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intheorangebedroom · 5 months

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Tonight you belong to me, prologue

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.

This is the beginning of what you wished had no end.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, orange besties 🧡 See series masterlist for extensive a/n blurb and especially for trigger warnings. Tread carefully. Ily 🧡 Please be gentle, I'm terrified 🫣

Word count: 5.1k

[series masterlist] * [next]

Prologue: In The Beginning

He comes to you every Friday.

He gets in after dark. He is gone before dawn.

In this shady motel on the outskirts of town, where no one will recognise your car. The curtains are yellow, and the carpet is brown. There’s a dollar store painting of the Appalachian above the bed, and the tap runs either trickling and scalding or high pressure and cold.

You hated that in particular, in the beginning. Now you don’t care. You don’t wash him off your skin anymore. Not until you’ve got no other choice.

Because he can’t mark you, you’d been firm on that point, he likes to come on your skin.

When he’d finally spoke, that very first time, he’d told you he was Frankie, but you assume it’s not his real name. Which is fine, you didn’t give him your real name either.

“Frankie” had been far subtler than you, regretful, perhaps, you like to entertain the delusion, when he’d hinted that you couldn’t leave any trace on his body.

And, in the beginning, you couldn’t imagine that it would ever matter.

You were wrong.

You were wrong about a lot of things, in the beginning.

—

Friday night. Again.

The swinging door creaks on its hinges to let in the regulars at random intervals. Mostly men, mostly middle-aged, mostly unshaven. Mostly clad in the working-class uniform of jeans, boots and t-shirt. Few of them sit around the round wooden tables. The bar isn’t large, there’s only four of those.

When they come in small parties, the men favour the two pools on the right. They’re lined with blue felt. The casing is made of plywood. No one ever plays darts, no one ever feeds the jukebox. Its electric cord lays unplugged on the floor, coiled like a sad sagging tail.

If they walk in alone, they tend to sit at the bar. Head turned toward the giant television screen hung on the wall to their left, where younger men in more colourful uniforms fight, run, kick or throw balls in all shapes and sizes. Its noise is at the forefront, the middle-aged men’s conversations a low humming sound that falls into the background.

The long and angled bar itself takes up most of the rectangular room’s space. The counter is stripped-down to the bare minimum. Stainless steel, easy to clean, practical. Four beer taps and a gambling machine and beyond the counter, a large mirror with three rows of dusty liquor bottles.

Food is served, occasionally, as evidenced by the paper napkins dispensers and the two yellow and red plastic condiment bottles on each table.

The barman runs the place on his own. You drink here every Friday evening, and you’ve never seen more than six customers at once, you included. Admittedly, you might not be very observant.

Being observant requires endurance, far more than you possess and are willing to deploy and direct towards others. You’re not selfish, not in the least. But you’re tired. You’ve been tired for years. There’s no rational explanation for your exhaustion. No honourable, awe-inspiring, valid ground. You don’t even know what wears you out. It might be sadness, disappointment, or boredom. Or all three in equal parts. All you know is that, come Friday night, your head needs the support of the gray wall behind you.

The creaking noise on your left signals the arrival of another customer, stomping in with a sure gait. Your eyes stay shut. You don’t come to the very aptly named Hole in The Wall seeking the company of other people, whoever they may be.

You come here to hide for a few hours, between the styrofoam ceiling and the dusty carpeted floor. To drink your week away in peace, but not in nerve-racking silence. Alcohol, you found out at a young age, has interesting properties: it blurs out the sharp edges of your dark thoughts in just the right amount.

Back in spring, when you stepped in here for the very first time, you looked comically out of place in your corporate attire, and you did raise quite a few eyebrows from the other patrons. Five months later, they must have learned to see past the charade of your overpriced clothes, because none of them pays you any mind anymore. It’s better than anonymity: it’s casual indifference.

You loosen your grip around your tall cocktail glass and let the condensation drip down onto the cardboard coaster. Reluctantly, you lift your weary eyelids to locate the square napkin lying somewhere on the table and dry your fingertips on it.

That’s when you see him taking a seat at the counter, directly across from your small table.

Years from now, you will still remember the precise circumstances of your first, brief encounter, even though you’re not fully paying attention yet. Nothing indicates tonight will be any different. Nothing suggests you are about to live through a pivotal moment in your existence.

Details will stand out, however. Mostly visual, surprisingly, given the dim lighting of the place. The back of his trucker hat, midnight blue plastic mesh, flattening the dark curls on his nape. The washed out denim of his shirt, worked-in, greenish in the diffuse artificial light, pulled taut across his back, as he sits facing away from you.

The square shape of his shoulders is backlit against the bar’s mirror. Your empty gaze finds the solid slope of his broad silhouette, and you let it rest there, lazily following his movements whenever he picks up his glass. It’s the same comfort you find when you rest your empty head against the hard wall. It’s aimless, inconsequential.

Later, on different kinds of Friday nights, the sight of his muscles bunching as he tugs off his shirt will bring you back to this very moment. The thought will reshape into a sharp, wistful ache deep inside your heart. What would have happened, to you, to him, if he had chosen to stop for a drink at another bar, somewhere further down the road? What if you had done the same, back in April?

For now, your mind is blessedly blank.

Does he catch your reflection in the mirror? Does he feel your gaze on the back of his head?

After a while, how long, you cannot tell, he pivots slowly on his stool, grounded and dense. Slowly, like a mountain would if a mountain came to life and decided to walk into the ocean. He doesn’t turn around completely, just enough to look at you, one of his arms still propped on top of the counter.

The right side of his face is darkened by the shadow from the brim of his hat, but you can make out the pronounced crease in his brow. His eyes are black, and unfathomable, like the ocean at night, but alight with a bright glimmer. They find yours instantly.

Something shifts inside your rib cage, something close to the heart, close to pain.

You feel exposed, entirely bare. Your breathing subsides, you cannot move, trapped in a nightmare-like stretch of time as he glares down at you, immobile, impressive, gigantic. Dark eyes boring into yours. You’re drowning in them.

You don’t want it to end.

Inevitably, he breaks eye-contact, and swivels back toward the mirror. He sits still for a few seconds, before grabbing his glass to finish his beer in long gulps.

You watch him lift his hat and brush his hair to the side with a large hand, and he’s out the door less than a minute later, without so much as a glance in your direction, a conscious choice, given the minute proportions of the place.

He leaves you sitting there, with your brow pinched and your empty drink, struggling to understand the rippling effects of his massive presence on your body and your brain.

You bring your fingers to your chest and rub them over your sternum, where the shifting sensation continues to prickle.

Neither a second drink nor a third helps dull the feeling, but a fourth one is not an option if you want to get home without a DUI.

It follows you into the darkness of the deserted parking lot, on the drive home and into the glass prison of your clinically clean apartment. It’s there when you get into bed, when you lie wide awake at 3am next to your sleeping fiancé, and it’s still there when you wake up, hungover and sore, four hours later.

Nestled between your lungs. The memory of his cold hard stare. Of his soft sad eyes.

It bypasses your most foolproof diversions of painful pleasure and pleasurable pain. Your attempts at hard work and your compulsive distractions. It robs you of your appetite, of your lucidity, of your ability to rest. It corners you in the first floor toilet of your office building on a Thursday morning, on the verge of a panic attack, until you consider calling your sister for help.

Ava would figure it out. She’d get you out of that loop in which you’ve locked yourself up, she’d know what to say. With her crude words and her unforgiving formulations, she’d admonish your silly overreaction and dismissively rebuke your daydreams over a mundane interaction, probably throwing in something about your heteronormative fantasies.

Dude, you’re all worked up because of a staring contest with a rando in a dive bar? she’d say. She’d toss the rhetorical question at your face, you can hear her as if you’ve already sweated through the conversation.

She’s often harsh but she’s always right.

And normally, you’d be seeking that out. For your little sister to bully some good sense back into your nebulous brain.

But something has shifted.

Dark curls, thick fingers, flexing shoulders. Solid arms. Cold, hard stare.

He abraded something on the surface of your skin, and you don’t think you’re capable of withstanding Ava’s sarcasm in your current state.

By the following Friday, you feel so vulnerable you consider going to another place, or not going out at all.

Only, the alternative is worse.

You walk into The Hole in The Wall convinced that your unsteady gait is betraying your apprehension, squinting to adjust to the dim light of the place. The bar is nearly empty, as always, save for a couple of bearded graying men you vaguely recall having seen here before. They all look the same to you, anyway. Another thing you hate about yourself.

The barman tells you to sit while he prepares your drink. The gesture is kind but uncustomary, and it only serves to increase your uneasy feeling.

Within an hour of waiting, because that's what you've been doing, you register with an icy trickle of shame dripping down your sides, you realise he won’t be coming.

That man’s presence here last week is the very definition of sheer happenstance. Nothing more. Nothing else. If anything, you’ve been a nuisance to him, ogling him while he was simply trying to unwind with an afterwork drink.

You’ll never see him again.

And it’s fine. You’ll move on, drift back into drifting, avoiding at all costs to process what happened to you when you met his gaze. The tree hiding the forest.

When you walk up to the counter to order your second drink, the question slips away from you.

“Can I have the same thing the man in the trucker hat had last Friday, please?”

The barman looks up at you from the tray of clean dishes he's pulling out of the dishwasher and he huffs. He’s handsome, by most standards, you notice for the very first time. Very tall, and broad, green-eyed with a three-day stubble. He’s probably a couple of years above forty. His head is shaved bald. He’s manly in a burly, albeit fatherly way.

“Oh sweetheart, d’you know how many guys with a trucker hat I see here every day?”

It’s not meant to make you feel small, his tone is gentle. It’s a straightforward, factual answer.

“What do you wanna drink?” he asks when you don’t answer. “Tired of that G&T yet? Cos I got good beer. This is a beer place, you know? Wanna try a light blonde, to start? Something stronger? An IPA?”

What do you want. You’ve been drinking gin all your life because that’s what your mother always has. Starting at 5pm in the afternoon. Would you, indeed, like to try a light blonde? Something stronger? An IPA, to start?

It’s a brand-new world unfurling in front of you, a yellow brick road paved with what-do-you-wants.

“Sure,” you nod, “I can try an IPA.”

—

The barman goes by the name of Mark. He’s also the owner of The Hole in The Wall, you learn. Bought the place two years ago, after a painful divorce. A cliché, he adds, with a charming, self-deprecating smile.

The interaction’s short and altogether not unpleasant, and the beer, to your surprise, is fresh and enjoyable. It’s much tastier, in fact, than the cheap, tepid gin you’ve been sipping so far. It gets you drunk just as fast, but this time when you leave the bar, your mind is quiet, if not at ease.

The following week, a heatwave hits the Tampa Bay. The melting asphalt sticks to your leather soles, like your sweaty clothes to your clammy skin, like your brooding mood to your dampened dreams. In a couple of days eventually, August will draw to an end, but the summer won’t end with it. It never truly does. It taunts you all year round, a sweltering reminder of how much you hate living here.

And if it wasn’t for the humidity, you’d be jogging the short distance between your car and the cool haven of the air-conditioned bar.

You push the swinging door forward, eyes shut in anticipation of the blinding darkness and you stand in the entrance for a few seconds. The familiar and comforting smell of moldy dust mixed with beer yeast greets your senses as you take in the chill air grazing your naked arms.

And then you reopen your eyes.

He’s here.

Trucker hat, blue jeans, gray T-shirt. Different clothes, same silhouette. He’s sitting at your table, his position a magnified echo of yours two weeks ago, hand loosely wrapped around his pint, seemingly asleep with his head propped against the wall.

Mark looks at you and tilts his head in his direction, wiggling an eyebrow with a silent question of “Is this the guy you were asking about?”

Your breathing’s so loud you think everyone must hear it over the droning television. Mark’s brow furrows with incomprehension at the alarm widening your eyes, and you anchor yourself to his face, walking toward him in slow motion, climbing on the first high stool you reach.

“Hey. You ok?”

You stretch your lips in a wince of a smile.

“So? What will it be today? Wanna try a Free Dive? It’s local.”

You nod in silence, but then he grabs a large glass, and you ask tentatively, “Can I have only half a pint?”

Fuck, your mouth is so dry.

Behind you, to your right, you feel more than you hear the man shift in his chair.

Mark sighs, his left hand paused on the tap handle.

“I don’t have beer glasses this small, sweetheart. Get a pint, the first one’s on me, okay?”

You reiterate your silent nod. He places the beer in front of you, and you swallow the first swigs too quickly. The back of your throat throbs with the fast flowing intake of the cold liquid, or perhaps it’s because of the frantic beating of your heart.

He’s getting up now, you can tell by the friction sound of the chair dragging on the carpeted floor, and your frightened expression turns downright pleading as you hear him close the distance between you.

He’s at your back, sliding his thick naked arm past yours to return his empty glass to the counter. His movements are slow, deliberate. You get a whiff of his scent, a masculine musk, with a faint smell of laundry detergent, it’s wholesome, safety, comfort. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Looking at you with intent.

He’s so tall you have to lift your chin to hold his gaze. Hard cold stare, soft sad eyes, it’s swirling violently inside your exhausted chest and he’s leaving again already, walking toward the door like nothing just happened.

He pulls it inward and you watch him exit the bar into the dusk light.

Did he come back for you? Are you going insane?

Sixty-seven seconds. Sixty-seven seconds is the time it takes you to decide your next move. The one that’s going to forever change your life. The one that could be everything or turn out meaningless.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Mark, sliding your handbag on the counter and you stand up to follow him outside.

The sunset sky is a pink shade of orange. Shadows are stretching long onto the asphalt, drawing a distorted world upside-down.

He’s not here anymore, you waited too fucking long. You quickly scan the parked vehicles on the other side of the road to your right, and the parking lot in front of you, but it’s empty, save for your anthracite sedan, a black truck and what you assume must be Mark’s old SUV, because you see it every week.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, pressing your fingers to your sternum.

You look to your left, where the parking ends. There’s a white utility vehicle advertising a plumbing service and a dark blue city car. Beyond them, the lot extends into a narrow stretch of gravel behind the small rectangular building. There’s a pile of junk, and the tailgate of a red truck.

Your hand drops to your side and you start walking toward it, going around the white van.

He’s there. He’s waiting for you by the front of the red truck, behind the building. His hands propped on his waist, head down, hidden under his cap.

You keep walking toward him, the sound of your shoes on the dirty ground grating your ears, but you stop short when he raises his head, fuck he looks even taller at this distance, with his elbows spread.

It’s like he senses your apprehension, or perhaps he shares it, because he folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself.

For the very first time, you can fully make out his face. Strong features, a strong curvy nose, a patchy beard peppering a sharp jaw, and plush lips. Your gaze follows the solid column of his neck down to his suprasternal point peeking above the V-collar of his worn-out t-shirt, before it’s drawn back to his eyes.

He stands there perfectly still for you to detail.

Above you, the sky has turned a rusty blue. The humidity is stifling. It’s Friday the 30th, 2019, 8.17pm.

“What do you want?”

His voice is deep, and low, barely louder than a murmur yet intense, his words full and round.

The question, however legitimate, hits you square in the solar plexus, right under your aching sternum. You fear that if you don’t speak fast enough, he’ll leave you again, alone with the memory of his soft sad eyes and his hard cold stare.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, and god, if it’s true, what are you doing here?

He huffs, and it’s the very sound of disillusion. His eyes grow dimmer, you think you’re not the one darkening them. Unfolding his arms, he removes his hat and takes a step closer, then another. You could touch him, if you reached out with your arm stretched.

He looks at you like he’s already seen how your story ends.

You could back away. You don’t.

He moves slowly, thick body thrumming with undiluted strength and unreleased tension, eyes searching yours, giving you the time to leave, should leaving be what you choose, should you turn around and run before the hanging threat breaks like dark stormy clouds and drench you soaked.

He slowly moves forward until he’s towering over you, until his chest touches your breasts, until the pilled cotton of his t-shirt catches at the satin material of your blouse. His scent floods your senses, he leans down into the curve of your neck and inhales you there, long, deep, unhurried. You hold your breath, still, in turn, for his exploration, nails digging into your palms, heart tripping.

And then, he touches you. With his lips, a feather-like caress over the soft skin under your ear. Your eyes flutter shut, your thoughts are suspended.

“This what you want?” he murmurs.

His words sink under your skin, they harden your nipples, raise goosebumps on your nape in the muggy evening heat.

“Yes.”

The cap falls onto the gravel. His hands go to your hips. Clutching you there with a rough grip and he’s tugging you closer, flush to his chest. He licks up a broad stripe along the line of your throat, pivots with you in his arms and backs you into the side of the truck, you have to grab his forearms to keep your balance.

A guttural sound catches in his throat, like a grunt he tries to hold back, for your touch, for the taste of your skin, for your pliant docility.

Your head rolls back, you’ve gone weeks without a skin on skin contact, and now this man is hunched over you, his body swallowing yours, this stranger who’s infected your dreams with his cold hard stare and his soft sad eyes, his mouth roaming the expanse of your throat, short beard prickling your skin, and the shifting sensation inside your chest drops to your core where it catches fire.

His kisses are lips, teeth and tongue, rough and scraping at you raw in all the right ways, they trail up along your neck, under your jaw, and when they find your lips, he presses you harder into him. He tastes like beer, unfamiliar, you want to get used to it.

The seams of your blouse strain when he pulls it out of your skirt with an impatient tug. His hands slither under the hem and find the naked skin of your back. His palms are strong, rugged and scalding and his fingertips calloused, they make your skin sizzle underneath their pressing, crackle like snapping wood, like fireworks at a summer county fair, like sweet candy wrapping.

You're leaking hot and sticky between your hips, responding with your entire body, opening up for him, letting his tongue in past your lips with pathetic grateful little moans, winding your arms around his shoulders, over the cording muscles of his back, musky sweat dampening his t-shirt. The thick, solid shape of him, that got etched behind your eyelids.

You’re a want and a need and an empty flutter, entangled with him, whoever he may be, his tongue swirling inside your mouth, the scrape of his teeth on your lower lip, his splayed hands covering your back, his knee spreading your legs open.

He’s voracious, harsh in his own need, snatching from you what you’re already willing to give, angling your head with a sharp pull on your hair to deepen his kiss, grunting his approval when you moan at the sting.

Arousal keeps dripping down your fold where his thigh prods firm and brawny against the black material of your skirt that hinders the pressure.

He growls, frustration rumbling low and menacing inside his throat. He grabs your ass and squeezes, thick middle finger pushing against the fabric of your clothes into the cleft between your cheeks and you jolt, leaping forward further into him. His belt buckle bites into the soft flesh of your belly, right where you're burning empty and wanting and shameless for him. You feel him hot and hard against your hip, and he tightens his hold, cages you within him.

He’s big all over, larger than life proportions, you surrender to the fact with your lust-drunk mind, from the height of his frame to the girth of his sex, from his grip on your senses to the sorrow in his eyes.

It blooms inside you like pain, blossoms of mahogany red spreading along your limbs in relentless waves, the power he already wields over you and you don’t even know his name.

You buck between his arms, a first and very last attempt at freeing yourself, unconvincing with the scrap of your fingernails along the pebbled skin of his neck, and you press back into him again, squirming against his throbbing length, offering him some friction.

He pulls out all of sudden, breaking the kiss, and you're left panting, ankles swaying, you’d drop to the gravel without the support of the truck, still sun-warm in the early evening, yet colder than his feverish body.

He shakes his head with a silent no, his shoulders heaving, a wordless warning hissed through his clenched bared teeth. The simmering anger under the surface only makes you want him more, the unyielding restraint shining dark in his eyes.

But it’s over. You know it. He gave you this, and took it back. With shaky hands, you smooth down the wrinkles of your blouse where he’s bunched it in his fists. You lick his taste off your trembling lip. You will not cry.

He shakes his head again, you watch him through welling tears, confused, eyes flickering between his.

Behind him, the city car’s engine revs up to a start, aggressive headlights backlighting him. His throat bobs up and down in chiaroscuro as he swallows hard. You know what you must look like in the crude white light. Supplicant, dependent, awaiting. Disheveled by his hand. Tires grate on the gravel as the car reverses away from you into the night, and with it the headlights, leaving you standing in the brown city night, urban semi darkness, and you see him shut his eyes.

He smiles, a puzzling, sorrowful lift of his plush lips, and a new sort of ache washes over you. You raise forward on your tiptoes to peck a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. His entire frame quivers for you. A muscle clenches in his jaw, the deepening crease in his brow redefines his traits in shadows.

He leans into you, like he wants you but he doesn’t want to want you, like he’s giving in but not entirely, because giving in would be the end of him, of you.

The flat of his palm to the swell of your breast, and he kneads your soft flesh, slowly at first, growing urgent. The back of your head hits the truck’s window when he pinches your nipple, hard, with two fingers, and you bite down a moan.

He’s engulfing you again, lips latched around your other nipple, tongue swirling and licking through your blouse and your thin bra and you hold on to him, you cling to his frame when he bunches up your skirt around your waist, leather boot nudging your foot to the side, cock throbbing on your hip, slick dripping down your walls.

“Stop me,” his mouth brushes the shell of your ear. It’s not a dare, it’s not a plea, it’s your last chance to back down before the free fall.

Your pulse stutters, you arch into him without hesitation, but he pins you back against the truck with his chest, cupping you through your underwear and he curses into your neck at the sticky leaking mess he finds there.

Your naked leg hitches up rigid and tense against his leg, curled fingers, curled toes, and he hooks his index into the cotton of your panties.

A brief stroke of his knuckles into the soft, smooth dip between your sex and your inner thigh, unexpectedly tender, before he parts your soaked lips with his two middle fingers, coating them in your sticky slick desire, and he sinks them inside your empty cunt.

