out a word or two before your lips were back on his and your hands were gripping tight to his chest.

Stepping you back, his hands fell to your hips, guiding you onto the next bar stool so he had a better angle, his hips in line with yours in between your legs, his lips moving to attack your neck.

“Santiago...” you moaned out, his name floating through the stale air of the brewery like the sweet honey the amber ale tasted like and he swore he could taste it on his lips as he licked down to your shoulders.

“Let me take you home...” he rolled his hips up into yours and the breath that escaped you was even more rugged than the last.

“Oh well, first place...” you threw your head back, “first place would get to take me home.”

“What does second place get?” His kisses trailed along the gold necklace that hung around your neck, dipping lower into the cleavage of your black top.

“Well, we have the place to ourselves, might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

He laughed at that, pulling his lips off of you and glancing around the empty warehouse bar. “Yeah?”

“Could’ve come in first.”

“Oh honey, I’ve got no problem taking you on the table...” he smirked, dragging you off the stool and bringing your face back to his for a chaste kiss. “And I never come first.”

“Oh I set you up for that one...”

“Damn straight sweetheart.”

Grabbing your hips as you slung your arms around his neck, he moved you back to the nearest table and sat you back on it. And while you pulled at his short curls, deepening the kiss, he found the bottoms hem of your shirt and began dragging it tantalizingly slow up your chest.

Seems you were the one showing little restraint now, meeting his hands and rapidly lifting it the rest of the way off and tossing it aside easily.

“You’re good at that.” He mused, reaching for the bottom hem of his own shirt to do the same

“Yeah, I take it off at least once a day you know...”

“Smart ass.”

He grabbed for your hips again but instead of drawing you closer, he flipped you around, pressing the front of your hips into the table and pushing hims elf firmly against your ass. With one strong forearm taut around your torso, he kept your back against his bare chest, dragging you as close as possible until your breaths aligned with his and his lips could move to your ear.

“Is this okay?” He huffed, still trying to catch his breath and staggering even more so as one of your hands reached up to intertwine your fingers with his holding against your chest.

With a roll of your hips back into his, eliciting another groan from his lips, you responded with a throaty, “Yes...”

Your head fell back onto his shoulder as his restrained and hardened length continued to grind into your ass, the fingers of his hand not holding you upright dipping to the button of your jeans and undoing it quickly. The hot breath panting out of your chest held in your throat as his hand dipped even lower, dragging taunting lines along your soaked underwear.

His hips rocked in a deft rut against you still but now rocking your tight bundle of nerves into the palm of his hands, prying a restrained whimper from your lips.

“Baby, I want to hear you.” He cooed into your ear, his mind desperate for the honey of your voice and the way his mind seemed to drown in it. The hot pleasure of each movement bubbling in his stomach, he was hardening against your ass, you were soaking over his fingers...

“Santiago...”

A growl released from his lips, as his hips stuttered against yours. He wanted more of you, more of your delicious voice whining out into the echoing warehouse, more of the decadent juices dampening his fingers as he pushed aside your underwear and dipped into you one finger at a time, more of the hot taste of your skin as he sucked onto the bend of your neck to your shoulders, more of you... so much more of you.

Bending you over the table, your hands splayed out over the freshly cleaned surface, trying to keep yourself upright with nearly quivering arms. His pants hit the floor, belt buckle clattering to the concrete, and yours quickly followed suit, worked down your legs to bunch up around your boots and ankles. But keeping yourself partially upright was futile, turning your head over your shoulder you caught sight of him stroking over his fully hardened and lengthy girth and all but resigned yourself to your impending fate, laying down the rest of the way with another moan released your lips.

The sight of him alone had you clenching around the stale air of the warehouse and nothing else, desperate for more of him.

“You want this?” He played, drawing a languid stroke over himself as he brought his tip to play against your exposed and aching cunt. “Tell me you want me, baby.”

“I want you...”

“Yeah?” He pressed in gently, toying with you as your grip around the table tightened. “Tell me baby.”

“Smart ass,” you groaned, earning a gentle yet playful smack on your ass that you relished in, trying to back into him for relief. Finally, the taunting tease was too much and you pleaded for him with your dripping honey tone, “I want you, I want you, please.”