You crumble around the intrusion, forehead hitting his collarbone, slack-mouthed, a short exhale of a silent “oh.” He brings his left hand to the crown of your head and cradles you there, while his fingers pump in and out of your heat fast and rough. His thumb glides through your folds and starts rubbing at your clit, deft and precise, and you shudder between his arms, you slump into his hold.

He keeps stroking your hair, gentle soothing sounds murmured into your ear as he fucks you raw with his hand, attuned to your moans and your every reaction, gauging what you can take before his fingers curl deeper inside your cunt, merciless, thumb pressing tight circles on your bud at an increasing pace.

Your breathing comes in ragged and short while his intensifies. It’s pouring into your ear hot and overwhelming and you’re dissolving. Sweat beading at your temples, heat raising from his exerted muscles.

You focus on the sensation of his flexing muscles under your clawing hands to stave off your building orgasm, it’s growing bright and blinding, searing and violent but it’s inevitable, and soon, too soon, your release flows hot and sticky into his hand. Your whines resound inside his chest but he keeps going, low husks of shhh, come on now, that’s it, until your trapped body trashes with the overstimulation.

It’s like he can’t let go, pressing his nose heavily to the side of your face, and you struggle to resurface, blood thrumming in your veins, his angry cock pulsating against your hip.

You let out a dry sob when he slides out of you and the rubber band of your panties slaps your sensitive skin. You don’t miss the flat drag of his tongue licking your taste off his palm, you furrow your fingers deeper into his arm with a short clench of your eyes.

“Fuck,” your hear him quietly groan, and his fingers disappear into his mouth.

You want to stay tucked up against him, curled up into his hold. You could live the rest of your life there, you think, between his hands and his scent, between his chest and his truck.

You lock your ankles and your knees, hoping they will not fail you and you stand, pushing away from him and into the side of the truck. You readjust your skirt, slide it down, palm it smooth. Brush the damp hair from your forehead with the back of your trembling hand.

In your peripheral, he’s leaning down, picking up his hat from the ground and combing his fingers through his hair before he sets the cap back on his head.

You look up dazed and heavy-lidded and you brace yourself before meeting his gaze, cold hard stare, soft sad eyes, and he says,

“I’m Frankie.”

****

Bonus (having déjà vu? that's normal 😝 Gonna use this gif at the end of every first chapter I manage to yank out of my crazy in love brain):

Taglist (thank you 🧡 if you don't wish to be tagged anymore, just drop me a DM 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @nicolethered @littleone65 @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @mylostloversbookmarks @its-nebuleuse @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @all-the-way-down-here

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romanarose · 27 days

Text

Hungry Hearts

Santiago Garcia x fem!reader x William Miller

Masterlist : Tripe Frontier Masterist

Summary: You and Santi invite Will into your marital bed.

Warnings: PIV sex, blowjobs, oral, anal, anal fingering, ass to mouth, dom!Santi dom!Will, double penetration, aftercare <3

A/N: This is a commission for my dear @charethcutestory02 !!! Im so sorry it took 5ever bc writers block! But theres 900 extra words bc I was possesed halfway through lmfaoooo.

A/N 2: Can take place in the Awakening Universe. This is TF orgy series with FIshBen, IronPope, and reader getting railed by all 4 guys. Can take place after Caffeine (the ironpope chapter). IM TRYING O GET THE LAST CHAPTER OUT OKAY ITS HARD WRITNG 5 BODIES AND THEY ARE ALL BISEXUAL

Everything was a blur at this point, nothing but pleasure between your legs.

Santiago and Will were knelt at the end of the bed, your legs spread and slung over either of their shoulders as they licked into you, tongues intertwining, sloppy and wet. The focus was on you, bringing you to orgasm again and again until you were sobbing, but the pair never missed an opportunity to kiss each other if they could help it. Right now, Will was sucking your pussy lips and clit, stimulating you while Santi tongue-fucked your asshole. Everything was building, on the verge of another orgasm, the third of the night so far just on their mouths and fingers.

“Wi- Will… WILL!” You entangle your fingers in his hair, tugging on the soft blonde tufts, pulling him closer into you as your orgasm crested, sweat prickling at your hairline as your breathing becomes ragged. Their mouths and fingers don’t stop, Santi’s digits squeeze deeply into the flesh of your thighs. It all stills over, cuming on their face and riding out your orgasm by bucking against them.

You let go of Will’s hair, falling back onto the bed with a final sigh, feeling blissed out, but as the orgasm faded away you rub your legs together.

You can hear Santiago chuckle. “I think your wife is still feeling awfully needy, Will…” He caresses your thigh, kissing your stomach as he makes his way around your body.

Santi appears from between your legs, popping his head up and over the bed with a big dopey smile on his face that glistened with your slick.

“Don’t I know it, little minx is just insatiable.” Santi kissed your puffy, wet pussy, making your sensitive body shudder. “That’s why you’re here, I can’t keep her satisfied all by myself.”

Well, that wasn’t true. You were constantly horny, but Santi did a great job of satisfying you. Will was here because you were a whore and Santi’s wanted to fuck his friend for 2 decades. Santiago wouldn’t be getting filled tonight, no, he just wanted to explore, and explore he is.

Will’s body laid sculpted next to you, built like a Greek god, beautiful and strong. He reminded you of Apollo. He pulled you close, kissing you tenderly as Santiago stood up, taking his cock in his fist tapping the tip of it on your clit.

“Keep kissing her, Will…” Santiago spoke, sliding the tip up and down your slick folds. “Keep touching my wife’s pretty body for me…”

You whimper into Will’s mouth, relishing his taste, his sweet kisses, his masculine presence. You could still taste your cum when you swiped over his lips.

Santiago was your husband, your rock, your best friend, your everything. Nothing could compare to what you felt for him, and the way he treated you was remarkable. Never in your life had you met someone who fucked you so thuroughly and held you so gently. He was dominant, but not in the way that he controlled you. Rather, it was how he controlled things for you.

Santi orders your food not because he was making choices on what or how much you should eat, but that he knew what you liked.

Santi holds the door, not because you can’t, but that he doesn’t want you to bother.

When Santi walks on a sidewalk with him, he doesn’t walk on the side closest to the road it’s not because he doesn’t think you can handle yourself, it’s because he values your safety above his.

And when he thrusts into you like he is now, when he slams his cock inside you for the first time today, when he pounds you relentlessly, hips slamming so hard you wake up bruised, it’s not because he’s angry or wants to hurt you. It’s because he knows you can take it. It’s because he knows you want it.

“S-Santi…” You pant, hand desperately trying to find purchase, stability, something to hold onto, landing on Will’s sticky back. As Santiago fucked you, Will sucked and pawed at your tits. Will was a tit man, through and through. Ever the giver, he played with your clit, rubbing you in time to Santiago’s tempo and making each thrust a burst of delight.

“Come for me, princess. Come on your handsome husband’s cock…” Will took a nipple in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. Hol y fuck, his mouth.

“I– I dunno if I can …” you pant, breathless and sweaty. “I’ve cum so many times…”

“Aht, aht, aht,” Santiago slaps your thigh hard enough to make you yelp. “Little slut rubbing her legs together, begging to get fill, now she can’t take it? Mm mm mm… what are we gonna do with her, Will?” He muses.

Will let go of your breast, giving one more lick over the hardened peak. “I think, since she wants cock so much, we should give her more…”

“You want that, baby?” Santiago asks, a little bit mocking but also double checking if you were still okay being shared. “Wanna get your tight little holes stuffed?”

“Yes” You choke out a sob. “Yes, pleasepleaseplease-” You begging is cut off, Will grabbing your face and pulling you into a searing kiss.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, princess.”

Santi pulls out of you, and before you have a chance to say anything, Will’s strong arm wraps around you, pulling you with him as he rolls onto his back. Suddenly you were lying on top of Will's broad, firm body. He was all muscle, but to you it felt like home.

Will notched himself at your entrance, his cock thick and long and intimidating. “Take my cock, baby. You’re such a slut for it, you take it.”

Whimpering, tears of pleasure burning behind your eyes, you sink yourself down on him, the stretch incredible even after Santi. Apparently, you were taking too long. Santi kneels behind you, hands on your hips, pulling you down but still gentle.

“Theeeeere you go, pretty girl… Just like that… take his dick inside you… so good… so good.”

Will moans in your ear, echoing Santi. “So good…”

One of Santi’s hands moved from your hip to Will’s thigh, caressing the man, giving him a squeeze. “Take his dick, baby… there you go, oooh so good.”

With Will fully stuffed inside you, you didn’t think it was possible to feel more full, until Santi put two fingers inside your ass.

“Ooooh…” You sigh out, going nearly limp on Will’s body. Santi had scissored you open pretty well while he and Will were going down on you, and you knew he was going to put his dick in your ass but was just making sure you were open and wet enough with lube. Still, you were growing impatient. You needed to be fucked, now.

“Santi…” You cry. “Please, I can take it…” But Santiago gives you a light swat.

“Behave, baby.”

But you didn’t want to. You wanted to be fucked, you wanted to be filled, you wanted to be so full of dick you couldn’t see straight. You wanted to be ravaged until you passed out. So you begin moving your body up and down Will’s dick.

SMACK!

Santi’s hand cracks down on your ass, making you cry in pain.

Will clapped both of his hands over your ass, stinging even more. “I think he told you to behave, princess? Didn’t he?” His voice was low and deep in your ear, dripping like honey. “You need to behave.” Will grips your hips, keeping you still.

Leaning over, Santi licked a stripe from your pussy to your asshole. “I think she’s ready, Ironhead.”

You were, oh god you were… Santiago slides inside your asshole with ease, the lube and his thorough work opening you up making it not painful. It was, however, a stretch, stuffing you full of big cocks in both holes. All that existed was Santi or Will, nothing more, nothing less. Santi began slowly, groaning out loud as he fucked into your tight hole, stretching you over and over again as he folded over your body. You cling to Will for stability, Santi sandwiching you between your husband and your lover as they fucked inside you.

“So… fucking… tight…” Santi grunted in your ear between thrusts, his breath hot against your burning skin as he slap, slap, slapped his hips against yours. Will was slow and steady, a contrast to the quick and erratic of Santiago, a perfect semblance of their individual natures. Santi’s chest, bare and soft, pressed against your back, his face over your shoulder and kissing your cheek as Will explored your mouth. Lips and skin and mouths and spit blurred together, and Santi and Will’s mouths intertwined. For 20 years they longed for each other, desired each other's taste and feel but could never explore.

You were loved, you were adored, and you were in ecstasy watching your husband kiss his friend. Likewise, you’d secretly desired Will. Nothing could lessen your love for Santi, nothing in the entire world could do that, but Santi wasn’t the jealous sort. He liked having the hot wife. The sexual tension and desire between the three of you had been palpable, bursting in the bedroom together when it all culminated, unable to be held back anymore. There was no one Santi trusted with you more than Will, and no one you trusted more with Santi. His safety was your priority too.

“Santi… love you…” You whimper and whine, reaching back to find his hand. He gave you a squeeze, reassuring you.

“Such a good girl, bebita…” Santi licks a strip up your neck.

Will locks eyes with Santiago, reaching up to grab his face and turn him to himself. “Can you feel me, Pope?” Will thrusts with extra power to deliver his point home. “Can you feel my cock stretching your wife open?” Only a thin layer of skin separated them, and they could feel each other move inside you. You shutter at the thought, the idea that their cocks were stimulating each other they did you.

Santi kisses your sweaty face, gently rubbing your shoulder so you never feel forgotten. His quiet reassurance as he spoke to his captain.

“I can feel every goddamn vein in your dick” Thrust. “I can feel every time your cock kisses her womb” Thrust. “And I can fucking smell ho wet this sweet little whore is for us.”

Will moans into Santi’s mouth, and you can feel him throb inside you and fuck, you’re just about ready to cum when-

“Up.” Will smacks Santi’s ass and yours, making both of you roll off him. Santi never lets up touching you, his hands groping your tits, stomach, ass, thighs, all while his hungry fights to have any part of you inside it. Will chuckles at the sight. “Seems like your husband has a bit of an oral fixation” Did he ever. “I think we can help that. You ready to listen, princess?”

You were, for Will, you’d be so good, so fucking good. “Y-yeah, I will-”

Kneeling at the bed, he stroked his cock, slow and tantalizing. “Say, ‘yes captain’”

As Santi suckles on your breast, rubbing circles around your clit, you watch Will jack off, powerful and imposing before you. Your eyes roll back into your head, cumming hard, your cunt pulsing around nothing but the ghost of dicks past. You moan your reply, “Yes… captain…”

When you come down from your high, you’re manhandled into place, Santi moving you per Will’s instructions towards the edge on the bed, on your stomach. Santi re-entered you from behind, his warm body covering you when you shiver. Will stood in front of you both touching himself. He was incredible to look at, both you and Santi’s eyes on him despite Santi’s mouth on your neck.

6’2, firm, toned muscles but nothing outrageous. Blue eyes that were out of this world, bluer than the ocean and short, golden hair. His physical appearance was one thing, his kind hearted and caring nature was another, but christ, it’s the way he carried himself. Confident, self-assured, put together, pride in his appearance, his job, his service. Will didn’t stutter or second guess himself, he didn’t feel the need to put anyone down or own a giant, jacked-up, loud ass pick-up truck to make a point. Will was the first of the 5 of them to seek therapy after an ill-fated grocery store trip lead to his fiance walking out. He recognized he was in the wrong and got help, never wanting to put another woman he loved in the situation of having to jump on his back to stop him from killing someone. He was a better man for it, well-adjusted. His patience, his confidence, his big heart and bigger dick made him an excellent lover.

The fact he was hot as hell was a bonus.

Will fucked your mouth, careful not to hurt you but knowing what you can take, he claimed you while Santi fucked fuck behind. This position had Santi getting so fucking deep in your cunt, you didn’t know which way was up. Will caught Santi staring.

“You want a turn, Pope?”

“Fuck yes”

It was difficult from your angle to watch what was happening but there was no way you were missing this, so you strained your neck. Santiago took him like a gay pornstar, Will’s cock sliding down his throat like it was nothing at all. He looked magnificent. Santi next stopped fucking your, throating Will’s throbbing member like he was made for it. Occasionally he gagged, the sound making your pussy clench around him. When he realized how much you like the sound, he didn’t hold back, gagging and moaning and drooling until his spit was dripping onto you.

Will pulled out and thrust back into you, grabbing you hair and fucking your throat like a pussy.

“Fuck yeah, princess, choke on my cock, bet your husband can feel every time you gag.”

Santi confirmed this. “Little pussy clamps down so hard.”

Will alternated between yours and Santi’s mouths. When it was you, he throat fucked you, Santi liking to wrap a hand around your throat, squeezing lightly. It was dominance, it was power, it was showing your place. Your place was being loved by them. When he slid inside Santi, there was the clear reality that yes, Will was in charge, but it was far more mutual. Two men who had saved each other’s lives countless times now bringing each other sexual pleasure, now pleasuring a beautiful woman. It was how it was always meant to be.

Santi is almost there, you can always tell, his heavy balls slapping against you drawing up, his thrusts more erratic and unmeasured. You were going to cum too, and you wanted Will to cum with you both. You wanted it all together.

So when Will left your mouth with a ‘pop’ and fucked into Santi, you twist yourself around to suck his balls. Santi takes the lead on sucking dick so Will didn’t have to move, making it easier for you.

“Oh fuck yeah, princess…. FUCK! You both feel so goddamn good, SHIT!” He bellows about you, Santi’s cock fucking deep inside your body. “Suck my fucking cock and balls, yeah, just like that, gonna cum, gonna fuck’n come in your mouth Santi. You want that? You wanna go run to Frankie and tell him how you swallowed my cum while you filled up your wife?”

Santi nodded, both him and you delirious at the nearing orgasm. He squeezed your throat, fucking you harder and hard as your combined spit droolled all over your wet faces. You cum one final orgasm, mouth letting god of Will’s pulsing balls as he cums in Santi’s throat, collapsing weakly onto the bed. Will growls with his release, fucking him cum into Santi as he sputtering, coughing up the salty white as Will praises you both. Santi cums last, a loud moan filling the now quieting room, wailing out his final release and pounding into you, pressing your face down into the bed. Santi’s last sounds almost echo in the room, hanging there as you lay exhausted on the bed. Fuck, you were satisfied.

Santi’s weight was heavy on you like a weighted blanket, and you grumbled when he got off with a content sigh, falling on his back laughing. It was always a stellar fuck if Santi was laughing.

You mumble something, but don’t even make a real attempt at a request. You’re too tired to even move your dry, stretched lips.

“What’s that, princess?” Will asks, brushing hair out of your face.

Thankfully, Santi responds for you. “The vaseline on the bedside table. Her lips get dry.”

“Ah.” Will grabs up, rubbing a generous amount of your lips as Santi gets up. They both clean you up and help dress your limp body on warm pjs. You have Santi lay down on his stomach, and ask Will to please rub the magnesium oil on his neck and upper back where his spinal scar is. Santi sometimes gets sore after very enthusiastic sessions, while you lay beside your husband, cuddling him. You pull Will in between you both and scratch and massage his scalp, Santi thanking him for helping make this happen.

You all take care of each other.

******************

guys im starting to phasing out my taglist soon! if youre a regular reblogger/commenter but its hard to tag like 30 people but most dont interact which is totally okay! but follow @romana-updates

Love you all so much!!! Im on a largly a hiatus until schools over. Im working on rooms on fire and if you wanna be wild as well as a few small projects with friends but for now thats about it! lots of papers to write. Might have a few one shots out here and there

hugs and kisses to all!

tagging a few people who might be interested in some ironpope lov'n so if you arent, dont worry about it <3

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @k-ra @ivystoryweaver @steven-grants-world @ahookedheroespureheart @littlenosoul @mikaelak @stevenandmarcslove @scarletthefierce @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @missdictatorme @faretheeoscar @boysddontcry @harriedandharassed @pedge-page @vickie5446 @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring @miraclesabound @reggiesfilthylittlesecret @velocibee @writefightandflightclub @for-a-longlongtime @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

#triple frontier #santiago garcia #william miller #santiago garcia x reader #fem reader #william miller x reader #will miller x reader #ironpope #santiago pope garcia #william ironhead miller #santiago garcia smut #will miller smut #william miller smut #triple frontier smut #ironpope smut

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spacecowboyhotch · 1 year

Text

Over a Ledge

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

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santi garcia x reader #santiago garcia x fem!reader #santi garcia x fem!reader #santiago garcia fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #arson writes randos

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avastrasposts · 8 months

Text

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 30

We left Frankie in a pretty bad state at the end of the last chapter and now we need to get through that as his girl and the guys begin to really worry about where his actions are leading him. And Joel steps in of course, but perhaps not in the best way.

I just want to add too, that this chapter included a conversation that has been a long time coming but it was very hard to write since neither man wants to talk about it and I can just hope I did them both justice.

I just want to add too, since some people are nervous about it; I LOVE hearing your thoughts and comments on what I write, even if the chapter is months and months old! It's my favourite thing about posting here and on Ao3, hearing your thoughts as you read through the fic, so please, share with me!

Series Master List

Chapter 31 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 7.7k

You wake with a start, your body jerking you awake with panicked breaths. The bedroom is light, the window faces south and a weak sun is glinting through the closed curtain which means you slept far longer than usual, the sun rises late in the Massachusetts winter months. You rush to push back the comforter and hurry out into the living room. The blanket is pushed back on the couch and Frankie is not there, and not in the kitchen either. As you turn to the bathroom you see what’s missing, his boots, his jacket and backpack.

“Fuck!” you groan loudly and run back to the bedroom, grabbing your clothes from last night and rushing to put them on. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You feel an urgent need to get to Frankie, to talk to him. It’s not like him to leave, certainly not in the middle of an argument, and never, ever, has he left in the morning without saying anything to you. Something is not right, it feels like the two of you have crossed a line that you need to get you both back behind.

You tie your boots and shrug your winter coat on, your first stop is Pope’s place. You hammer on his door and he throws it open, his face falling when he sees your expression.

“Frankie came home drunk last night and now he’s left again, I don’t know where he is!” you blurt out as Pope lets you into his apartment.

“Slow down, hermana,” he says, grabbing hold of your shoulders, steadying you, “From the beginning.”

“Frankie and I got into an argument about what he did when he was on that run with Will, he couldn’t understand why I thought he was too violent,” you say, trying to calm yourself, but your hands are shaking and Pope grabs them, holding them together between his own. “Then Joel came by, right in the middle of it, something about planning a new run, and Frankie just left with him, saying he needed to think. And then he came back late last night , really drunk and passed out on the couch, and now he’s gone! He never leaves without saying goodbye and I don’t know where he is!” Your voice breaks on the last word and Pope lets go of your hands, bending down to grab his boots.

“We’ll go find him, we’ll go to Benny’s first, Tommy said something yesterday about meeting there.” He looks up at you while he laces his boots, “Don’t worry, hermana, it’s early still, he can’t have gone that far.”

…

“Tell me again what this FEDRA guy told you about the raiders?” Benny asks Joel as they duck under a broken piece of the highway and head into an old sewage tunnel.

“A small FEDRA patrol saw a bunch of them down in Dorchester, if we take them out, we get to keep the supplies,” Joel replies, stepping around a dead rat.

“And you trust this guy?”

“Yeah, he owes me a favor, I saved his ass a couple of times. And he’s given me tips before, they’ve always been solid, nothing this big though.”

“Alright, as long as you think it’s a legit tip,” Benny nods and falls back a bit, Frankie’s right behind him, Tommy taking up the rear.

“You ok, Fish? You look a bit pale,” Benny says, his voice lower for the benefit of his friend.

“Yeah, just slept like shit, and we had a fucking early wake up call,” Frankie grumbles, pulling the bill of his cap down lower over his eyes.

“Tell me about it,” Benny sighs, “Eve just woke up to say goodbye, then she went right back to sleep. Wish I could’ve stayed in bed with her.”

“Mmhm, same,” Frankie mutters, pausing as they come to the end of the tunnel.

“Ok, on your toes now, we've got to go out in the open here,” Joel says, waving the other three men forwards.

…

The trek down to Dorchester is smooth, and it doesn’t take long for them to find the raiders' small camp. They’ve set up on the top floor of an office building and Benny and Frankie silently take out the two guards at the bottom of the stairs. It gets messy when they reach the top and they have to open fire but Joel tosses in a homemade smoke bomb and after that they can just pick off the raiders as they come stumbling out.

They pick through the raider’s supplies and fill their packs, it’s a pretty good haul and Benny starts searching for any food they might’ve hidden, coming across a door that’s been blocked off with a filing cabinet.

“Hey, Catfish! Give me a hand with this!” he calls to Frankie, “Cover me in case they’ve locked a fucking infected in here or something.”

Frankie stands a few feet from the door with his rifle raised as Benny puts his shoulder to the filing cabinet and pushes it out of the way. The door swings open and Benny jumps out of the way.

“Oh fuck, shit! Man, that’s foul!”

The dead boy of a young woman falls out across the doorway, her body must’ve been propped against the door, and judging by the stench, she’s been dead a while. The body of another young woman is curled up on a dirty mattress, she’s less far gone, her emaciated features still clear. Both women are naked and Benny swallows hard and glances back at Frankie as they both realize why the women were locked up.

“We should’ve killed those fucking raiders slower,” Frankie growls, turning away from the room and Benny follows him.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here and back to the QZ”.

Back down at street level again Joel takes the lead and moves down the way they came, covering a couple of blocks before Benny suddenly signals for everyone to halt.

“Heads up, I hear a car,” he calls in a low voice to the others.

“More raiders,” Joel says, “C’mon, we’ll ambush them, this is the only cleared street.” He looks around the block they’re on and points to cars that have been pushed aside on either side of the street. “Frankie, Benny, hide behind either car, cover me. Tommy, get behind me. I’ll make them stop, usual way should work, if not, just shoot ‘em.”

“Joel, you sure?” Benny interrupts, “How do we know they’re raiders? We should hang back and observe, see if they go for the base we cleared.”

“No, then we just have to clear them out again and this time they’ll be on their guard,” Joel scowls, “Get in position!”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Benny shakes his head, looking over at Frankie who’s already moved into cover, “Fish? You ok with this?”

“Joel’s right, it’s probably the same group of raiders, we need to take them out.”

“Get in position, Benjamin, or stay the fuck out of our way, they’re almost here,” Joel points to the other car, staring at Benny. The younger man takes a deep breath, glancing over at Frankie again who motions with his head to get behind the car.

“Fuck!” Benny growls and grips his rifle, ducking behind cover with an angry scowl.

Joel quickly gets into position as the rumbling engine comes closer, keeping an eye out for the car. As it gets closer Benny sees it, it’s a small beat up sedan with several bullet holes in the sides. He glances over at Frankie and gives him a hand signal, indicating three people inside. Frankie nods and passes on the message to Tommy just as the car drives down the block they’re on. Ahead of him, Benny suddenly hears Joel give up a loud shout, stumbling out of the alley into the path of the car, his hand clutching his side, the other raised to the driver.

The others watch, guns ready and hidden out of sight, as the car barrells towards Joel, who’s staggering across the road. Suddenly the driver slams the brakes and the car skids to a halt in front of Joel. From his hiding place Benny sees the driver open the door and step up on the instep, aiming a gun at Joel.

“Hey, I-I need help, p-please,” Joel stutters, holding up the hand that’s not holding his side, where he’s conveniently hidden his handgun.

“What’s wrong with you?” the driver calls as Joel stumbles closer, the man is still half hidden behind the door and Joel’s trying to get around to his side so he half falls to the side, taking several stuttering steps sideways.

“You infected?” the driver says, following Joel with his gun, “Can’t help you then I’m afraid.”

“R-raiders,” Joel coughs, “ran into a whole bunch.”

Benny looks over at Frankie, he’s got a clear shot at the driver and he’s aiming at him. Benny signals at him to hold his fire, these guys don’t sound like raiders, but Frankie’s shaking his head, squeezing his rifle as the man continues to keep his gun on Joel.

“Be careful, Dan!” a man in the car suddenly calls and Joel straightens up, pulling his gun, aiming at the man. A shot rings out and the driver slumps forward, a clean shot though his head.

“God dammit, Frankie!” Benny yells, lifting his own rifle as the man in the car dives for the fallen man’s gun. Joel fires on him but misses and the man takes off running. On his right Ben hears Tommy open fire on the third person in the car as Joel yells.

“Shoot his leg, Frankie, take him down alive!” The man is running as fast as he can down the block but two shots ring out and he yells, tumbling to the ground as blood bursts from his thigh.

“Secure him, Benny,” Frankie yells and advances on the car, rifle raised. Benny keeps his gun on the fallen man and moves up to him, he’s splayed on his back, gripping his thigh, whimpering.

“Oh fuck, please, please don’t kill me!” he says, trying to crawl backwards away from Benny.

“Just stay still, I’m not gonna hurt you unless you give me a reason,” Benny says, keeping his distance as he glances back at the car. Frankie’s jogging towards him and behind him, Joel steps into the car and a woman screams.

“No, no, don’t hurt her! She’s my sister!” the man on the ground shouts and Benny turns his head back to him as Frankie joins him.

“What’s going on, Fish?” he says in a voice low enough for the man not to hear.

“The third passenger is a woman, Joel’s questioning her about who they are and where they’re going.”

“Fish! These guys are obviously not raiders, what the fuck are we doing?” Benny glances back at the car as another high pitched scream comes from the woman and the man on the ground shouts.

“Get off her you fucking prick! I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

Frankie raises his rifle and aims at the man, “Easy there, he’s just questioning her.”

“What the fuck, Frankie, this is not how we treat civilians!”

“What fucking civilians? We can’t trust anyone, Benny, you saw what the raiders did to those two women!” Frankie growls.

“Yeah, but these guys are barely armed!” Benny nudges the dropped gun on the ground with his boot, badly maintained and rusty.

“And how the fuck were we supposed to know that?” Frankie asks, his rifle still trained on the bleeding man who’s whimpering, clutching his leg and looking towards the car.

“Maybe we don’t attack just anyone who drives past!” Benny hisses at Frankie, his eyebrows drawn tight with anger and frustration. “This is so fucked up, Fish!”

“Is he still alive?” Joel barks as he walks over, leaving Tommy to watch over the woman in the car.

“Yeah, but he’s bleeding, we need to get a tourniquet on that leg soon,” Benny replies, “Joel, what the fuck are we doing here? These guys are not raiders.”

Joel doesn’t reply, instead he walks up to the man on the ground and kneels down, Frankie’s gun is still trained on him, but Benny has let his drop, pointing it at the ground instead.

“You sister is it?” he asks of the man, putting his hand over the gunshot wound on the thigh.

The man nods, looking petrified under Joel’s hard stare.He yelps loudly when Joel’s hand squeezes the injured area, digging his fingers in.

“Your sister told me where you came from, and where you’re going. You’d better tell me the same thing she did, or I’m telling my guy over there to shoot her knee off, you understand?” Joel’s voice is hard and low, slowly squeezing the man’s leg tighter.

“Worcester!” the younger man blurts out, “We came from Worcester, and we’re heading for the Boston QZ but we got attacked and got lost. Please don’t hurt her, she’s my only family!”

“Have you got any supplies apart from what’s in the car?”

“No, no, I s-swear, we’ve got n-nothing!” the man stutters, groaning under the pain of Joel’s hand digging into his injured leg, “Please, we’ve got nothing!”

“Good boy,” Joel growls, easing off the man's leg and standing up.

He comes back to Benny and Frankie, wiping his hand on his trouser leg, “They both say the same thing. I say we leave ‘em and take the car, we can trade for it or stash outside the wall, might come in handy sometime.”

“Fuck, Joel, we need to take them with us, we can’t leave them out here,” Benny says and looks to Frankie for support but he just gives a hesitant shrug.

“I don’t know Benny, we can’t trust them,” he says.

“What fucking choice do we have? Leave them injured out here with no guns?” Benny snarls back at him.

“They’re not our responsibility!” Joel snaps, “Let’s fucking- “

All three men freeze as the first tell tale sounds echo between the buildings, the snarling shrieks of dozens of infected reaching them.

“Runners! Runners!” Tommy yells from the car, “Come on, we need to fucking go!” He rushes to the driver’s side of the car, jumping in and the woman sees her chance, bolting from the car and running for the alley.

“Leave her, just leave her!” Joel yells as he grabs Frankie and starts running towards the car, “Just start the car, Tommy!”

“Benny, no! Leave him!” Frankie shouts as he sees Benny moving towards the injured man on the ground. “Fucking leave him!”

“Please, please…just kill me” the man begs, looking back over his shoulder and Benny follows his gaze.

“Fuck!” he gasps, frozen to the spot for a second before he raises his gun and fires, the man slumping onto the asphalt. Benny spins around and starts running after Frankie, the horde of infected barrelling down the street screeching loudly.

“Benny! I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Frankie yells, “Get in the car!”

Tommy’s already got the car moving as Benny catches up, grabbing hold of Frankie’s arm and getting pulled into the back seat.

“Floor it, Tommy!” Joel shouts, looking back over his shoulder, out the back window.

…

Thank fuck Tommy’s a good driver, he speeds through the streets, leaving the horde far behind. He only slows down once they enter the area around the QZ and turns off onto a narrow street that Joel directs him to.

“Here, down there, park between those two cars and we’ll throw some trash on it.”

The four men quickly make the car look unusable and head towards the QZ, splitting up as they get inside, stepping out into a quiet alley a few blocks from the wall..

“Alright, good run, except for the fucking infected,” Joel says, clapping Frankie on the back, “I’ll see you guys at the bar in a couple of days.”

Frankie nods and Benny throw the brothers a two fingered salute as they leave.

“Hey Fish, wait up, we need to talk,” Benny says as Frankie turns to leave too.

“If you’re gonna yell at me for how we handled the people in the car, fucking save it, I already got an earful from Will after our last run,” Frankie says, his shoulders hunched and eyebrows pulled tight, “I don’t need another lecture on how we’re using army tactics on civilians.”

“Frankie, man, c’mon, you’ve got to admit, that was pretty fucking bad? We should’ve just observed them, not fucking attacked,” Benny rubs his hand over his face, “I mean, why the fuck did Joel even pull that stunt with forcing them to stop? And why did you open fire? I’ve never seen you jump the gun like that, Fish.”

“The guy in the car, I thought he was about to pull a gun on Joel, so I shot first.”

“And the interrogation technique? You taught him that?”

“So what? We do what we need to do to survive.”

Benny shakes his head, “That was not about survival, I don’t know what the fuck that was!”

“Just fucking leave it, Benny! Ok?” Frankie snaps, scowling at his friend, “I’ll see you later, I need to get something done.” He shoulders his backpack and heads off in the opposite direction of the apartment.

“Fish, c’mon!” Benny calls after him, but Frankie just gives a dismissive wave of his hand without turning his head as he rounds the corner.

“Fuck…” Benny mutters and stalks off towards the radio office, he needs to see you.

…

It feels like deja vu when you find Benny outside the building where Sean lives and has the radio office.

“I’ve got to talk to you about Frankie,” he says and you feel like your heart stops, you’d been trying to find Frankie all morning, until you had to go to the radio office. Pope promised he’d keep looking, checking back at the apartment during the afternoon.

“Did something happen to him? Pope and I have been looking for him all day!” you say, grabbing hold of Benny’s arm and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“He didn’t tell you we were going on a run with Joel and Tommy today?”

“Benny, is he ok?” You feel like shaking him but you limit yourself to grabbing his arm tighter and Benny nods.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine, he’s fine, he came back with me but he said he had to do something when we got back.” Benny takes in your anxious looking face as it slips into relief and returns your grip on his arm, putting his hand over yours. “He didn’t tell you and he hasn't come to see you yet? Is something going on with you guys?”

You sigh and feel yourself deflating, your shoulders sagging with relief that Frankie’s ok, but at the same time, that lead weight settles in your stomach as you worry about his behavior again.

“Walk me home, Benny, please,” you ask, “if you have time?” You feel like Benny’s friendly presence next to you is the only thing that will make your feet move down the street as you chew on your bottom lip.

“Sure, I’ll walk you, I need to get back to Eve but...but maybe that can wait, what’s going on?”

“Tell me what happened when you were with him today,” you say, taking his arm and leaving the front entrance.

Benny looks around the two of you as you start walking down the street, checking that there is no one near that can overhear first and then he tells you the whole thing.

“Fuck…” you sigh for what feels like the twentieth time as Benny ends by telling you that Frankie took off after they got back. “His PTSD has been getting worse and both Pope and Will brought it up in the past few days. That last run with Will, things went bad and Pope’s been noticing his behavior being off too.”

You’ve reached the door to your building and you stop, looking up at Benny’s frown. “Yesterday I tried telling him that I think he shouldn’t go on runs with Joel anymore. Joel triggers something in Frankie and…I don’t know…I feel like maybe they aren’t good for each other. They’ve both suffered an unimaginable loss, in the worst possible way, and when Frankie got help, Joel seems to have had to deal with it on his own and it’s made him…just…very dark, like he’s just ‘existing’ and doing what he needs to do to survive…”

“And he has no empathy for others,” Benny fills in, “he didn’t even stop to consider that the people in the car could be just people trying to get to the QZ, and he left them with no second thought when the infected came, it was all about eliminating a potential threat and then about saving himself and Tommy.” Benny swipes his cap off his head and drags his hand through his hair, sighing. “I’m not even sure he would bother to save Frankie and myself, if we hadn’t gotten to that car in time.”

“But Frankie doesn’t see it,” you say, “and when I asked him to not go on runs with Joel anymore because I think it makes his PTSD worse, we got in a huge fight,” you sigh deeply, dropping your eyes to your toes and you feel Benny’s hand on your shoulder. “He got really mad when I said I thought he was too violent with this guy, Frankie threatened to gouge his eye out. But Frankie said he only did what was needed to get the antibiotics for Sean’s grandkid.” You swipe your hand over your cheek as tears start to drip down, “Fuck, I don’t wanna cry again,” you say, anger seeping through your voice, “Fuck!”

You tilt your head back up and look at Benny’s worried eyes, “Come on, it’s you and Frankie, you’re everything to him, one fight doesn’t ruin it,” he says, rubbing your shoulder

“He walked out, Benny, right in the middle of the fight. He’s never done that before, he just took off with Joel. And then he came home really drunk and we started arguing again and he passed out on the couch, he said he thought I didn’t want him in my bed anymore. And then this morning he left again, without saying anything. He went outside the wall and didn’t even say goodbye.” Tears spill over properly now and you sniffle, trying to stem the flow, but the nerves of the day catches up with you. Benny starts rubbing his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort you.

“Let’s get you inside, Frankie might be home already, you two need to talk it out, c’mon,” Benny gently hooks his arm around your shoulder and guides you through the door and up the stairs. You fumble out your keys and unlock your front door, opening up to a still dark apartment.

“Alright, he’s not home yet, but he’ll be here soon, I’ll wait with you until he turns up,” Benny says and starts to lift off his still heavy backpack and you stop him.

“No, please, go home to Eve. I know she’s worried about you since you went outside, get back home. I’ll be fine, and Pope’s next door if I need anything.” You put your hands on his chest and try, and fail, to nudge the big man towards the door.

“You sure? I’ll wait for him, and slap some sense into him if needed, just say the word,” Benny replies, tilting his head down to catch your eyes properly.

“I’m sure, Benny, please go home,” you give him another pointless shove and he gives with a small smile.

“Ok, if you’re sure I’ll go, but give me a hug first,” he says and bends down, capturing you between his long arms. Benny’s signature bear hugs are all encompassing and he lifts you up, shaking you gently and making you giggle through your tears.

“Just remember, it’s you and Frankie, you’re the love of his life. All he does, he does for you, if he’s lost his way, all he needs is for you to bring him back home. To you.”

“Benny, when did you become so insightful?” you smile weakly as he puts you down on your feet.

“Not insightful, I’ve just watched you two over the past, what is it? Eleven years now? And with Eve, I get it, what you two have. I’d do anything for her, and I know that’s all Frankie ever wants to do for you.”

“Get back to her, Benny, before you make me cry again,” you say, giving his arm a final squeeze before he steps through the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll come by the radio tomorrow and check on you, ok?”

“Ok, Benny, stay safe, love you!”

“Love you too, sis!” he calls as he jogs down the stairs.

…

You try to keep busy while you wait for Frankie; preparing dinner, cleaning the apartment, you even pull out your gun and start disassembling it on the coffee table to get it cleaned. It’s dark before he comes home, you hear his footsteps in the hallway first and then the key. Even before he opens the door you know something’s wrong, he struggles with the key in the lock, fumbling with the handle and you stand up, leaving the pieces of the gun on the table.

“Frankie?” you ask as the door shuts behind him, “Are you ok?” You walk over to the front door, and he glances up at you before he drops his backpack by the door.

“Yeah, ‘s fine,” he mumbles, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hook. “Went out with Benny today.”

“I know, Benny stopped by the radio,” you say, your body freezing as he shuffles past, only briefly pausing to drop a peck on your cheek, perfunctory. He smells of whiskey, fresh whiskey, like he’s just been drinking.

You don’t even know where to start as you follow him into the kitchen, the argument last night, him leaving this morning without saying anything, his run with Joel today or the way he stumbles around the kitchen table towards the stove.

“Frankie…” you say again, making your voice soft, you feel like you’re talking to a child, or a wild animal, not your sweet Frankie who you know so well. When he doesn’t even react, let alone look over at you, you dig your nails into the palms of your hands, reminding yourself that this is his PTSD, this is not your Frankie.

“Frankie, talk to me please,” you start again, coming up next to him at the counter, you put your hand on his arm.

“What did Benny tell you? That we went out again?” he says, still not looking at you, his tone clipped.

“Yes, he said you took out some raiders and then…” you pause, you don’t know how to phrase it but Frankie does it for you. He steps away from you, and leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen.

“H-he told you we took out three people in a car, that I shot one of the guys when I shouldn’t have, right? That’s what he told you? T-that I’m out of control and violently torturing civilians?” His voice is harsh, there’s an edge to it you don’t recognise and he’s still not looking at you.

“He’s worried about you, Frankie, and I’m too,” you say, “you haven’t been yourself these past few months.” You try to find his eyes but he’s got the bill of his cap pulled low, eyes on the floor two feet in front and his fingers are twitching, nervously.

“I already told you, I do what I need to do, to stay safe,” he mutters, the edge still sharp in his voice, crossing his arms tight over his chest, crossing his legs too, closing himself off from you.

“Benny said they were civilians, just trying to get to the QZ- “ you start to say but Frankie suddenly flares up.

“We’d just taken out a gang of raiders! It could’ve been more of them! The guy was about to pull a fucking gun on Joel, so I took the shot!” He throws his arms out, meeting your eyes for the first time. “You can’t fucking trust anyone, it’s us or them and I do what I need to do to survive! They could’ve attacked and killed us instead, then what?”

“But you were never like that before, Frankie!” you can’t help but raise your voice in frustration. When he worked with Pope in Arlington, or when you traveled up to New York with Benny and Pope, he was never so calloused, so distrusting and rash. “You used to observe, calculate the risks, you never rushed into situations, but since you started working more with Joel…I don’t know Frankie, it’s like he rubs off on you.” You drop your hands to your sides, you suddenly realize you’ve mimicked Frankie and thrown them open but now you sigh, lower them and take a deep breath.

“Frankie…I know you’re capable of real violence,” you shake your head, sighing, “but you’re not a violent person, it’s like it’s getting away from you when you work with Joel and I do-”

“Maybe I am a violent person now? This is the person I need to be now, to keep myself safe, to keep us safe!” Frankie slams his hands against the cupboard and stalks out of the kitchen, turning and gripping the back of the couch as he gets to it, looking back at you. “I do it for you, don’t you get it?! Maybe this is the person I have to be now to keep myself safe, for you, to stay alive for you because I have to keep you safe!”

“Then stay here, stay in the QZ,” you follow him towards the living room. “I don’t want you to go out any more if this is what you have to do. It’s destroying you!”

“That's all I can do!” he shouts back at you, “That’s all I’m tra-trained for, I’m the b-best at it! It’s the only thing that makes a difference!”

“Frankie, you don’t have to-” you begin, but Frankie just shakes his head and starts pacing the living room like he can’t hear you.

“E-every time I leave you make me p-promise to come back safe, did you ever stop to think that this is what I have to do to keep that promise to you?! I have to stay alive to keep you safe, I promised you that and now you think I’m a monster for what I have to do?”

Frankie slams his hands hard against the wall and spins round, stomping across the living room again and you’re worried now, he’s spiraling out of control, his voice becoming more and more unstable. “I d-do this for you, I stay a-alive for you, don’t you get it! I would’ve fucking ki-killed myself after she died! I was so fucking close to it, so-s-so fucking close to just walking into that fucking lake and ending it! If-if it wasn’t for you still in that cabin!” His voice is rising to a shout, spinning around and slamming his fist into the wall again, “I just..I promise to come back every time, I have to come back but you still think I’m just violent, just a fucking monster, just a mo-monster, I-I can’t- “

“Frankie, c’mon man!”

You didn’t even hear the front door open but Pope suddenly walks into the living room. You’re frozen by the kitchen as Frankie paces, more and more agitated, back and forth, his arms waving in front of him as his mind whirls. You can see his glassy eyes, his breathing is starting to get erratic but you have no idea how to stop this. But Pope strides over to his friend and stands in front of him, forcing him to come to a halt.