Pushing the rest of the way in, all of your noises held tight in your throat while he kept still within you, relishing in the feel of you stretching around him as your hands clenched tight around the table. One of his hands worked up your back, unclasping your bra with a practiced move and continuing up to the back of your neck, pushing your face into the cool table top before he began to work in and out of you.

His other hand held at the dip of your lower back, holding you in place as his thrusts accelerated in pace. The holding grip felt like a crushing weight but nothing like the force of his pounding hips as he nailed you deeper and deeper into the table. The repeated hits of your hips against the table threatened to leave bruises but you could care less, the pain was pulling an addicting sense of euphoria from your core and you’d cover your body in a thousand bruises if it meant you’d feel this good.

Weaving his hand from the back of your neck into your hair, he lifted your face up just enough to meet his lips as he bent over you, finding a newer, deeper angle with his lips ghosting over yours.

“How does it feel, baby...” he taunted as you tried to bring your lips to his but he held you just far enough back to feel his breath but not his lips.

Close, tauntingly close, but not enough.

“Kiss me, Santi...”

“How does it feel?”

Sending a particularly pounding thrust into you, your head fell back against his shoulder, your moan descending into a sob as his lips met your neck for a lengthy lick and bite.

God, you didn’t just feel good, you felt right. You felt right like nothing had before, not since he and the guys got back from South America.

He bought the house because it felt like the right thing to do, he stopped doing work that would hurt himself because it felt like the right thing to do... but this was the only thing that felt right. He had been looking for something like this for longer than he could even remember and he wanted more.

“Santi—”

He cut you off with his lips on yours, contorting at a weird angle but giving him new access to your still half clothes chest. He wanted your bra off, he wanted to feel every inch of you, every single goddamn inch of you.

Every sound you made, no matter how faint, echoed in the big room now, even in competition with the obscene sound of his hips smacking into yours. You could hear each grunt and breath that fell from his lips and he could hear the same from you, every whine and moan, every whimper and—

“Please...”

Your words vibrated against his lips and released a new level of desperate need from within him.

The hand he had fighting with the fabric of your bra relinquished the fight to get it off, moving underneath to take hold of your breast, his other hand reaching back around your torso to hoist you back up into his chest. His teeth gritted together as he found a whole new rhythm, faster, faster, faster...

“Oh my g—”

“Oh fuck honey.” Everything was getting tighter, the tense coil in your stomach, his grip around your chest, every muscle in his legs and abdomen, the pull of you against him... you were clenching tighter and tighter around him, tighter and tighter.

His hips snapped even harder into you as his rhythm began to falter but his hand reached down from your stomach with a purpose. His hand was back on your pulsing bundle of nerves, but not his palm, two fingers, rubbing meticulously at first but quickly loosing all sense of control as you began to shake against him.

Biting down on your shoulder, he moved to a pace he couldn’t hope to maintain, trying to push you over the edge with his fingers, rubbing faster and faster and faster and—

“Fuck, Santi— fuck.” you shook, coming apart around him as your scream of his name cursed out into an echo, bouncing around the warehouse walls and playing into his ears on each bounce. Then your breathless whisper released just loud enough for him to hear in your smoothest voice, drenched in honey, drowning his ears in it, “Santiago...”

And that was all it took.

He was falling apart, barely managing the control to ask “can I— fuck, can I— inside?” and get an exhausted nod from you before he came apart.

His hips stuttered, knocking you into the table once, then twice in quick succession, all accompanied by whines of his own falling from his lips against the skin of your neck.

“Not bad for second place...” you mocked, still out of breath as he kept you held up against his chest.

And his laughter shook the both of you, his forehead, now damp with sweat, pressed into the side of your face. As he slipped out of you, sending you both whimpering out from the loss of contact, he kissed down your spine until he picked his own pants up.

“Let me take you home,” he kissed back up your spine until you turned around and met his lips with yours. “I promised breakfast...”

“I like breakfast.” You hummed, holding him close by his curls, forehead holding against yours.

“I like you.”

To think, you had the audacity to be mad when Bram the bartender asked you to pick up his Thursday shift.

—

tags: @mandoplease @spider-starry @pizzahutmonkeybutt @mouse230 @kindablackenedsuperhero @shakespeareanwannabe @mylifeliterally @this-cat-is-dea @woakiees

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader #oscar isaac #triple frontier #smut #oh my god i can believe i did it #i hope yall enjoy

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