“Francisco, cálmate, hermano. Por favor;” he tries to catch Frankie’s eyes, gently placing his hands on his shoulders and holding on as Frankie tries to shrug them off, looking at him with almost unseeing eyes.

“Frankie…fuck…” he sighs as he scans his face, “you’re high as a fucking kite. What did you take?”

At that Frankie’s eyes snap up to Pope’s, “Fucking nothing!” he snarls, wrenching himself away and stumbling back towards the couch.

“Fish, I’ve seen you high more times than you can remember, I know when you’ve been using, man,” Pope says as Frankie grabs the back of the couch again, hiding his eyes beneath the bill of his cap again, refusing to look at you or Santi.

“Frankie…” you try, your voice wobbling as you recognize the signs in him but he just shakes his head.

“I had a few drinks with Joel, I’m not fucking high,” he mutters but Santi shakes his head.

“C’mon, Fish, I know you’re struggling, she knows it too, we just wanna help you,” he takes a few steps towards Frankie, the frustration seeping through into his voice and Frankie backs away, turning around and going for his backpack.

“I’m not fucking high,” he snarls over his shoulder, rifling through his backpack.

“Fine, you’re not using,” Santi says, “then show us your pack.” He motions towards the bag at Frankie’s feet and the way Frankie reacts makes your stomach sink another notch. His hands clench instinctively around the opening, pulling it closer but Pope steps in and reaches for the bag. Frankie abruptly stands up and stumbles back, grabbing it but his movements are slow and Pope’s faster, he snatches the backpack from Frankie, holding it away from him.

“Coño, pendejo!” Frankie snarls, trying to grab the bag back from Pope, “What the fuck are you doing?!” “What the fuck are you doing, Frankie?” Pope replies with a sneer, shoving him back and Frankie, already unsteady on his feet, stumbles backwards and falls onto the couch. “You told me yourself, never trust a fucking junkie.”

Keeping an eye on Frankie, while you stand stunned by the kitchen door, your hands gripping the door frame so hard your fingers ache, Pope opens the backpack and digs through it. It doesn’t take him long, under Frankie’s dull eyes he soon pulls out a small baggie with white pills. Pope sighs and holds it out to Frankie.

“What is it?”

“Painkillers,” Frankie mumbles, but his eyes drop from Pope to his feet, his lie so obvious it forces tears into your eyes.

“Frankie…” you whisper and he glances up at you and meets your eyes for a second before he looks away. But even in that brief glance you see the pain and guilt in his eyes and it pushes you to move, walking around the coffee table and sinking down on the couch next to him. You raise your hand to put it on his shoulder but before you touch him he’s on his feet, snatching the bag from Pope’s hand.

“It’s fucking painkillers, ok?!” he yells, his aggression flaring up as he stumbles towards the front door.

“Catfish, for fucks sake,” Pope shouts as his patience snaps, “get your fucking shit together, man!”

“Please, Frankie, you know this is your PTSD making you spiral, we’ve been here before,” you plead with him, standing up again as he stops with his back to you and the room. But whatever is in his system has control of him now as he shakes his head, his fingers twitching around the small baggie in his hand. Neither of you are getting through to him now, his body language closed off, even with his back turned you see the walls go up. But still, you go up to him where he stands by the door. His chin is on his chest, his shoulders up by his ears, you can feel the tension rolling off him as he fights whatever demon is in his mind. Gently you put your hand on his arm, and he trembles under your touch, giving the smallest shake of his head.

“Frankie…” you whisper, “please, stay with me, we’ve done this before, we can do it again, I love you.”

He shudders, a long held breath rushes out of him and he shakes his head again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I love you, I’m sorry.” He pushes open the door and his arm slips from under your hand. You hear him run down the stairs and Santi comes up behind him, he’s got his coat on.

“I’ll follow him, I won’t let him get into more trouble, I’ll get him back,” he gives you a quick squeeze and hurries after Frankie.

…

Frankie rushes through the streets, the bag of oxy burning a hole in his pocket. He has no plan for where to go, he left his coat back at the apartment and the cold March air is making him shiver. Picking up his pace he turns at random, down a street, and then another, losing himself in the narrow alleys of North End, but it doesn’t surprise him when he finds himself in front of Joel’s apartment building, a dirty red brick block. It makes sense; to end up here. He pushes the door open and stumbles up the stairs.

Joel’s slow to answer his front door, Frankie’s almost given up, prepared to sit and wait by the door, when the older man finally opens up and looks him up and down. “Hey Frankie, what’s up? You’ve got no jacket on.”

“I ran out on it, left in a hurry,” Frankie mumbles in reply, his mind is still foggy, he can’t quite focus on Joel. “I got some of your supply on me, Pope found it in my bag.”

“Ah, bet he wasn’t too happy about that,” Joel says, waving Frankie inside. “He ain’t too happy about me wanting to trade what we got up in Concord.” He closes the door and motions to the couch and Frankie slumps down on it as Joel goes to the kitchen and pulls out two glasses and a bottle.

“Give me one of those too,” Joel motions to Frankie’s pocket and sits down at the other end of the couch. Frankie pulls out the baggie and pour out the pills on the coffee table, handing one to Joel, taking another one for himself and they both down it with the whiskey.

Joel’s not one for talking much and Frankie’s grateful, he just needs a place to forget everything for a while. And for a long time both men sit at opposite sides of the couch, lost in their own minds as the chemicals take over. Frankie tilts his head back, his eye following the cracks in the ceiling until they slip closed and he just feels himself breathing, finally peace takes over in his mind as the fog settles.

Joel slips in another pill and another few large mouthfuls of the liquor, leaning back against the back of the couch and rubbing his eyes with his hand.

“You lost your daughter,” he says, almost surprising himself when the words come out.

Frankie doesn’t move, his eyes closed, “Yeah,” he squeezes his eyes shut, little sparks of red and yellow blossoming behind his eyelids, but he sees something else in his mind.

He tilts his head forward, opening his eyes and focusing on his hands, “Yeah,” he says again, rubbing his thumb over the fleshy part of his hand, he can almost see the blood on it. “I did, right at the beginning.”

“She got infected?”

Frankie balks at the question, the image of his little girl, mycelium under her skin, flashes up in his mind. He’s seen multitudes of infected since, killed so many, seen the thin white strands wriggle towards him as they attack and die in front of him, but he never lets himself commit what they look like to memory. This one is the only one that he remembers.

“Yeah,” he nods, “one of the first days.”

He and Joel have never talked about this before. He never talks to anyone about Lucía or what happened to her, not even to the one person who knows what he went through in the aftermath.

He glances over at Joel, he’s still leaning back on the couch, his hand rubbing over his eyes.

“D’you ever talk about Sarah?”

“No.” The answer is fast and curt.

Both men sit in silence for a few minutes, Joel shifts on the couch, looking over at Frankie, “Everyone’s lost someone. No one wants to hear about her.”

“How did she die?” Frankie locks eyes with Joel, suddenly it feels important to know how Sarah died. Joel knows how Lucía died, it feels important to know how Sarah died too. Joel meets his eyes for a few beats before he drops his gaze and stares at the wall opposite.

“It was the first night. We were trying to get away from town, ran into the military perimeter, a soldier shot at us. She…” Joel loses his words, his jaw clenching shut as he grinds his teeth, dropping his head between his shoulders.

Frankie feels the fog swirl around his mind, letting the minutes slip by while Joel stares down at his watch.

“I shot Lucía,” Frankie says, like a confession to Joel, to the man whose daughter was also shot. As if it makes a difference how they died. The daughters died and so did the fathers, when they failed.

The fog in his head clears slightly and behind the mist he sees the gun in his hand, aimed at his little girl, who no longer recognises him as she screeches and flails under the weight of her mother’s body. He reaches forward to the coffee table and takes two more pills, swallowing them down with the last of the whiskey in his glass, letting the fog cloud his mind again.

Joel blinks and looks at Frankie as if he has to think about what the other man just said, “You shot her?”

“I had to, I’d seen what they were turning into. I couldn’t…”

Joel leans forward, refilling his own glass and Frankies before he leans back, “I would’ve done the same.”

The two men sit in silence as the fog swirls through them, making thoughts slow to appear and slow to disappear.

“Sarah,” Frankie says, pushing a thought to the front of his hazy mind, “S-she was a great kid, L-Lucía loved her, fucking loved her. Didn’t stop talking about her for days after we got back.”

He grips the glass and takes a sip, shaking his head, trying to remember the comforting thought he just had, it’s stuck somewhere in his chest, he can feel it.

“I don’t…I do-don’t believe in God, I l-lost any faith I had in the army, you know. S-so many fucked up things that I saw, that I did,” he says, lifting his glass, motioning to the world outside. “I don’t believe in any god, any-anything. But I wish I did, because if Sarah d-died on that first night, that means that wherever they went, our kids, our little girls…Sarah was there waiting for Lucía. They weren’t alone,” Frankie pauses, he feels his chest constrict, that feeling like he can’t breathe threatening to overtake him. “I’d like to believe they weren’t alone,” he whispers, but in the quiet room, Joel still hears him.

Frankie slumps back down on the couch, spilling whiskey down his shirt, his burst of clarity suddenly spent, “They would’ve had each other…”

“We failed them,” Joel says, his voice low, Frankie can hear the fog in his mind too. “We should’ve kept them safe, but all we did was stand there. Couldn’t keep ‘em safe.”

Frankie nods, he feels his brain slowing down again, “I made so many mistakes…but she was the best mistake I made…couldn’t keep her safe,” he takes a large mouthful of the whiskey, it burns on the way down, distracting his mind for a second as he coughs.

“I don’t talk about Sarah, not even to Tommy,” Joel says, rubbing his thumb over the rim of the glass. “ ‘S’no point, just makes me angrier, I get by better if I don’t think about her.”

Frankie slumps down deeper into the couch, curling himself around the glass in his hand, watching the whiskey swirl around as the fog in his brain follows the motions.

“How do you stay alive,” he mumbles to the room and Joel tilts his head to look at the younger man, curled into the corner of the ratty old couch. The question is more for himself than for Joel but Joel answers anyway.

“For family,” he nods slowly, once, to himself, “for family, for Tommy. And for your woman, she kept you alive.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement and Frankie sighs.

“She doesn’t think I should do runs any more, and she’s right, I know she’s right,” he mutters, pushing his cap off his head and rubbing his temple with his free hand, the fog is lifting again and he feels the edge of panic in his mind, but he can’t remember what he’s should panic about.

“Why not? The drugs?” Joel motions at the dwindling pile of pills on the coffee table and Frankie grabs two of them, knocking them back with the whiskey still in his hand.

“My head is fucked up. From the army. ‘S’gets worse sometimes, ‘s’gets worse when I do runs, when I do violent things.” Frankie sighs, “She doesn’t like it.”

Joel snorts, a mirthless sound, “Men like us, you ‘n me, we do the violent things so others don’t have to, you keep her safe.”

“S’what I t-told h-her,” Frankie grumbles, he can feel his head getting heavier, the fog is so thick he can’t even push his tongue through it, it’s sticking to his teeth. “I do it-do it, t-to keep he-her safe.” He sinks further into the couch, his head leaning on the back of it as he wills his hand to lift up the glass to his lips and drain it. “I-I do it t-to come b-back t-to h-er.”

Through the fog in his own mind Joel sees Frankie tip forward, the empty glass in his hand, as he passes out. Joel’s glass clatters to the floor as he stumbles to his feet and staggers into the bedroom, falling onto the bed, passing out as his head hits the pillow.

Chapter 31

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa @jwritesfanfics @vickie5446

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pimosworld · 8 months

Text

The story of us chapter 7

Pairing-Triple Frontier boys x f!reader

Chapter summary-Santiago is forced to make a decision.

CW- 18+,MDNI,Explicit. A link will be posted going forward to avoid spoilers.

WK-5.8K

Notes-See series master list for full story notes. This is the chapter that started it all. Santiago the final boss. Also mentioned is hc that Pope has a nightlight thanks to @melodygatesauthor link.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter VII Weak in the knees

———————————

You stretch comfortably relishing in the softness of your sheets. Rarely do you have the chance to indulge in uninterrupted slumber. You know all too well the nightmares that plague you and your boys from years in the service and the events in Colombia.

Your ex never had much of a tolerance for helping you through them, often jostling you awake to stop your soft whines. Being horribly ripped from your nightmares was better than having to sleep through them when he opted to head to the couch instead.

Despite sleeping alone, it was much more peaceful knowing you had someone who truly cared for you. As though the universe could read your mind you can feel the light buzz of your phone under your pillow. Your stomach flutters at the prospect of which one could be calling you this early in the morning.

Ben’s face lights up your screen, a photo you took of him after his first knockout win, you’ve never seen him happier than he was in that moment. Surrounded by all the people he loved most doing the thing he was so passionate about.

Good morning honey. You want to scream into your pillow at his sleepy deep voice but you calm your nerves and do your best to reply.

“Good morning babe.”

If you call me babe again I’m driving over there right now. It’s not surprising that you’re having the same effect on him but it makes you happy all the same.

Listen I know it’s last minute but I wanted to invite you to my fight tonight. It’s out of town so we’re spending the night.

“Sorry I promised some coworkers I’d go out tonight for their birthday.”

Be safe please and call Santi if you need anything.

“Oh…he’s not going with you?”

No it’s just me,Fish and Will. Santi said he was busy but he’s probably just gonna sulk in his apartment.

You decide not to pry into what that means. You knew he needed his space from time to time so it wasn’t out of the ordinary.

“Good luck tonight babe. I’ll see you guys when you get back.” You giggle at the groan he lets out on the other end.

You’re a tease, you know that.

You hang up smiling down at your phone. You know the two of you could spend an ungodly amount of time talking about nothing and arguing about who should hang up first. You roll over clutching the phone to your chest wondering how you got so lucky. Maybe this was just a dream that you’d wake up from one day but for now you’d enjoy it in whatever form it came.

****

You don’t remember the last time you had this much fun dancing. It was true that you had neglected several relationships in lieu of that asshole and you were grateful that you hadn’t completely ruined those connections.

You’re on the dance floor with the birthday girl and a few other coworkers when you glance over at the bar. The floor feels like it’s going to give out as all the air leaves your lungs. Maybe it was the drinks or your mind playing cruel tricks on you but you swear you saw your ex.

“You ok hon.” Angela yells over the music in your ear bringing you back to the moment.

“Ya…I think I just need to sit down for a minute.” You walk to the table on shaky legs as you try and get a grip on reality.

You needed to calm down, it probably wasn’t him. Even if it was, he had every right to be in this public place. You’re trying to silence the alarm bells in your brain telling you he was following you. Ptsd does horrible things to your mental state. You’re trying to remember some of the things Will told you. Ground yourself, 4 things you can touch,3 things you can hear,2 things you can smell, 1 thing you can taste.

This is quite possibly the worst place to ground yourself. All you can feel is the stickiness of the table in front of you, you can’t hear anything beyond the music and the loud voices echoing over it. The smell of cheap liquor and heavy cologne permeate your senses and the last thing you want to taste right now is the watered down drink that was left unattended while you were dancing.

Your chest is getting tight and the bar seems to be darker than it was 5 minutes ago. You have to get out of here.

You don’t want to bother Santi and you don’t think you could even wait long enough for him to arrive before you pass out from a full blown panic attack.

You pull out your phone to call an Uber and head outside as you text your friends that you were feeling sick and had to leave. You hover close to the bouncer outside as you wait briefly for it to arrive.

The humid air outside does nothing to calm your nerves as the small black sedan pulls up and you double check the license plate to make sure it’s your driver.

You take the first deep breath in a while as you enter the car and an older woman offers you her name and smiles.

You can feel the soft cloth seats beneath your fingers and the cool metal of the buckle as you secure your seatbelt. You set your phone and purse down beside you as you rest your head back against the seat. You can hear the ac blasting, the sounds of the soft jazz on her radio, the thrumming of the car's engine. It smells like a new car and her fresh pine air freshener she has hanging on the rear view mirror.

“I have some water in a cooler back there if you want some hon.” You open your eyes and try to choke back the tears that have been threatening to spill since you left the bar. It’s not like she knew your nickname, it's just a term of endearment.

“Thank you.” You gratefully accept the water as your panic subsides, thanking whoever out there sent your guardian angel to pick you up.

You don’t know when you closed your eyes again but a bright flashing light startles you awake. You can tell you’re almost home as you try and gain your bearings but the vehicle behind you is so close it’s impossible to see.

“Excuse my language but this person is driving like an asshole.” You chuckle at the older woman’s response as the car pulls around you speeding aggressively by.

“Almost home hon…” She smiles sweetly to you in the mirror as you try to school your expression. You’d recognize that truck anywhere and suddenly your suspicions from the bar were all but confirmed.

Fuck

****

Just pick up the phone and call her, if only it were that simple for Santiago as he sits alone in his apartment staring down at the blank phone screen like it’s going to spontaneously call you.

Will's words echoed in his mind, playing on a constant loop. Why was he denying himself happiness? That stubborn part of his brain always goes to the worst case scenario. If it doesn’t work out he could lose you forever.

Somehow he forgets how many times he’s been here before with you. He won’t admit to the guys how many times you’ve waded into that territory. You confessed your love so many times only to be met with his stupid avoidances or the casual ‘ love you too’.

Everything was different after Colombia, after that night you spent in the hotel just holding each other. No words were spoken but feelings were exchanged. In true Santiago fashion you returned to the states and he acted as if nothing had happened. You didn’t want to admit how much it broke you.

He was always running from his feelings but he kept your heart on a string from the moment you met. The string would get closer or further away depending on how he was feeling but that was the closest it’s been to snapping.

He could say what he wanted about the other guys but he broke the rules more than anyone. Always toting the line of no one can have you if I can’t. He never made an attempt over the years to like your boyfriends, it didn’t bother you much, you knew how protective he was in more ways than one.

You however would do your best to like his girlfriends or the ones that actually stuck around for more than a month. He would find some excuse to break it off when she started getting too close to the group. Any serious relationship threatening what you had made him feel uneasy.

Little did you know he could never have someone he loved so close to someone he was pretending to love.

After Colombia he thought you were just coping like you usually did. Find some shitty guy for a few weeks to occupy your mind and then everything would go back to the way it was. You stopped responding to texts, stopped showing up to the bar, stopped showing up to Benny's fights. Maybe this time he finally pushed you over the edge. Into the arms of someone unworthy of your love and genuine kindness.

He could call himself a hypocrite for even having these thoughts. He was too stubborn for that. He couldn’t see that he was being just as shitty to you as any of the guys you’ve dated. He wouldn’t commit but he wouldn’t let you get far enough to forget that he was an option.

Why couldn’t he just say he loved you?

The night before they confronted Mike was the first panic attack he’d had in a very long time. His chest was growing tighter each time he couldn’t see you, his emotions threatening to boil over and affecting his daily life. He couldn’t focus or think about anything besides you.

He didn’t regret coming over, but everyday since then not telling you how he truly felt was making the gaping hole in his heart even bigger. He convinced himself that he would just bide his time until the whole thing blew up in their faces. Now seeing you all so happy including Will he was starting to feel like an outcast.

Incoming call

“Santi…I didn’t know who else to call.” Your frantic voice on the other line has him in full blown panic.

“Are you okay, what’s happening?” Silence on the other end. His feet are taking him out the door before he knows what’s happening.

“Talk to me cariño.”

“I’m sorry I dropped my phone…I was out with some friends and I thought I saw him at the bar but I couldn’t be sure but just now I think he drove by my house.”He can hear your sniffles and heavy breathing and the faint sound of keys.

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t even need to ask who you’re referring to.

“Santiago, have you seen his truck!” Of course the most obnoxious monstrosity known to man that screams I’m a douchebag.

“Yes I’m sorry, I’m on my way right now, stay put.”

“I’m coming to you-.”

“No, you’ve been drinking, make sure the doors are locked and grab your gun. I’ll be there in 5 minutes.” You know he lives at least ten minutes away but you don’t doubt he’ll be here in 5.

“Stay on the phone with me please.” You’ve never heard him so desperate in your life. You almost feel bad for calling him until you see the signature camo wrap truck slowly driving by your house.

You run to your room and open the closet, placing your finger on the lock box where your gun is held. It’s always loaded but you never thought you might have to use it on someone you know.

In all your years of training, an elite special ops soldier. The first time in your life not being looked at as a woman who managed to climb this high but a person with a certain skill set that was unmatched for most. You had the steadiest hands but right now your hands are shaking as you stare at the gun knelt in your closet.

You can hear the front door open and you quickly place the gun back in the lock box. His heavy footsteps echo down the hall as he reaches your room before you can stand from your floor.

He drops to his knees as he grabs you, pulling you into him.

“Santi your knees.” He sits back surveying you as if you were an illusion in front of him.

“I don’t give a shit about my knees, are you okay?”

Your immediate reaction is to say no, no you’re not okay because all you want to do right now is kiss him and that would be highly inappropriate given the current circumstances.

“Yes…I’m fine.Can you stay with me tonight?”

You can see the wheels turning in his head. Is he contemplating what you just asked or questioning why he’s even here in the first place?

“No…we should go to my place. He doesn’t know where I live and I would sleep better if we weren’t here.”

You don’t take long to grab a few things and head out. Santi double and triple checking that he locked your door as you make your way to his jeep. Your street is eerily quiet as you look it over wondering if he was bold enough to drive down it.

He opens the door for you as you briefly lock eyes. There’s so much unspoken between the two of you, you haven’t been alone with him in months and you can feel the tension rolling off your body.

He holds your hand the entire way to his apartment. He can barely keep his eyes on the road as he stares back and forth between you and the rearview mirror. As much as you enjoyed being in his company you couldn’t escape the nagging feeling of him ignoring you for days.

“I’m going to put up some extra surveillance outside your house this week. It would make me feel better.”

You contemplated your next words. Arguing with them when they had their mind set on something never went well for you and you didn’t want to push him away for being helpful.

“Thank you, I would really appreciate it.” He looks over at you like he half expected you to protest and now he’s stuck. There was no rebuttal, no back and forth. You simply just agreed to let him help you.

****

Maybe it was the horrible lighting in Santi’s spare bathroom or the fact that you were crying and smeared your makeup before he got to your house, but you’ve definitely looked better.

You splash some water on your face and fix your hair as best you could. Your nerves were shot from the events of the night and being here in his apartment with this tension boiling below the surface has you a little on edge. In your panic you didn’t realize you grabbed one of his shirts to change into along with your sleep shorts.

It would have to do since you couldn’t spend the rest of the night in your dress and the world's most uncomfortable bra. You give yourself a final once over before stepping out into the living room. He was seated on the couch with his arm draped over the back and his legs spread wide in a relaxed state.

You thought he might want to go to bed with how late it was and you would just sleep on the couch but you can feel your heart rate picking up at the prospect of actually getting to talk to him.

He turns around as he senses you, his body tenses slightly as his eyes trail down your form. He doesn’t know if you’ve always been this beautiful or if it’s you in his shirt, legs exposed and fresh faced. Emerging from his bathroom smiling at him like it’s some domesticated thing you do everyday.

“If you’re tired you can sleep in my bed but we can watch a movie if you want to stay up a little.” His eyes flit back and forth between your face and your body.

“First of all I’d love to watch a movie and second of all I’m not taking your bed Santiago.” He lets out a frustrated sigh as he pats the space next to him.

“How many of my shirts have you stolen?”

“Borrowed…a few.” You sit next to him just close enough to touch legs but still giving him space.

“So which Star Wars are we watching this time?” He leans forward to grab the remote and pulls you into his side as he gets comfortable again.

“Empire strikes back?” You knew that wasn’t his favorite but you figured tonight he was either feeling sorry for you or extremely generous.

“Fine…only because I love you .” He didn’t mean it like that so just calm down.

You watch the movie as you usually do-with much commentary from Santi about how messed up the order is and if he was a Jedi he would have more self control. Blah blah blah. You’ve heard it a thousand times but it still makes you laugh with how serious he is about it.

His heart is aching for you, as you genuinely laugh at his jokes that he knows he’s bored you with before. Your giggles echo through his body as your head is laid on his chest. All the worries of the night or the next day melting away with every minute that passes you by.

If every night was like this he could die a happy man. You curled up next to him, in his shirt,going to sleep in his bed…with him. Except it’s not, he’s fantasizing about things that aren’t real, it’s almost too much as you look up at him sweetly. Your lips are so close to his as his breath fans hot against yours. Why can’t he just shut his brain off.

He stands abruptly from the couch almost knocking you over. You watch him stomp towards the kitchen unsure of what just transpired. You were certain he was going to kiss you. How could you have misread that?

You were sick of this tip toeing around him and dealing with his mood swings. You traipsed after him determined to figure this out.

“Is everything okay?” He’s facing away from you as he grips the counter top staring out the kitchen window into the darkness.

“No.” His hands shake slightly as he grabs a glass to fill with water from the tap.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.” You didn’t think the tension boiling over all night would result in this but you’ve had it with him.

“What’s your problem Pope?!” He turns to look at you, his pupils are blown wide and you’ve only ever seen him look like this on intense missions.

“You!…you’re my problem.” You’re trying desperately to swallow the lump in your throat,fighting back the tears that he did not get to see you shed.

“Maybe I should go.I don’t want to ruin your night any further.” You turn to head towards the bathroom to gather your things. This was a mistake calling him,you pushed your luck thinking this would work.

“You know what there is something you can do for me.” He’s practically yelling as you spin on your heels.

“Please enlighten me.”

He stalks towards you until you’re backed against the wall. His face is so close to yours as he places his hands beside your head, his chest is heaving against you as you search his eyes for an answer.

“You can stop looking at me like that, stop being so perfect, stop wearing those jeans that make your ass look great-.”

“Santiago.” He places his fingers on your lips.

“Stop saying my name like a goddamn prayer.” His eyes are feral and you don’t chance interrupting him again because his brain might catch up with his mouth and he’ll stop saying everything you’ve wanted to hear since the day you met him.

“Stop consuming my sleep and waking thoughts.” He drops his forehead to yours as he tries to catch his breath. “Stop making me love you.” His eyes are so tightly shut it pains you.

“Stop anticipating my every move because you can read me like a fucking book.” You bring your hands to his face willing him to look at you.

You don’t even remember when your tears started flowing. “Santi I love you too.”

“Just stop.” His voice is hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“Listen to me, I love you.” He finally lets the damn break as he takes in your words. You kiss his cheeks and taste the salty tears rolling down.

“I won’t stop doing any of those things, because I love-.”

He cuts your words off with a bruising kiss as he cups the back of your neck. The forceful yet tender pressure of his lips against yours sends a jolt of electricity through your body.

“Tell me what you want cariño.” He pants into your mouth as you both steal breaths from each other.

“I want you.”

“You’ve had me for longer than you know.”

Your fingers trace the outline of his jaw as you hang in this moment. The anticipation in the air is palpable as he grabs your hand and leads you down the dimly lit hallway. Each step feels like a heartbeat, synchronized with the rush of emotion coursing through you.

As you enter his bedroom the soft glow of his night light casts shadows among the room. You can still make out his sickeningly beautiful face as he traces a delicate path down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

He grabs the hem of your shirt slowly raising it up above your stomach and you take a deep breath as he pulls it over your head. Your nipples harden as they’re exposed to the cold air of the room and he inhales sharply.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I want to see you.” He quickly removes his shirt revealing his tan toned body. Your fingertips lightly trace the scars across his chest that you’ve seen so many times before.

He dips his head to your neck,his lips ghost over your pulse point as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts. As he slides them down he drags his tongue along your chest, kissing the valley between your breasts as he comes face to face with your mound.

You silently curse yourself that he’s on his knees again for you but you’re only momentarily upset as he lifts your leg over his shoulder. Your breathing has picked up as he places soft kisses along your thigh. He growls at the sight of your dripping folds as his finger teases through your slit.

He licks a stripe so slow your knees almost buckle but he has a firm grip on your thigh. You whimper above him and grip his hair as he blows cold air onto your exposed mound.

He laps at you hungrily as his tongue circles your clit. You’re soaking his face as he licks and sucks like it’s the only thing he’s wanted in the world. He can tell you’re close as your grip tightens in his hair pulling him into you.

“Santiago-“ Your name on his lips while he’s buried in your cunt has his cock straining in his jeans.

“Say it again.”

“Santiago…please.” His nose grinds against your clit as his tongue prods your entrance,you’re a whimpering mess as you gush into his mouth. He lets out a deep groan into your pussy taking down every drop as you fight to stay standing.

He grips your hips as he lowers your leg,he stands before you crashing his lips to yours as he licks your bottom lip. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it’s primal the way it makes you feel. He’s all over you like you could change your mind at any moment and he wants to claim as much as he can before it’s over.

His eyes go wide as you push him back onto the bed. You wondered how often he let himself relinquish control and the sight of him laid out in front of you has a fresh wave of slick coating your thighs.

You slowly unbuckle his jeans as he lifts his hips for you, never breaking eye contact. His thick cock bobs against his stomach as you pull his jeans and boxers off. You’re practically drooling as you run your hands up his thighs. He shivers beneath you as you take him in your hand stroking him lazily. You trail your thumb at the tip collecting the precum steadily leaking out.

He’s gripping the sheets as he lets out a string of English and Spanish curses under his breath. He gently grabs your hand and he looks like he’s fighting with himself to keep it together.

“Please…I need you.” Santiago Garcia is begging for you.

You both have done enough teasing for a lifetime and you won’t make him beg any longer. You straddle his thighs on the bed as you line your entrance with his cock. He grips the base and guides you as you sink down onto him.

You both still for a moment as you catch your breath. He has a firm grip on your waist as you give an experimental roll of your hips. “Oh fuck.” He’s moving you back and forth in rhythm and you’ve never felt so full. You brace your hands on his chest as you pick up the pace.

You look like a goddess above him as he watches you ride him. Your noises and chants of his name only spur him on further. He sits up wrapping an arm around your waist and you clench down on him hard as he bounces you on his cock. “Fuck this pussy’s so tight.”

“Santi..oh.. my god.” He’s going to see god if you don’t stop saying his name like that.

Your arms wrapped around the back of his neck as you drop your head to his shoulder. He thrusts his hips up as he slams you down and your vision goes white as he punches something deep inside. You bite down hard on his shoulder as you come down from your climax sending him over the edge. A loud groan rips through his chest as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Your pussy clenches with aftershocks as he pulses in your dripping cunt.

“That was….” He’s panting on your chest as you nod your head. You can’t even begin to attempt words but he knows what you’re feeling.

You both let out a long sigh that perhaps you’d been holding for an eternity. You both burst out into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

He rolls you over and pulls out, he spreads your legs wide watching your combined spend dripping out of you. You knew he was possessive but this is a side of him that has you wanting more.

“Stay here,I’ll be right back.” You never thought you’d be in this position as you watch his perfect ass walk towards his bathroom.

The water runs briefly before he returns with a washcloth, carefully cleaning your thighs and your swollen folds.

A brief moment of insecurity flashes through you. As if he can sense it, he leans over you planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Under the covers miel, we need to get some sleep.” He pats your thigh playfully as you scramble back to get comfortable.

He slides in next to you, pulling you up on his chest. You can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek as you start to drift off to sleep.

He can faintly make out your quiet giggles as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

“Something funny?” You shift slightly to look up at him, it’s hard to see in the darkness but he looks so relaxed.

“Yes…the nightlight I got you.”

“Mhmm.” He rubs your arm trying to stay awake but your soft warm skin pressed against him is winning the battle.

“I didn’t think you’d use it.” He may not need it anymore if he can have you like this.

“It helps me in the dark.” Just like you.

****

The soft morning light is peeking through the blinds in his room. You look over to see his face buried in the pillow and his arm draped across your stomach.

The old analog clock he refused to get rid of from your military days says it’s far too early to be getting your day started. You turn over on your side to chase the warmth of his body and hopefully get a few more hours of restful sleep.

A small folded paper on his nightstand catches your eye. It looks like it’s been handled quite a bit and a black ball point pen is strategically placed next to it. You often wondered what Santiago thought about while sleep eluded him and your curiosity is getting the best of you.

You slowly reach out trying not to disturb the gorgeous man behind you. Just as your fingers reach it he pulls you back into him. You hold your breath for a moment and then hear the light snores again.

Of course he made a pros and cons list.

Pros

Not being alone

Protection

Shared experiences

More of your needs met

No boredom

Sex

Group sex?

Children? 4?

Cons

Jealousy

Living situations

Outside judgment

Parents

Keeping the friendship intact

Splitting your time

Group sex

Children

Heartbreak

The list was nothing if not precise and a little funny. You definitely had some questions but it didn’t upset you. Santiago was rational, logical and very analytical. It’s hard to snap out of something that was your job for the better part of your adult life.

He couldn’t open his heart up without thinking of every possible scenario. That’s what attracted you to them in the first place. They were all so different and you could practically see the wheels turning in his brain.

You’ve already been partners for years essentially without the sexual aspect. It took a lot of trust to put your life in someone’s hands and you all have done that a hundred times over. The hard part for him it seemed was what came next.

Everything on both lists makes complete sense. You noticed he crossed out parents since most of you either didn’t have much of a relationship with them or you didn’t care what they thought of your lives.

“How much of that have you read?” His sleepy voice in your ear startles you.

“Jesus Christ Santiago.” You roll over to face him as he peers at you through his thick curly lashes. It’s criminal for anyone to look this good first thing in the morning.

“It seems you’re a thief and nosy.” He kisses your nose as he rolls on top of you, caging you in with his arms.

“I just have a few questions.” You try to focus on his face and not the way his naked body feels on top of you.

“I’m sure it’s about group sex and children.” You raise your eyebrows at him waiting for him to continue.

“I figured I was jumping the gun on both topics so I took it off the cons list.”

“We don’t have to figure all of it out on day one.”

You can see him contemplating and weighing your words. Always thinking.

“Listen…if you don’t hear from me over the next few weeks,please don’t be upset.” You stare at him confused as a knot begins to form in your stomach.

“It’s not because I regret any of this cariño, I just need to take care of some things.” He attempts a distraction as he kisses your neck. You love and hate the way your body so easily responds to him as you feel the wetness between your legs.

You tug on his hair as he growls into your ear. “Why do you always have to be so vague when you don’t want me to know something?”

“Just trust me please…it’s for your protection.” You can tell in his eyes he is being sincere.

“Well speaking of protection, I'm on birth control. We kind of skipped passed that last night.”

“I wasn’t really worried about it miel.” Your eyes go wide at the revelation. This honest side of Santiago would take some getting used to.

“I guess I’m not surprised based on the 4 children on the pros list.” He groans again as he drops his head to your shoulder.

“Please don’t mention that to anyone.”

“Not a chance, Daddy Santi.” His body betrays him as you feel his bulge pressed against you growing harder.

He instinctively grinds his hips into yours eliciting a soft moan from your lips. You wrap your legs around his waist as he kisses you slow and deep, his hard cock dragging through your dripping folds.The memory of the previous night sparking something between you.

“You know…we could always pretend we’re trying.” You want to roll your eyes at how alike they all are the great pretenders.

You don’t mind spending the rest of the morning pretending until you have to pry yourselves from the bed.

After breakfast he takes you home with promises of what the future holds. You decided to borrow the list, keeping it tucked away for safekeeping.

****

Your phone buzzes on your bathroom countertop as you step out of the shower.

DF4L

Santiago: We need to talk about honey.

You just dropped me off?

Francisco:Everything ok?

Santiago:Sorry wrong chat.

You have a group chat without me?

Benjamin:Pope had a rash one time he didn’t want to send the picture to you😜.

What’s the name of the group chat?

Santiago: callate pendejo.

Benjamin:No one tell her 🤫

William: You know Ben can’t speak Spanish.

Francisco:He just dropped you off? It’s 1pm

I’m literally a nurse. You should send me rash photos.

Santiago:Fuck you Ben I never had a rash. Don’t worry cariño just wanted to go over details for your birthday😘

Benjamin:Holy man just sent a kiss emoji 😂

Ok don’t plan anything crazy love you

That was meant for all not anyone in particular

——

Santiago fumbles with his phone cursing under his breath. He was obviously distracted and he shouldn’t be texting and driving but he had to handle this now.

Golden Girls

We seriously need to talk

The kid 🥊:I knew you were the weak link

What?

Will:Congratulations

I don’t know what you’re talking about

🐈🐠: slow clap for the man who got laid last night.

The kid 🥊: and probably this morning 😂

I’ll be at your house in 5

Will: What are we talking about?

Mike

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years

Text

Watercolor Eyes ║ Santiago "Pope" Garcia

a/n: this fic is directly inspired by @prolix-yuy 's absolutely gorgeous series something new I can't recommend this series enough it was such a joy to read, and after reading her headcanons about the other sw! triple frontier boys I couldn't stop thinking of santi <33 thank you so much for allowing me to be a part of this world and write for it! I hope you enjoy 💕

and special thank to my bby @inklore who supports me always and beta'd this fic for me, ilysm 💖

pairing: santiago "pope" garcia x fem!reader

genre: smut with little plot, minors dni

word count: 7k

summary: after another day of lack of customers and loneliness, you come across a flyer that might grant you a night of relief and pleasure.

warnings: sex worker!santi, oral (receiving & first time), dirty talking, bdsm dynamics, soft dom!santi, sub!reader, reader showing brat tendencies, brat tamer!santi, piv, use of a condom, squirting, the use of sir, swearing, orgasm denial/cumming on command, soft bondage, dry humping, teasing, begging, aftercare

Watercolor Eyes Masterlist

The neon letters shine loud and bright within the night: Cafe Watercolor. Seeing the pink sign used to make you smile, it was a sign that represented your dreams, your hopes, your future. Now it only symbolizes the harsh truth of reality. You’re a failure. Unable to get your small bakery cafe off the ground. You sit behind the counter, head propped up with your elbow as you look outside with a bored gaze. The air conditioning hisses, mixing with the coffee shop playlist you prepared the day before you opened up your little cafe. The tunes of a melancholic piano overlaps the sound of the air conditioner, the vocals of “The head and the heart” filling the small space.

Summers in Florida consist of humidity, rain and the burning sun. To you, it’s hell on heart. But as someone who always felt more focused with the pitter patters of raindrops, it wasn’t that bad. With a broken sigh, you watch a couple, hand in hand, soaked to the marrow, running to the bus stop. The pouring rain should’ve been any coffee shop owners bread and butter, people searched for shelter, the scent of coffee and sweets was always enticing enough to beckon them inside. Sadly, they either ran past the shop, much similarly to the couple from before, or took shelter at the coffee shop right across from you. It was brighter, bigger, and had all of those fancy new drinks. Right now your menu is limited, you focus on the baking aspect more, there lays your true passion, but you enjoyed a good cup of coffee as well so you threw that into the mix too.

And you know it’s good coffee. Those who bothered to enter would be astounded by the rich flavors and the free baked goods you threw in. You just need them to take one bite. After that they came again and again.

But a couple of regulars isn’t enough to keep your business afloat, not in this economy.

You could only hire two baristas, and since they were underpaid grad students, you didn’t blame them for not wanting to stick their neck out for the small shop. They were already juggling two other jobs.

Your family warned you; Don’t do it, they had said, You didn’t waste years of study just to open a coffee shop. Since you were a kid they wanted you to delve into the cruel world of academia. You studied archaeology, it was fun. Obviously. Who wouldn’t like to dig and unravel the remnants of a ruined civilization? But your heart always ached for something else. You didn’t want to waste your life competing with friends and others, you didn’t enjoy your classmates viewing you as a threat just because you got a good grade. You hated always having to look over your shoulder, worrying if the person that smiled at you genuinely meant it or not. It was chaotic, stress inducing. The job itself was fun, but the backstage wasn’t.

So you quit right after finishing grad school. Sure, maybe you should’ve stuck it to your parents and quit sooner, but you assumed if you actually finished studying they would finally let you go.

Of course they didn’t.

Shaking your head, you force yourself to stand up. You might as well close up shop. You don’t need your electricity bill to get even higher. Heart broken, you walk to the large window, the day's special baked goods written on the window. You almost cry when you wipe it off the board, you worked really hard on those croissants, you will have to take them home, again. At least your neighbors were happy about the free desserts.

The rain had stopped. Lonely water drops sliding down the glass, you see that the couple is still waiting for their bus. When the guy leaned in for a kiss, laughing and wet, your heart breaks a little. How long has it been since your last date? When has anyone ever looked at you like that? No one, that’s who. You had one lousy boyfriend and a couple of bad dates, after graduating your whole love and effort had gone into the shop. Needless to say you didn’t have much time to scroll the endless fuckboys of Tinder.

Tearing your gaze away from the couple’s private moment, you turn off the neon light, and push back the misplaced chairs. The silver lining is that you don’t have to do much in terms of cleaning. You’ll wipe the counter, pull out the plugs just in case, and that’ll be it. You already left the kitchen spotless after baking, which you’re glad for since now you can just go home.

Your chest heaves as you pick off the tray of croissants and package them to take to your neighbors. It's like this every night, your need to cry doubling tenfold whenever you take something you make home. You know they’re good. You just need people to give you a chance. You grab the last croissant for yourself and bite into it, dinner is settled. As you chew you moan at the taste of vanilla custard and the berry glaze, the flaky pastry crumbles, it gets on your clothes, sticks to the roof of your mouth. With the back of your hand you wipe your mouth and pat yourself down. Now you can leave.

Before leaving you take one last look, the passing cars casted their light inside, moving along and leaving the shop in darkness once more. Just like you. But it won’t last like this for long. It can’t. You won’t allow it.

Locking, and checking by rattling the door, you stuff the keys into your pockets and head home. The rain has faded but it’s still quite windy. The leaves of palm trees echoe and you see the remnants of flyers ghosting across the pavement. You see the silhouette of your bus, your steps pick up and when you realize you’re about to miss it, you run–

You’ve barely taken a couple of long strides before something sticks to your face, you collapse on the wet ground, mud and water seeping into your clothes as pain spreads across your chest.

Immediately upon getting up you see that the bus is gone, disappeared into the wind.

“Shit!” ignoring the state of your clothes you stomp your feet like a child throwing a tantrum. You viciously tear the piece of paper that led to your demise and glare at it. “Fucking– I’m going to curse the company who made this damn…flyer,”

Your eyebrows rise with curiosity. Looking down, you see a glossy flyer between your fingertips, or rather the remnants of it. The half bottom rips and falls to the concrete with a loud splat. However, the thing that piques your interest is that this particular flyer doesn’t belong to a company. It’s for a very specific service provided for lonely people like you. You drag your gaze across the men that decorate the poster, all of them looking very very handsome. It’s been a while since the color had faded from the flyer but you assume it’s from the sudden rain pour.

You should really just throw the poster away, walk your sweet ass to the bus stop and head home.

Instead, your eyes gaze at the number written in a bold font. Lucky you that the number was written on the top part of the flyer and not the bottom. Before the other bus arrives, you hurriedly pull out your phone, also soaked from the fall, and type the number, cursing every time your phone gets the number confused due to your wet fingers.

When you finally succeed in putting the numbers in, you shove the flyer into your bag to throw out for later and very carefully make your way to the bus stop.

You’ve been staring at your phone for about an hour.

You’d taken a brisk shower, gave the rest of the croissants to your neighbors, in which they thanked you, inviting you in and after dodging that bullet, you finally managed to relax on the couch.

However, what you’re doing isn’t really relaxing.

The black written numbers start to shake, your eyes stinging from staring at the screen for too long. Are you really going to do this? Are you really so lonely that you need to pay someone to spend time with you? Well yes actually, you are. It’s not like you’re shameful about asking for a service, a couple of your friends had done it, it’s just that you didn’t really know what to say when you called. Did you just say what you want? Do you need to ask for a specific man? Will it be safe? What if you get an STD among everything else?

With a loud groan, you throw your head back and let your hand fall to your lap. This is iditoic. You’re idiotic. It’s just a simple call. If whoever is on the other line sounds shady you can just hang up and pretend this never happened. Yeah. That’s it. It’s just a phone call. They can’t see you. Or force you to continue to talk. You have the power of the red button, you’ll be alright.

With a sudden surge of bravery, you raise your head and make the call. You quickly put it on speaker and anxiously listen to it ring. It feels like an eternity until someone finally picks up the phone.

“Hello?”

Oh shit. Shit shit shit– The voice that comes from the other line actually sounds good, honestly you were expecting it to be a pervert heavily breathing down the line but this is a very pleasant surprise.

When the honey-like voice speaks again, he sounds amused, as if you’re the funniest thing that happened to him all day.

“I can hear you breathing, you know? I won’t bite, promise,” he chuckles, breathy and airy. “I mean, unless that’s what you’re asking for,”

“Y-Yeah sorry,” you stumble with your words. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to remember the name of the place. “Is…this Pope’s?”

“It is and I’m Santiago, but since you sound so sweet you can just call me Santi,”

Your body heats up at his words, this is probably the most flirtatious thing anyone has said to you in months, even if technically he’s just saying that because you’re a potential customer. Your thumb rubs the corner of the smooth surface of the phone, you don’t know what to say next.

“Sorry, I don’t really know what to say,”

“That’s alright, I have all the time in the world,”

You relax at the playful tint of his voice, a soft smile ghosts across your lips.

“Do you really?”

“Well no, but you can still take your time. I can also ask you some questions to ease you in?”

“Sure?”

You hate how unsure you sound of yourself, but also you don’t think you can hide it. You genuinely feel lost, mind wandering about how others acted during these calls, you bet they knew what they wanted. They most certainly aren’t like you, causing problems by being shy and calling without looking up what to say beforehand. Damn, you really should’ve googled it first. You’re positive you can find a wikihow article about this.

“Okay let’s start out easy then, why did you call Pope’s?”

“For…company,”

“Just for that?”

You can see his smile through his voice, you bet he has an amazing one. You suck in a breath, chest puffing up as you ponder over what your next sentence should be.

“No, I would like…you know,” closing your eyes, you swallow. “Sex,”

You half expect him to laugh but he doesn’t, a soft hum echoes and he follows up with another question.

“Alright, the follow up questions might be a bit awkward but I need to ask–”

“Awkward?”

Your panicked tone seeps through the line and reaches Santi’s ear drums.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be holding your hand through it all, cariño. They’re mostly questions about your medical history,”

You nod then remembering he can’t see you quickly add, “Of course, thank you, Santi,”

When the questions are done, you check your phone only to see that an hour has already passed, much to your surprise, it felt shorter than that. Santi had asked you everything. Even things you never would’ve thought about asking a partner. And honestly it relieved you that he was so detailed with the background checks, just by his voice you can tell that he cares about what he does and for both parties concerned. It was nice. It reminds you a bit about yourself and your own work ethics.

“Okay I think that’s everything,” he states. “Do you want to continue with this?”

The uncertainty you feel comes rushing back, an encore, if you will.

“Yeah, I do. I-If everything's good,”

“Everything’s perfect,” you hear the gentle tapping of a pen. “And I think I already have the perfect match for you. Where are you? An otel?”

“Uh…” you look around your apartment. “I’m actually at my apartment…will that be a problem?”

“If it’s not a problem for you it’s not a problem for us,” he answers, voice a bit more timid than before. “But I will need an address, but if that’s going to be an issue I can look up nearby motels if you tell me which part of the city you’re in?”

“N-No, it’s fine,”

As you give out your address the red alarms in your brain screeches at you. It’s loud and mind numbing. Rightfully so. Santi tells you that it’ll take about half an hour for them to arrive and he hangs up, when he does, what you’ve just done dawns on you. You gave your address… to a stranger on the phone. And not just any address, your home address. You really are fucking stupid.

You could’ve at least taken up Santi’s offer to find you a motel nearby, this is your fucking home.

“Okay, you’ll get through this. Just deep breaths, take deep breaths…”

Placing a hand on your chest, you inhale and exhale about five to ten times. Your chest rises under your palm, you can feel your heartbeat. Everything will be alright. You have a pan that’s perfect for smacking people, better yet you have rolling pins of all sizes. You’ll be fine. You’ll be okay.

You get up and head to the bedroom, it’s a mess, sadly your home didn’t get the same squeaky treatment as your shop.

Everything will be okay.

The doorbell rings and your heart nearly jumps out of your throat. After tidying up your room, and yourself; you shaved with hurry, then put on a bra and underwear that matched in color. It’s the little things. You had a couple of toys you enjoyed, if he failed the two of you could always use those. A single woman has needs after all, and after checking the batteries you placed them into the drawer of your bedside table.

Another ring follows and you hurry to the door. You might be wearing matching underwear but other than that you hadn’t put on anything fancy; your favorite oversize shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants.

Clearing your throat, you call out to the person waiting on the other side.

“Who is it?”

“Pope’s,”

This is actually happening. He’s actually here, and not a minute late, or early.

You open the door with trembling hands, the man on the other side doesn’t move an inch as you observe him, he only smiles, shooting you a quick nod and a playful wink. He stays there until you fully open the door, even then he doesn’t budge, he waits patiently while your curious gaze rakes his body. His eyes are as rich as the coffee you brew, lashes long, soft looking. You see a bit of gray mixed in his dark hair, the corners of his eyes creasing as he smiles at you, lips lush, made for kissing and pleasuring another. For a moment you want to reach out and drag your fingers across his jawline, you wonder if it can actually cut into your skin. His five o’clock shadow will definitely chafe between your thighs and the phantom of the feeling is enough to have your insides clench. The veins peeking above his skin meanders down into his black fitted shirt, you want to see more.

He clears his throat, smile widening into a grin.

“Can I come in?”

You know that voice, how could you not when you gave very detailed information about your sex life to that same smooth baritone.

“Santi?”

You might be imagining it, but you think his eyes sparkle when you recognize him. His excitement makes your lips break out into a smile.

“The one and only,”

Heart thrumming madly in your chest, you move out of the way. He continues to wait, an eyebrow raised as he chews on his bottom lip, he looks you up and down. What was he waiting for? Tilting your head, you answer his gleaming gaze with your confused one. As an answer, he raises both eyebrows, smiles and tilts his head to the other side.

Oh. OH.

He’s waiting for you to verbally invite him in.

“C-Come in,”

His smile never fading, he takes one long stride into your apartment. It’s elegant, graceful, and you can’t stop staring.

Santi quickly does a once over of your home as he toes off his shoes. Oddly enough, it feels like him being there completes a picture. Maybe it’s because you’ve been lonely for so long but it just seems like he belongs. You push the door as he turns to look at you, if he smiles at you any longer you might melt into a puddle.

“Should we…” your gaze falls to the floor, and with that see his socked feet; black with colorful polka dots. “Nice socks,”

“Thanks,” he grins. “It was a gift from a close friend,”

“You must really like socks then,”

“Among other things,”

His lashes flutter, eyes soft like clouds. It takes every ounce of your self control not to swoon, he feels like he ripped a whole out of your dreams and escaped.

“So, bedroom?”

Your voice gives away how nervous you are, you almost breathe out a sigh of relief when Santi shakes his head. You still have no idea what to do. And you already feel vulnerable as it is, you’d probably bust a vein if you also stripped in front of him.

“Loving the enthusiasm but maybe we should talk a bit first,” his eyes linger on the couch. “I still don’t know what you want yet,”

He sits and you follow his trail, sitting on the armchair across from the couch.

“I thought I already said it on the phone,” you whine, thoughts swirling. “Please don’t make me say it again, I’m already plenty embarrassed,”

“Don’t be,” his stern tone takes you by surprise, he leans, arms resting above his knees as he stares you directly in the eyes. “There’s no reason for you to be embarrassed, it’s completely normal,”

“Really?”

Santi grins, eyes sparkling.

“If it wasn’t Pope’s would be closed already,”

“I guess you’re right,” a faint chuckle falls from your lips and upon hearing the sound he leans back, getting more comfortable. “So what do you want to know?”

“Things you enjoy during intercourse,” he thoughtfully rubs his chin. “Kinks, fetishes, anything you can think of. If you want to roleplay or not, anything,”

“Anything?”

“Well, there are a couple of things I say no to but I don’t think you’re going to say any of them, but if you do I’ll let you know,”

He winks and your lungs nearly explode. You rapidly blink at him, lowering your gaze, you think about his question. In terms of kinks you actually hadn’t tried out many, you’re curious about a lot of things but never knew how to ask for them. Exhaling, you fiddle with your fingers and look up, your cheeks aflame.

“I always wanted to try…BDSM stuff but I don’t know if I’ll actually like it,”

This seems to spike his interest, the curve of his eyebrow reaches all the way to his hairline, lips curling mischievously.

“Have you tried anything before? Bondage, blindfold, or whatever?”

“Uh…not really,” you nervously chew your bottom lip, legs squeezing together. “I never really brought it up before and my ex, well, he didn’t seem to be that interested. He tried to finger me, well not really, just attempted to rub my clit from over…my underwear, it kinda hurt actually, hated it. It's fine when I do it but maybe I just don't like it when others do it. So I’m not sure if I’ll even like the things I think about,”

“Sounds like an asshole,”

Santi’s sudden change in demeanor takes you by surprise. He seems actually angry, but also, slightly surprised by your sudden burst of honesty. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. You didn’t want to overshare, or upset him. Before you can apologize he cuts you off.

“We can try the things you’re curious about, we’ll start slow, obviously, and establish a safeword,” he looks you up and down. “Do you know what a safeword is?”

“I do,”

“Good girl,”

Your heart skips a beat or two, a gasp parting your lips, you stare at him wide-eyed. He glows at your reaction, sucking in his bottom lip, he brings his perfect teeth on top of it.

“You like that?”

You nod.

“Alright, I’ll let you pick the safeword,”

“How about….” your eyes drag back to his feet. “Socks?”

He snorts, and you grin, “Socks? You’re unbelievable, how about the word for slowing down?”

“Curtain,”

Turning his head, he looks at the dark red curtains you own, then shrugs.

“Fine by me. Do you have any idea what you want to try?”

“Not really…sorry,”

“You don’t need to apologize,” his smile grows soft and it seems like he wants to reach out to you but decides against it at the last minute. “What is it that sparked your interest?”

You shrug, “I don’t know– I guess the idea of someone taking care of me, having control and knowing what’s best for me. I just, don’t really want to think, if that makes sense–”

“Loud and clear. I have a general idea of what you need, unless you have anything specific in mind?”

When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you shake your head and he nods.

“Okay then, we can get started, if you’re ready,”

When he gets up and extends a hand, you’re sweating buckets, beads of perspiration coating your skin. You look up to see his calm expression, a soft smile and adoring eyes, you take the offered limb and lead him to the bedroom.

Your stomach still churns with anxiety but as his fingers squeezes around yours, you know that he’s got you.

“Strip and lay on the bed,”

You didn’t expect the mood to change so suddenly. His harsh tone sends a shiver down your spine, wetness spreading between your legs. While he isn’t looking at you, Santi starts to unbutton his shirt, and when he notices you’re frozen with a slight tremor to your hands, he walks up to you and cups your cheeks. You lean into his touch, heart stammering as you close your eyes.

His lips find yours. It’s tender, soft and when he licks your mouth for permission, you greedily open wide for him. A moan seeps into the kiss, taking the opportunity your open mouth provides, he licks your tongue, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. Your heart swells. It’s been so long since you’ve been kissed, and it never felt like this. Santi pulls away, lips glistening and eyes full of understanding.

“Do you still want to do this?”

You breathe out, “Yes,”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Socks,”

He can’t help the way a giggle rattles his chest, the melody reaching your ears. Leaning in, Santi playfully rubs his nose against yours.

“Strip for me then,” he hums. “I need to rectify a wrong,”

You want to ask what he means by that, but deciding that you’ll find out soon enough, you head to the bed, leaving a trail of clothes in your wake. Still feeling a bit self conscious, you leave your underwear and bra on. You also have an ulterior motive, you secretly want him to be the one to remove the last articles of clothing. You seem to get your message across. He licks his lips, left only in his boxer shorts, he crawls between your legs.

You don’t know what to expect when he slides your underwear down your legs and throws it to the floor. You certainly don’t know what to expect when his mouth inches closer to your begging heat, wet and wanting.

You’ll never forget the moment his tongue languidly slides between your folds.

“Oh fuck–”

Your back arches, mind and body confused, your fingers clutch the sheets. His lips close around your folds, tongue deep inside as his hands steady your thrashing. You barely hear him letting out a satisfied hum, the vibrations shooting a jolt of pleasure throughout your body. It’s mind numbing. Amazing. His tongue is pure sin, soft and velvety. You’re lowkey pissed this is the first time you’re feeling so good. Santi relentlessly mouths at your core, lapping up every ounce of slick that makes its way out of you. Your finger finds the back of his head, pulling at the soft curls. He parts for you and you whine, hips wiggling up as you beg for him to go on.

Disapproving, Santi clicks his tongue. He peels your hand away from his head, and sends you a warnful gaze.

“Behave,”

“Y-Yes–” between your lustful haze you gasp out a word you don’t expect. “–Sir,”

You have no idea where that came from but he doesn’t question it, instead, when you pull your hand back up to your hip, he breathes out a kiss into your inner thigh. He sucks in your clit and flicks his tongue, you let out a sharp exhale, eyes squeezing shut. It’s only been what, ten minutes? You’re about to cum all over him.

He looks up at you with half lidded eyes, you feel him smiling as he flattens the wet muscle, dragging it around the sensitive bundle of nerves. However, nothing prepares you for his fingers. Your whole body jolts when he traces your entrance with two thick digits, playfully pushing only the tip in. Before you know it, your hand is buried deep in his hair once again.

This time Santi yanks it away, and before you know it his face is hovering an inch above from yours, both your hands pinned above your head, his lips damp and swollen. You swallow upon seeing the annoyance lingering in his eyes, legs trembling with heat building between them.

“Didn’t I just say to behave?” he snarls, pupils dilated.

Something mischievous rolls in your gut, with a sudden surge of bravery, you challenge his angry gaze with your own.

“So? What are you going to do about it?”

It’s so minimal, the flare you see in his eyes, slightly widening. If you’d blinked, you would’ve missed it.

“Don’t tempt me, cariño,” he leans closer, breath ghosting across your burning skin. “Are you sure you want to play this game?”

A moment of pause. He’s giving you a moment to object, to use the safeword. You don’t. Instead, you wiggle your arms, trying to peel away from his iron grasp. His lips twist into a devious smirk, the tip of his tongue darting out to touch the edge of his teeth.

“Alright, let’s play then,”

The air is forcibly pushed out of your lungs when you find yourself flipped over to your stomach. His hands moving across your body, you find your knees tucked under your thighs, hands held behind your back. He shifts behind you, holding your wrists with one hand, he leans off of the bed and scoops something off the floor. You feel the soft fabric of his shirt wrapping around your wrists, keeping them completely in place.

Santi’s chest is flushed against your back when he whispers in your ear.

“Look at you, all nicely wrapped, the perfect present,”

You struggle against the binds, a groan rattling in your chest as you figure you won’t be getting out of them anytime soon. With a huff, you bury your face into the pillows.

“Not fair,” your voice comes muffled. “It’s not my fault if it feels good, it’s my first time,”

He coos, and rubs the small of your back, “I know, baby. I know. And that’s precisely why I need you to stay put,”

His sinful mouth finds you again. Slurps and groans fill the bedroom. You feel incredibly self conscious as he parts your cheeks but it all fades away with his tongue plunging deep into your core. With two fingers, he draws quick, small circles around your clit, making your body sing with pleasure. Turning your head, you attempt to breathe in a bit of oxygen, but all of it leaves you at the same time when you moan out his name, again and again and again.

“Fuck– Fuck, Santi…” you whine, pushing into him. A warning growl rips from his throat. “S-Sorry it just feels,” you gasp. “It feels so good, I-I think I’m gonna actually cum,”

Spit dribbles from the corners of your lips and wets the pillow underneath. You want to look at him, watch him eat you out like a starved man but you can’t. The fog lifts only for a moment when he stops, only to press his lips into you again, the bed begins to sway, only a bit, a rocking sensation if you will. You attempt to mouth out a question, but cry out instead.

“Not yet,” he rasps into you, the rocking of the bed picks up. “Wait for me a bit more baby, just a bit more,”

Wait for him? What– Wait–

“Are you–” you’re cut off by your own moan caused by an especially harsh pinch on your abused clit. The pain makes you tingle with pleasure, eyes rolling back, you forget your question. You start to beg. “Please, sir, please let me cum– I need to cum, please please please,”

“Hold it in,”

The melodic tone of his voice only electrifies you. Tears build up in your eyes as your cunt flutters around him, slick dripping down your thighs. The pleasure buzzes in your ears, body screaming for you to cum, you’re trying to hold it back, you’re trying to be good, his good girl. Fuck–

“Cum. Now.”

Before you can even process the words, your body obeys.

It’s blinding. Breath stopping. Your body tenses, cunt gushing around his tongue and fingers. Your arms forces against the binds made of his shirt, cloth digging into your skin as your body starts to spasm. Both of your moans mix together, composing the most beautiful melody you’ve ever heard. Santi’s eccentric pace becomes slow, sensual. Tongue lazily lapping up everything you have to offer, he eases you down from the high of your ecstasy. You take heavy breaths, head spinning, You breathe out a languid moan, muscles still throbbing with the buzz of pleasure.

Santi pulls away and you drop to the side, luckily you’re too gone to actually feel embarrassed from falling. You hear his low hum of a chuckle as he crawls closer to you, he unties his shirt from your wrists and gently kneads your biceps.

“Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,”

You know that this is just service he provides, but you can’t help but reach out to him, he obliges with a smile and nestles between your arms, kissing your neck gently. A broken sigh falls from your damp lips, he huddles closer, body snug against your own. Mimicking him, you come closer too, your bare thigh grazing against his clothed cock. You still and he looks up to you, brows knitted together. His confusion grows when a grin spreads across your face.

“Did you cum?” you ask, eyes bright and shiny.

He clears his throat, lips curling up into an amused smile. Leaning in, he teases your earlobe with his tongue.

“I might’ve,”

“Never would have pegged you as someone to be this quick,” you tease, hand sliding between your bodies, you cup his cock, a subtle moan leaving you as you feel how wet he is. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s hot as hell,”

“Don’t get cocky,”

He crashes your lips together, large hands cupping your chest and pulling you even closer against the firm frame of his body. His fingers tease your nipples, rolling and pulling them. Your skin tingles, and you whine into the kiss, hips grinding against him. Santi’s lips never leave your own as he lifts himself and pulls you underneath. Your palm still snug against his length, you feel him hardening again.

Surprised, you break the kiss, a heavy laughter trembling in your chest. With a wide smile, he grins.

“Told you,”

“You’re full of surprises,”

“I am,” he stops for a moment, looking to the side, he looks back at you, seemingly unsure. “Do you want to continue? We can stop if you want to, or if you feel worn out, ”

“Oh, I’m definitely good for round two,” you purr, brushing your lips against his. “Make me feel whole again,”

“Fuck, alright– Let me go get a condom really quick,”

Santi gets up and you realize that you haven’t had the time to properly observe his temple of a body. His back muscles flex as he dips down and grabs his pants, hurriedly searching the pockets for that colorful piece of packaging. The boxers he wears hugs his ass, leaving little imagination to the eye, you’re certain Santi would look good in everything, but right now you think he looks the best naked. He turns on his heel, his chest firm, a bit of fat around his belly but still defined. Eyes going lower, you see his fully erect cock, the darkened tip peeking out of his waistband. You bite the inside of your cheek as you inside clench around nothing, you can’t wait for him to fill you up.

Before you know it, Santi’s between your legs again, rolling the condom down his impressive length. He’s so thick, thicker than you imagined he would be. Santi notices your gaze, lips playfully pulling up.

“You think you can take me baby girl? Where’s that confidence from before?”

“O-Oh…it’s still there just a bit,” you clear your throat. “Shocked,”

“Word?”

“Socks,”

“Good girl,”

Purring like a cat, you part your arms, allowing him to bury his face into the crook of your neck as he slants himself between your thighs. You adore feeling him this close, his warmth making your heart stutter. He nudges your entrance, slowly pushing in. Your whimpers spiral into moans and he drowns out the noises by claiming your lips. The stretch is addictive, the tingle of being spread wide by someone who knows what he’s doing makes your eyes roll back. Santi inhales you as he pulls back, eyes searching your face. You flutter around him, with the mere sensation of his cock, you grind your hips.

“You good?”

“Yeah,”

“Can I move?”

“Please, sir,”

He growls into your skin, the vibration seeping into your body, it makes you tremble as well. When Santi starts to move, all you can do is hold on to him, nails biting into his skin as he slides in and out of you with precision. He breathes raggedly into your flesh, cock hitting your deepest parts with every thrust. You feel as if you can’t control your body, it arches, bends, curls but your brain is completely mush, only pleasure ringing inside. With your moans and whines growing in volume, Santi starts to slam his hips, the sound of skin slapping against skin spurs you on further. You scream his name, breathing and panting curse words without knowing. Your heart swells, he makes you feel so good. His thrusts, deep, lasting. You can’t breathe, eyes squeezed shut as the bed rocks into the wall. Your cunt clenched around him, the coil inside you tightens, ready to burst but he’s still going. It feels like he can go on like this for hours. Fuck–

You hug him tighter, if possible, teeth finding his shoulder, you bite into him. You don’t even know where you are anymore. All you can feel is him. His scent, his body, his sounds. Nothing else.

“Fuck fuck– Santi– ‘Love you–”

Your eyes shoot wide open, you see him staring at you, he doesn’t look mad, or weirded out. But still, the panic overwhelms the pleasure, you flail, tears quickly building in your eyes.

“You love me?” he mutters, one eyebrow elegantly raised.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to– I didn’t–”

Santi doesn’t slow down, in fact his hips speed up. He sees your glossy eyes and leans to kiss them both, you feel the throb of his cock, and another moan quickly replaces your frantic apologies.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, mouthing the words into your cheek. “It’s normal. Say whatever you want, it only means that I’m making you feel good. You’re not the only one,”

Your heart feels like it might stop at any moment, “I’m not?”

“No,” he leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses as he dips between your breasts. He mouths against them, tongue playfully licking the salt of your skin. “So just let go,”

And you do just that.

Letting your head fall back, you revel at the way he draws a stiff nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling around. Your chest heaves with his every shattering thrust, his hand slides between your wet bodies and finds your clit. He rolls the sensitive nub between his fingers. Hallowing his cheeks, he grazes his teeth around your nipple, you chant his name, a string of curses following right after. You have no idea what else you might be saying, you might’ve asked his hand in marriage at this point but you don’t care. You let go. You forget the shop, the insecurities, the loneliness and you just feel.

It doesn’t take Santi long to wind you up, dangling you off the edge, the heat builds and builds, so much so that it feels like it’s burning. Something besides pleasure swells inside you, something’s coming, you bite back your moans, and slap his back.

“What is it?” he pants, voice dripping with lust but still full of concern. “Do you want to use the safeword?”

You furiously shake your head, your lips part with a gasp.

“It’s– I’m going to cum but– It’s too much, I’m–”

He presses his lips into your ear, you listen to his breathing, steady and slow, the slide of his cock and move of his fingers rips another groan from you.

“Let go,”

Your cunt gushes around him like it never has before, it’s more intense than the first time, it makes you cry, beg. The squelching becomes louder, you’re still coming. He sings a moan into your skin, your cunt throbs at the sound of his voice, it reminds you of the caramel you make. Santi’s movements slow, fast thrust shifting into soft rolls of his hips. Your breath hitches every time his pelvis grazes against your sensitive clit. He pulls you from your dazed state with a soft kiss, both hands coming to lay on each side of your face, thumbs stroking lovingly.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you inhale a deep breath. “Did…did you?”

A soft chuckle vibrates across your lips, he nuzzles your nose. “I did,”

You fight the urge to call him back when he pulls away, you haven’t realized how secure you felt under his weight. However, you really need to initiate a war against your inner demons when he lifts himself off of the bed. Carefully removing the condom, he ties the end into a knot and turns to you.

“Bathroom?”

“First door on the left,”

You lay back down as he leaves, hands and arms sprawled above the sheets. Your mind begins to clear, kind of, closing your eyes you can still feel how he felt plowing into you. The fact this is a service is both a pro and a con. A con, because he can’t stay. A pro, because you can call him and ask him over anytime you want to. Well, not really. Maybe once a month, all your money goes to the shop and rent, you wouldn’t be able to hire him.

You’re surprised at his return, his right hand holding a wet washcloth and the other holding a glass of water. The bed dips under his weight and he grins at your confusion, the towel gently cleaning the mess between your legs.

“What? Did you think I just left?”

“I didn’t,” he gives you a look of disbelief and you giggle. “I didn’t really!”

“Good,” his eyes scan your body, observing every patch of skin. “Does anywhere particularly hurt? Aches?”

“No,”

“How do you feel? Mentally?”

“That’s good too, feel very light,”

You don’t miss the way he hisses out a breath of relief, “Great,” he checks the watch you hadn’t realized he’s been wearing. “We still have ten minutes,”

Suddenly you can hear the imaginary clock ticking, maybe you weren’t alright after all.

“Cuddle?”

His smile is wide, kind, soft. You swear you melt into the sheets. Letting the used towel fall to the floor, he lays next to you and pulls you into his chest. You listen to his heartbeat, steady, safe.

“And you thought that you wouldn’t like it when others did it,” he chimes gleefully, quoting you when you opened up about your bad experience with your ex. “It looked like you enjoyed my fingers just fine,”

The soft baritone of his voice soothes you, your eyes flutter close, a pleased hum parting from your lips.

“I did,” you smile into his chest. “Thank you, this was just what I needed,”

“It was my pleasure, cariño. Literally.”

The last thing you feel is his hand slowly dragging across your body, fingers rubbing your worn out wrists.

Best money you’ve ever spent.

a/n: to be notified of future work follow @psychedeliclibrary and turn on notifs 💕

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope gracia x you #santi x reader frankie #santiago garcia #sw!pope #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia fanfiction #santiago garcis x fem!reader #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfic #oscar isaac characters

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the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 1 year

Text

A Job Unfinished

Ship: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x fem!reader

Summary: It's been days since you last saw Santiago, days after he promised he'd be back. One last (very illegal) mission in Colombia, and then he'd be yours forever. But Santiago is five days late.

Word Count:

Warnings: language, back-breaking relationship fluff, the plot of the movie is basically explained, Santiago has emotional baggage, plot-related angst

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Christ, I'm tired.

Santiago could think of nothing but his tiredness, an exhaustion that lingered so heavily he didn't think he'd ever be able to sleep again. He'd been awake too long, he'd discovered that he could push himself this far and still stay awake—he'd not even slept on the plane home.

Home was a place Santiago hadn't been in three years. His mother's country was as close as he could get to a physical home, but the woman he'd left behind in Florida with their golden retriever was true home.

It was three in the morning before he reached the apartment. He had fully expected you to be asleep, but the little light you kept on the side table was still on, and the light of the TV was glowing on the back wall, visible through the shades.

I'll have to replace those for something a little more private, he thought distantly as he unlocked the door.

You looked up immediately, at first alarmed, and then realization crossed your face.

"Santi, oh my God—"

Before you could even move off the couch, the golden—who Santiago had dubbed Lion on their first meeting—gave an excited bark and threw herself at him.

She pawed at him, placing her front paws on his shoulders.

Groaning, Santiago sank down on his sore knees, wrapping his arms around her torso and scratching.

"Hey, girl, hiya. Hi, oh, thank you," he said as she licked his face. "Ahhh, come on, Lion, relax. It's okay, I'm home now."

You had thrown off your blanket and had come to stand close by, waiting for their moment to end. Santiago struggled to push the dog off his lap and get to his feet. You took his hands helped him up, burying your face in his chest the instant he was on his feet again.

Santiago kissed the top of your head gently, cupping the back of your head with one hand. You hugged in silence, squeezing each other tightly, breathing in each other's scents.

You pushed away from him far too soon. He leaned closer, chasing your touch. You cupped his face in both your hands, smoothing your thumbs over his cheeks, wet with tears he hadn't realized had fallen.

"Oh, God, Santi," you whisper. "I thought I lost you. It was an illegal mission and I thought I lost you and I'd never get confirmation because the government wasn't backing you this time and they'd never know what happened and—" You took a deep breath. "I thought I lost you for good."

"I know, baby, I know, I'm so sorry," he whispered. He kissed your forehead. You whined, the sound barely more than a whisper, your tears falling down your cheeks in the next blink.

"Five days," you said. "It took five days more than you thought. What happened?"

Santiago hesitated. He wanted to tell you everything, wanted to just lay in your arms and tell the whole story and not care when he inevitably started to cry. But it was late. Would you really want to deal with all that?

"Santiago," you said, voice gentle. "Come on. Get out of your head. Tell us what happened." You looked down at Lion and scratched her head and she weaseled her way between you and Santiago, twisting herself between your legs. "That's what we're here for."

He shook his head. "You're not my therapist, querida, you're more than that."

"We got Lion for this reason, sweetheart. C'mon. Talk to me. I know you need to."

You guided him to the couch, sitting him down and pulling him close to your side. You pull the blanket over the both of you. It takes Lion only a second to jump back up and settle herself across both your laps.

"I remember when she could stretch all the way out and she'd still only fit in one of our laps," Santiago said softly, rubbing Lion's head. She responded with a heavy sigh. "What've you got to sigh about, not-so-little little one?"

You kissed Santi's cheek, turning his head toward you with just a light touch of your fingers to the side of his face. "It's been four, five years since we got her. She got big."

"I missed three of those years," he said, his usual frown already coming back to his face.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing gentle kisses to his face. Eventually, he pressed his mouth to yours, pulling you into a long, satisfied kiss. You sighed softly into him as his tongue caresses yours. He tasted of coffee and alcohol, a pleasant mix you'd come to associate with Santiago. You always knew when the mission had been difficult when he tasted like that.

Santiago huffed when you pulled away from his mouth. You ran your thumb over his lips for a moment.

"What happened out there?"

He sat back against the couch. "Too much," he said, at last. You waited, giving him all the time he needed to talk. Sure, it was nearing four in the morning, but you didn't care about your lost sleep. Your boyfriend had come home at last, and something in him had very clearly broken.

Santiago leaned close once again, placing kisses along your neck that started out gentle but soon left marks you knew would be a deep shade of purple when you woke up. You threaded your fingers through his curls, relaxing against the touch of his mouth.

"It went wrong...almost immediately," he began, after several minutes of his kisses. "We had to...take unnecessary lives. Lives we thought we could spare. Lorea's guards."

"Ah." You knew enough about the mission from Santiago's quick explanation when he'd showed up to explain what his last job would entail.

"Then we couldn't find Lorea. Or the money, at first. It was in the walls. The whole damn house. And T...Tom wanted all of it, as much as we could take. I'll admit, I wanted it all, too. I just kept thinking...we'd finally be able to afford a bigger apartment in a better part of town, I could fix your car, we'd be set for...for a long time, at least. We missed the hard out."

You startled beside him. You'd heard stories of Delta Force from before you'd met them all, before you'd started dating Santiago—back when the only ones you knew were Benny and William, your neighbors from across the street when you were kids. And you knew they never missed a hard out.

"Why?"

"The money. Greed. We just wanted more." He rubbed his forehead, grimacing. You knew he was still in his head, knew he was hating himself for every decision he'd made in the past week and a half. "We burned what we couldn't take, and drove out of there with more than we planned to take. Killed more guards on the way because we'd missed the hard out and still didn't get out before Lorea's family got back from church."

You stilled. "Santi, please tell me you didn't—"

"The family's fine. We didn't do anything to them. That was one rule I wouldn't break."

You kissed his hair. "Oh, thank God."

He nodded. "We stole too much. The helicopter couldn't take it. Went down as we reached the mountain ranges. A bunch of villagers got ahold of the money and... Tom, he..." Santiago squeezed his eyes shut. There was pain buried deep there, you could tell. Twice now he'd stumbled over Tom's name. An ominous feeling settled in your chest. "He got angry. Possessive of it. We killed a couple of the villagers, him and Frankie and me." He sniffled. "We paid for their deaths and the mules we borrowed from the village. Made as much of the trek as we could with the mules, then cut 'em lose and strung all the bags together to carry it ourselves. Over a hundred bags, carried by five men." He chuckled, the sound full of self-loathing. "God, I was a fucking idiot."

You kissed his temple. "Hey. I hate it when you say that, you know that."

"You haven't heard the worst of it yet."

"Then tell me."

"We didn't notice we were being followed for days. I don't know how none of us knew, but we didn't know until it was too late, until T..." He paused, clenching his jaw tightly. You knew what he was going to say before he said it. "Until Tom was shot."

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of you. Tom had never been your favorite guy on the spec ops team, but he was the one with a family.

"He's gone. Tom's gone. Instant. Benny and Ironhead got into this huge fight about it, and I...I kinda lost my head after that. Couldn't think straight. We lugged the money and his body as far as we could, but then...we knew we couldn't get it all home with us, so..." He sighed. "We left it in a fucking valley. Left it there to rot and get covered in snow and never be seen again." He laughed, the sound painful and mirthless, tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes as he did. "And Benny took the coordinates. I didn't know at the time, but they're sitting in my pocket now, and it's practically burning a hole through my pants."

You cradled him in your arms. "We'll worry about that later. Not now, not tonight. Not until you've had some proper rest and have a clear head. Why don't we get you—"

"I'm not done yet," he whispered.

You nodded. "Okay."

"We only took money that could fit in our packs and then we took Tom home. Five days late, because we had to walk the whole thing." He covered his eyes with one hand. "We walked through the fucking Andes. We're insane. God, we're insane." He rubbed his face. "And then we left all the money to Tom. To his family." Finally, he looked at you for the first time since he'd told his story. "I can't even face his girls. Molly'd kill me. His daughters would kill me. But at least they can pay to go to college."

You thumbed away the tears in his eyes. "Santi, I want you to listen to me, okay?"

He nodded.

"It's not your fault."

"I offered them the job, I brought them down there, I—"

"Santiago. Listen."

He quieted.

"You know how jobs like these go. There are things you can control, and things you can't. The guy who followed you? That wasn't something you could control. I know for sure you did your best to keep everyone safe. I also know how Delta Force can be. You're all headstrong and full of yourselves and you get so angry with each other so easily, especially when money's involved. Especially when it's something so near to you." You took his hand in yours, squeezing it reassuringly. "This mattered to you. The boys knew that. It's why they agreed to it. It didn't go the way it was supposed to, but you've all worked similar jobs before. You all knew the risks, even if this time was a little...riskier."

Santiago buried his head in your shoulder. "What you were worried about. Losing me in an illegal mission. It's what Molly's going through right now. That's on me."

You hugged him tight to your chest. Lion whined as she was squished between your bodies, shoving her nose between you and up to lick Santiago's chin. Through his tears, he let out a small laugh.

"Hi, girl. I know, I know I'm upset. I know you just wanna help."

She wriggled, her dog-smile appearing at the playful tone in Santiago's voice that contrasted his words, the voice he always used to speak to her.

Lion flopped against his chest, rubbing against him and urging him to pet her.

"See? She says it's not your fault. She says death isn't something you can control, Santiago."

"She's a good therapy dog, but I don't think she's saying that," he said, fixing you with his sad stare. "I'm pretty sure it's just you."

You kissed his temple again. "One day, you'll realize I'm right. You'll admit one day that you can't control everything, try as you might."

"I got him killed," Santiago whispered.

"You didn't pull the trigger." He gave you a look. "Come on, Santi, let's get you to bed. You've been through a lot, and you need a clear head to deal with it all."

You stood and pulled him off the couch with you. Lion followed you down the hallway and waited outside the bathroom while you pulled Santiago's clothes off, the same ones he'd been wearing for days as he and the boys trekked through the Andes, and got him into a quick shower. You waited with Lion while he showered and dried himself off.

You tugged him into bed and curled up in his arms. Lion jumped up and curled up at your feet.

"Feel any better?" you whispered, tracing your fingers across his face.

"A bit," he admitted. He tightened his hold on your torso. "I've missed this. Holding you. Actually being in the same bed."

You hummed your agreement. "Don't you ever go away for three years again."

He brushed your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear and kissed you softly. "I told you—that was my last job. I'm never leaving again."

"I hope to God you're right." You snuggled closer, kissing him one last time. "Get some sleep, Santi. You need it."

"I know," he whispered.

But his thoughts turned, again, to the paper William had shoved in his hand, still sitting in the pocket of the pants on his bathroom floor, and he knew he wasn't completely done.

Delta Force never missed a hard out. And they also never left a job unfinished.

☞ ❊ ☜

Triple Frontier // Santiago "Pope" Garcia

☞ ❊ ☜

Translation: (I don't speak Spanish, I hope this is right.)

Querida = darling

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #triple frontier #fem!reader #santiago garcia x you #oscar isaac #santiago garcia fluff #triple frontier fluff #triple frontier spoilers #post movie

91 notes · View notes

archive-of-note · 2 years

Text

First Writer Wednesday!

@writer-wednesday week 24

author's notes

Reader insert, poly relationship (Frankie x GN!Reader x Female!OC) reader is never gendered, referred to as “titi” by a child character in place of mom/dad/aunt/uncle etc. some very loose allusions to sexual activity, like hella loose, could not even be recognized unless your mind was already skirting the gutter. My terrible attempts at Spanish, do not hesitate to tell me if smth is wrong.

Female OC: Aliya. Imagine Bayonetta but toned down. She’s still confidant, she’s still flirty, but it’s more restrained. Actually used to be a stripper, worked through getting her MD, eventually became a pediatrician, still dances for fun because she genuinely enjoyed the physicality of it, and it’s a great way to keep active and in touch with her old coworkers. (we respect sex workers in this house!)

none of this is really pertinent to the story, but I wanted to give her some background

she does have some issues with Santi, she keeps her mouth shut about it though, but know if he ever tries to pull his shit again she will not hesitate to go for the throat.

I don’t know if it came across but I need you to understand that the insert has it down BAD for these two, we’re talking hearts and stars and fireworks in their eyes.

if i missed any warnings or tags do not hesitate to tell me

Simply Poolside Paradise

It’s hot as hell and there is barely a breeze.

Smack dab in the middle of August you wonder why you’re not inside, naked, and spread eagle in front of a fan.

A splash and whoop make you look up, and you’re reminded what you’re suffering for.

Frankie shakes his head, flicking water out of his hair and making you long for a camera to capture the Vanity Fair quality moment.

“How he was so oblivious to your interest I will never know.”

You shake your own head, and look to the woman who has just insulted you and Frankie.

“Well, Aliya, how’d you do it?”

She huffs, obviously rolling her eyes behind her large sunglasses as she smacks your arm with her paperback.

“That’s different.”

You raise your eyebrows, looking at her over the rims of your own sunglasses.

Instead of giving you a better argument, she just flicks your ear.

Snatching her wrist, you tug, pulling her into your lap as she squawks and flails gracelessly.

Frankie shouts from the other side of the pool, “You alright?”

You shout over her shoulder, “I’m being bullied!”

“You’re being bullied!? I’m being manhandled!”

You wrap your arms around her and laugh, kissing whatever bits of her you can reach as she playfully swats at you.

Suddenly you pull away, “Blegh,” cringing at the sour chemical taste of sunscreen.

She halts her wiggling, “What’s wrong?”

You click your tongue, trying to wipe the taste from your tongue without using your hands, “Tastes bad.”

“Slander!” Frankie’s voice booms from the edge of the pool, and he glares at you with a comical amount of contempt.

It takes you a moment, but once you understand what he means you gasp in horror, “I would never,” you squeeze Aliya’s waist, “imply such a thing.”

She tugs at your hair in retribution, “But you just did,” she starts trying to get out of your lap again, “you more than implied in fact.”

Whining, you hook your fingers into the strappier parts of her baiting suit, “Aliya,” you pout, gently tugging.

She humphs, crossing her arms and tilting her head away from you.

“Francisco,” she looks over her shoulder, “could you put lotion on my back?”

“Hey! I’m right here!”

She turns back to you, and even as you try to keep your eyes on her, you can’t help but flick your gaze to Frankie as he pushes himself out of the pool and all of that water pours down the thick expanse of his body.

You thoughtlessly lick your lips as he gets to his feet.

“Do you ever think with the head on your shoulders?”

Looking back to Aliya, you hum, wordlessly asking that she repeat herself.

She just laughs.

“What’s so funny?” Frankie grabs a towel from the bag beside your lounge chair, rubbing the side of his head, nose scrunching in a way that tells you he has some water in his ear.

Aliya cups your face, tilting your head up to look at her, “Not funny,” she leans in for a quick kiss, “just happy.”

The smile that breaks across your face makes you feel a little stupid, but Aliya’s eyes soften, and you don’t care.

“What about me?”

You turn to look at Frankie. His pout is so overdone that you can’t help but snort.

“C’mere, Flyboy.”

Smiling, he leans down and cups your cheek with one large hand, kissing you with a bit more fervor then is probably appropriate for his friend’s backyard pool.

“Blegh,” You make a face as you pull away.

“What?” Frankie looks worried.

You smack your lips to try and get rid of the taste, “You taste like chlorine.”

He huffs, but he doesn’t try too hard to keep his face deadpan.

“You better be decent! Ankle biters incoming!”

The three of you turn in time to see a little girl running and screaming toward the poolside.

“Tío Fishy!”

The little girl has her father’s hair, black, wavy, and with a decent puff from the humidity.

“Hey baby girl!”

He picks her up and she squeals in delight, suddenly several feet off the ground and loving every second of it.

“Santiago.” Aliya slips back into your lap, looking over your shoulder to the man who’s trailing behind Frankie’s daughter. It's not that she hates him, she actually thinks Santi is fun to be around. But sometimes the memory of the broken man who came back after going dark, lead on by promises of fortune, only to come back guilt ridden and empty handed, well, she might need some time to consider spitting on him if he were on fire.

He whistles, looking appreciatively at the woman in your lap, not feeling the subtle glare hidden by her frames.

You glare from behind the polarized lenses of your own shades, but more so to play up seeming jealous, just to lighten the mood.

“Titi,” tilting your head down, you soften your features to look to the little girl standing at your side.

“Hey starlight, how was shopping with Santi?”

Her mouth opens with a yawn, rubbing one of her eyes to really drive her want for nap time home.

“‘M sleepy.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

You turn to Aliya, “While it hurts me to say this, you might need to move.”

She holds a hand to her chest, shoulders relaxing once Pope is out of sight, “Devastating.”

“I know, I need to mentally prepare.”

Turning back to the little girl you ask in a soft voice, “You want to go inside to take a nap?”

She shakes her head.

“No? Why not?”

She doesn’t say, she just gives you the grabby hands.

You glance up to the sky, bright, blue, and not a cloud in sight.

“Gotta put sunscreen on, you still want to be out here?”

She nods, eyes closed and spreading her arms, already preparing for the process of being misted.

“It’s lotion, Stellita.”

She gives a little grunt, arms dropping and waiting.

You look to Aliya, and she already has the bottle in her hands.

“I’ll do it, grab a towel or two, so she has a pillow and something to hold.”

She slips out of your lap, and you do just that, taking a quick look at Frankie and Santi’s daughter splashing around in the shallow end of the pool, “Mari! Are you wearing sun screen?”

“What’s that?”

And that answers that question.

You give Frankie a look and he’s already walking back out of the water, holding the little girl aloft so she can’t wiggle around in a bid to stay in the pool.

Santiago shouts from near the shed, hefting a bag of coal over his shoulder, “Anyone hungry yet? Or can I hold off on the grill for a bit longer?”

You wave a hand his way, “I’m not hungry yet, but I think I’m getting there, still, no rush.”

You find some pool towels and start setting up a spot for Estella, in the shade and close to both you and Pope, but she whines, again giving you the grabby hands.

“I’m gonna need words here bebita, my mind reading doesn’t always work.”

She whines “‘na cuddle.”

“Es Calor, ¿estás seguro?” You flick your eyes to Santi, and he gives you a thumbs up on your Spanish.

“Sí, quiero mi titi.”

If you could die from cuteness you’d be six feet under right now.

“Alright,” you pick her up with one of the towels, sitting back in the pool lounger and getting comfortable and trapping yourself beneath the little girl.

“¿Bueno, estrella de mi vida?”

She nods, already mostly asleep against you.

A shadow suddenly covers you, so you look up, and standing over you is Frankie, with a patio umbrella that needs to be set up.

“Hey,”

Frankie stares, but the sun blurs his face from view.

“Is something wrong?”

He stares a bit longer before shaking his head.

“No,” he plants the umbrella and opens it up, blocking the sun from where you and Estella lie.

“Just,” he locks the whole thing in place, “have I said I love you today?”

Blinking a few times you think it over, even though you don’t think he’s actually looking for an answer, “Yeah, when I made your coffee this morning.”

His smile grows, “Well saying it again won’t kill me.”

You shake your head, “No it won’t.”

Frankie leans in and kisses you, soft and full, before pulling away just enough to speak, “I love you.”

You close the gap between the two of you again, following him when he pulls back just a bit.

“Love you too, hermoso.”

He smiles in that way that makes his entire face scrunch up, eyes closing and crinkling at the sides.

You can't help but kiss him again.

“Tío Fishy!”

He tilts his head toward the pool, “Duty calls.” He doesn't move though.

“Mmhmm.” And you don't really make much of an effort to get him moving yourself.

“Tío Fishy!”

“Un momento, Mari.”

He kisses you one more time, then one last peck, before he takes two large steps and promptly jumps into the pool, splashing your legs and soaking Mari who is absolutely delighted by the chaos.

“Have I said I love you today?”

You look up to Aliya, taking in her cocked hip and the sharp points of her profile. Giving her an answer is easy after having already thought about getting ready this morning, “Yes, when I told you which sunglasses went with the hat and bathing suit, then when I packed a second book because I noticed you were very close to finishing your current one, and when I stopped you from drinking Frankie’s coffee.”

She makes a face, she may be okay with bitter flavors, but solid black coffee is too much for her.

“Well, I’m going to say it again. I love you.”

You grab her hand, “And I love you,” kissing the back of it you cringe again, “even when you taste like sunscreen.”

She laughs, before setting up the other lounge chair so she can share the shade with you.

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stormkobra-5 · 2 years

Text

Feral Flight

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x fem!Reader (A/B/O AU)

Fic Type: Drabble

Summary: You know when your alpha's that calm on the outside that he's a ball of roiling tension on the inside. Whether from a mission gone badly, or just simply his rut, Santiago gets that specific stance-- the narrowed eyes, the clenched jaw, that look in his eyes like he's already calculating the number of ways he can catch you before you reach your safe place. That's how he stands now, in the doorway, not even having removed his vest or weapons from his work. "Run," He says, deceptively calm, and he's hardly finished the word before you're bolting out the door.

A/N: This fic is based off of the sexy sexy answer @lovely-cryptid gave me regarding Santi and these tropes. You can find it here. Thanks for letting me base this little fic off that, babe! ^^ This is also my first time writing for the A/B/O trope, and I used some personal headcanons I have for it as well as following what the general understanding is of it.

Rating/Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, NSFW under the cut, smut, rough smut, pwp(?), A/B/O trope, Primal Play, praise kink, breeding kink, mating kink(?Is that the same thing as a breeding kink?), kinda sex-pollen-ish, unprotected PiV, non-con but not really, pain is involved (not really bad pain, Santi would never hurt anyone he loved but it’s also pain from overstimming and not enough pleasure), knotting, claiming/marking kink, exhibitionism (no one is sees/hears/is aware), very slight choking, dirty talk from our boy Santi, Santi’s rut throws his omega reader into heat, impregnating, mention of getting the reader pregnant, fluff at the end

Ten seconds.

That’s the headstart he gives you, that he always gives you. You’re out the door, already having counted down to 7 by the time you’re on the street. You’re nowhere near fast enough to outrun your alpha, Santiago Garcia, not for long. The key, however, is in tactics. Endurance.

Ex-military, Santi doesn’t even need to follow your scent to track you. With his training, he seems to have superhuman abilities that allow him the edge to almost always catch you before you reach your safe spot. Your only advantage is knowing him— and this city— well.

When you’d first come to South America, brought here by Santi, you didn’t know much. The first time he chased you, he ended up knotting you in an alleyway just minutes from your home. The second time, you’d gotten turned around and he caught you in an empty street. You loved Santi with all your heart— he wasn’t just your alpha, he was your soulmate— so you were never scared of him. No matter how rough he could be, he was never rough enough to hurt you. He’d never take you if you didn’t want it. And he certainly would never put you in any kind of real danger.

And yet, your inner omega feels the thrill of the hunt. Your instincts lead you to take passes he’ll find difficult with his bad knees— stairs, hills, that sort of thing— buying you extra time. One of the only things you’ve discovered that keeps you ahead of him. The second, and only other thing, is pacing yourself. Santi has high endurance despite his bad knees, his training making him faster and stronger in the long run.

Only this time it’s different.

You knew when he left two days ago for his mission that it was risky. That if he forgot to take his suppressants or was unable to, he’d enter a rut— but he’d insisted on going anyway, claiming he could handle it if it came to it. “I’ll be fine, princesa,” He’d assured you. Evidently not. He’d come through the front door with a wild appearance and wilder eyes, his first word to you being “run.” You could smell his state once he’d gotten onto your street, leaving you pacing until he’d all but kicked the door down, chest heaving. His growl sent fire surging through your veins, and although your heat wasn’t due for another week at least, you felt the familiar instinct slam into you without warning. It was the first time it had happened between you, but Santi’s rut had thrown you into early heat. Now you were torn between two urges: the urge to run, and the urge to mate.

So, you may have purposefully avoided that last hill.

You took detours that led you deeper into mostly-abandoned alleyways, a little off-course to your safe place. It’s what you wanted. And judging from his huffs and snarls behind you as he gained ground, it’s what he wanted, too. You risked a glance back once, just long enough to witness him give himself another push of speed. You were tiring, and slowing anyway because of your heat, the slick between your legs making it difficult to run properly. The throbbing ache in your core was growing painful, you needed him.

You took one more turn, into a disused alleyway that’s always abandoned. The old brick wall to the left is crumbling, a barrier between the town and the jungle beyond just over the hill. The buildings on the right are in disrepair, once all part of the same old complex. If Santi was going to catch you, right here was where he needed to do it.

And he did.

Your heart leapt into your throat as Santi collided with you from behind, half-slamming, half-wrestling you down to the worn dirt path. Sandy dust clouded up from the impact, staining your clothes and hair until it looked like you and Santi had been rolling around in it for fun. Despite your sudden heat, you still put up a mock fight against him, struggling against his grip. “Stop. Fighting.” He growled in your ear, wrapping his arms around you until he had you on your knees, arms pinned to your side and him doubled over your back. You could feel his hardness pressing against you through his jeans, sending a flood of arousal to pool between your legs. You both stilled for a second, breathing heavily.

“...Did… Did I hurt you…?” Santi ground out, barely managing the sentence. You shook your head— and your hips. Santi rocked against you, briefly giving in to the urge to dry-hump you for some relief. His voice lowered to a primal state, his hold tightening on you. “You gonna be a good girl?”

“Y-yes–” Your voice cracks as Santi groans when he rocks into you, your eyes rolling back.

Santi helps you to your hands and knees, making sure you’re comfortable. “Tell me if I need to stop,” He breathes in your ear, but you both know that neither of you will be able to. It’s the gesture that counts at this point, you suppose. He reaches around you to undo the belt to your nice jeans, the ones you wore especially for him. He liked how tight they were on you, showing off your curves that only he got to touch. He nips at your ear gently as he starts to unbuckle it, the faintest brush of his fingers against your clothed waist making you whine at the sensation. “You gonna let me mate with you right here, princesa?”

“You’ll keep me safe,” You whispered, gasping as he nuzzled your scent glands with a satisfied hum, his hands slipping your jeans down.

“I will, I promise,” Santi breathes, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving bruising marks; claiming you, marking you, letting everyone know just who you’re mated to– his distinct scent of metal and jungle covered you until your own, more flowery scent was almost entirely disguised. “Ready, pretty girl?”

Your frantic nod was all he needed to push into you, both of you emitting such obscene groans that you’ll be lucky if no one comes to investigate. Overcome by your urges, neither of you can still for more than a few moments.

Santi’s hips start pistoning as he holds you against him, growling and huffing in your ear as he takes you, listening to your loud sobs of pleasure. “I need you to say it, cariño,” He pants between his snarls, snapping his teeth at your ear. “I need your— agh, unh— I need your permission— fuck, baby, please, tell me I can knot you, tell me I can breed you; oh fuck, hermosa— please let me breed you, please—“

You tried, desperately, to say it verbally, but all you could fathom was choked sobs. Santi was filling you, but you weren’t full enough, and despite the fact that he was in charge, he still was begging you for your consent. Your ruts and heats had always been controlled, there was never any real chance of him impregnating you— but here, you know what he’s really asking for. If he claims you here, now, without any of your protection, you will be pregnant. Are you ready for that?

Your lust-addled brain certainly thinks so. The thought of him filling you with his pups has your heart pounding so wildly you’re sure that Santi can feel it. “P-please, Santi—“ It’s all he needed; he shifts positions, allowing you to arch your back and present for him in the classic omega position. He elicits a gasp as he sinks deeper in, bracing himself with a hand on your hip as he scruffs you, fist clenching half in your hair and half around your neck.

Immediately, he begins to pound into you, shouting as you cry out, your instincts sending you into a spiral of insatiable arousal. Anyone could walk around the corner and enter the alleyway, and you wouldn’t care that they’d see a full view of Santi mating with you on the dirt path like an animal. “Santi, Santi,” You sob over and over, and it spurs a filthy stream of expletives in English and Spanish from your alpha.

You both scream as his knot locks you together without warning, expanding within you until you’re more than certain that you’re going to explode; it triggers your own ecstasy, and you clench down on him so hard you feel like your muscles are going to seize up and cease to function. Shaking from the force of your shared orgasm, Santi reaches up to wipe your tears away with a trembling hand, even as he still emptied ropes of his seed deep inside you. “That’s it, that’s a good girl… So good for me, princesa, such a good girl…”

You heave for air as Santi rocks into you in a slow grind, fucking his release deeper into you.

But neither of you are satiated yet.

With a growl, Santi’s hips snap into yours; you whine, feeling his length throbbing within you and needing more. “Santi, I need you, I need you—“

“I know, baby, I know—“

He carefully presses your face into the ground as he pounds into you, chasing another release as he simultaneously tries to get you to yours; your pornographic wails echo in the alleyways when another orgasm is torn from you, the breath roughly punched from your lungs as he slams his pelvis into yours to knot you a second time, shooting his spend into your womb.

He’s barely finished when you’re squirming in his hold, begging him for more. He holds you still, trying to catch his breath. “N-no wait; rest for a second, just rest… Rest…” He’s clearly in pain, rock-hard again already and knot shrinking in preparation for a third round. But yet he still thinks of you, and your heart swells.

Each time after Santi knots you, he makes you rest. He forces himself to rest, near sobbing himself as the pain in his knees worsens with every round; but he can’t, you can’t, fight your instincts long enough to move somewhere else more comfortable.

Neither of you can stop; not until evening starts to set in, when Santi knots you so hard you scream and arch your back into him, when you cum around him so intensely that he yelps from the pressure. Exhausted, whining high in your throats, you grind into each other, trying to catch your breath as you force yourselves to rest; and then, you aren’t forcing yourselves anymore.

Your heat dissipates, leaving you boneless as you slump to the ground, the way eased by Santi’s trembling and uncertain grip as his rut— and his knees— give out. He collapses on top of you with a groan, careful of his weight on yours. Your muddled brain is curious and a little frightened. Your synced ruts and heats had never, ever ceased so suddenly.

It takes several moments for you to catch your breath, and the first thing Santi does is chuckle against the nape of your neck. “Cariño… Your scent changed…” In your blissed-out haze, you don’t quite understand his meaning— not until his hand sneaks under you to protectively splay over your belly, pressing gently there as he nuzzles into your neck with a beaming smile, breathing in your new scent: your old scent that brings him comfort, and your fresh scent which excites him, that of an expecting omega. And when you still don’t get it, he tells you, proud and happy. “...You’re pregnant, dios mio, you’re pregnant, sweetheart, you’re carrying our pups...”

Pregnant. The word rings around in your skull for a minute. You and Santi just made a little set of people— or maybe even more than the standard twins. Inside your womb were your young, a mix of you and your mate. You wondered if they’d look more like him, or like you, or maybe both… You suddenly found yourself overwhelmed for a second, taking deep shuddering breaths as you twisted in Santi’s arms to wrap your arms around his neck. He didn’t let his hand leave your stomach as he pulled out, laying on top of you and pressing adoring kisses to your face.

The tender embrace only lasted a moment before Santi began to weakly struggle to his feet, going into battle mode. He was bracing himself for if he needed to fight, if he needed to protect you. “Come on, princesa. Let’s get you home.”

Despite his bad knees, he refused to let you walk on your own. He stood, he scooped you up in his arms, and he limped carefully back home, where he took a bath with you before helping you into bed. You weren’t very surprised when Santi situated himself so that he was between you and the door, after thoroughly checking to ensure that the windows and doors were locked, both arms wrapped protectively around your stomach and his torso shielding yours. His head laid on your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat as you threaded your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.

The reality of the situation was slowly sinking in.

“...We’ll need to move to a better part of the city,” Santi said. You hummed contentedly in response. “Maybe get a real job. One that pays good and keeps me close enough to protect you.” He lifted his head, resting his chin on your collarbone so that his sparkling doe eyes could meet yours. “...You okay?”

You knew that if you weren’t (which you were, completely and then some), Santi would blame himself for being unable to take his rut suppressants. But you were. Kids were something that you had always wanted, especially with Santi; but your situation had never been favorable for any amount of children— or so he’d claimed. You knew he was scared. But you also knew that while it wouldn’t be easy, it wasn’t impossible. You were happy about the sudden change, allowing you something with Santi that he’d never thought he could have had before: a family.

Santi stretched up to nuzzle into your neck with a low purr in the back of his throat as he scented you. “Te amo, cariño.”

“Te amo, Santi.”

Santi trailed his kisses down your throat and past your sternum, pressing a tender kiss to your stomach. “Papá también te ama,” He whispered, and you all but burst into tears. Santi returned to his original protective position, tangling his legs with yours and entwining your fingers together. Feeling warm and safe in his embrace, you fell asleep happier than you’d ever thought possible.

————————————————————————

Thanks for reading! I wrote the first few paragraphs several weeks ago and finally came back to it to finish it up with Red Handed Part 3 before tackling Banks of the Nile: Part 2 and The House of Fett: Part 3.

I wasn’t sure exactly who to tag (because I know a lot of people aren’t into the A/B/O trope) so I limited it to people who I know enjoy or don’t mind that sort of thing: @lovely-cryptid @johnny-simpfinger @marc-spectorr

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader smut #santiago garcia x reader smut #santiago garcia x fem!reader #alpha!santiago garcia #triple frontier #triple frontier au #oscar isaac #oscar isaac hernandez estrada

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intheorangebedroom · 4 months

Text

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 1

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.

Guilt is a wild trip, but so is desire. How the hell did you end up in this divvy motel? And now, what's next?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, orange besties 🧡 PLEASE, see series masterlist for extensive trigger warnings. Now I'm off to disappear for another month, heehee. To anyone who celebrates anything, happy whatever you celebrate. Ily 🧡

@frannyzooey And to you, Kelli… Thank you 🧡 Thank for your help on this chapter, without you it wouldn’t exist. Arguably, without you I wouldn’t exist (my gothic ass) and without you I would certainly not be writing at all. You’re the kindest, most generous, most beautiful person I’ve ever met, you shine so brightly and I love you more than all the Frankies from all the universes put together 🧡✨

Word count: 6.5k

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter 1: Dirt

Guilt, you’re about to find out, is an interesting feeling.

A viscous, gluey business that sticks to your skin and clings to your frame. It’s a prickling tickle under your armpits, a rigidity in your legs. It’s a tightness in your shoulders, and it pulls on your face. It has a density, and it’s tangible, not only do you feel it, you see it in every mirror, every reflective surface.

A pervasive, shape-shifting torment that unfurls gradually, and comes in many colorful shades, when you begin to take in the gravity and the ramifications of your actions.

The first wave is darkened by fear, black as petrol, trickling down your insides when he says his name.

Frankie.

Like an invitation, an opening. Gaping, abysmal, pulling you in and you remain silent, struggling on the edge of it, grasping for balance. Drawn in, but too stunned to let go and dive in yet.

It’s a violent crimson, next, shame creeping over you when you walk back inside the bar to retrieve your purse.

Facing Mark is difficult, but talking to him is beyond your strength. You gesture toward the handbag waiting for you on the other side of the counter. He hands it to you in appraising silence, judgmental, surely, and you smile, or you wince, you can’t even tell. With shaky hands, you fumble inside it for your wallet, his green gaze strained on your face.

You know that your entire appearance gives away the narrative of what just took place in the back lot of his establishment. Your face is flushed, your lips swollen, your hair undone. Your clothes are rumpled and in his eyes, you will from now on and forever be this woman.

After what feels like several minutes, he takes pity on you, and reiterates his offer. You’re good, he says. Sweetheart. The first pint’s on him.

You don’t stay long enough for a second drink, however.

Back outside into the muggy night, you crumble onto the passenger seat of your car. The polyester lining of your skirt clings to the bare skin at the back of your thighs, damp with sweat and what is left of your inconsequential desire, and you feel appallingly filthy, bone-deep disgusting.

Guilt washes over you in blue waves of regret, welling under your eyelids when you notice that the red truck is gone. And with it, the gaping, abysmal possibilities of another you, reinvented with him.

The shaking starts as you’re driving, trembling hands gripping the steering wheel. A brutal, chilling comedown, guilt experienced in bright and blinding yellow at the belated realization of your betrayal.

How easily, how rapidly you forgot, trapped under Frankie’s gaze, coming undone between Frankie’s hands, that your life isn’t truly yours. That it has never been. You’re not on your own, no matter how much you long to be. You have never been afforded the privilege of independence, nor do you possess the necessary strength to break free from your family.

And who has Frankie betrayed? What faceless, nameless woman has he gone back to? Remorse blends in with envy and resentment, painting green ring-shaped stains in your peripheral vision as you get out of your car and into the lobby of your building.

Eyes to the floor, you step into the elevator, this oversized coffin lined with mirrors reflecting your image with a silent scoff. There’s dust from the gravel on your leather pumps.

Inside your apartment, the clickety-click of your heels on the tiled floor bounces off the walls of your skull. You hate that sound, eminently cold and giving away your presence.

The living-room television is on, probably set to a news channel, most likely broadcasting a financial show in which white men over 50 listen to the sound of their own voice and debate about obscure economical regulations you’re supposed to care about.

Adrian’s already here. Uncharacteristically early. Friday evenings usually mean late night poker or whatever his own excuse is to get away from your cribless home.

Hoping to go unnoticed so as to avoid him, you take off your shoes, but it’s too late. He calls out your name from the kitchen, his intonation surprised but cheerful.

Head hanging low, heartbeat picking up, you make a silent dash for the upstairs bathroom, remorse so pungent you fear no shower can ever wash it off your skin.

Under the scolding high-pressure stream, you scrub your body raw with a soapless loofah, but there is no scrubbing away the feeling of those hands over your skin.

Eyes drifting closed, you lean your forehead against the anthracite marble of your Italian shower, and let your chest heave around a suppressed sob.

Guilt, shame, and remorse are powerless to outweigh your want, undeterred, unabated, unquenched.

Back in the parking lot, it had been a moment before you were able to push away from the side of the truck and stand upright. He stood there, silent and immobile in front of you. Waiting, as if to shield you from the street and the rest of the world. Silence hanging charged and heavy between you, as you wouldn’t offer your name in return.

When you started moving toward the bar’s entrance, he stepped aside, and that’s when your body moved of its own volition. You took his hand in yours, palm against palm, trembling fingers wrapped around his knuckles.

“Can I see you again?” you asked, pleaded, begged. You didn’t recognize your voice.

He swallowed hard, shook his head at you for the third time, and squeezed your hand in his bigger one.

“I don’t think so. You know that’s not a good idea,” he said.

—

Grief settles like dust over the first weeks of September.

You are surprised, almost shocked, to observe how little your life has changed. You get up in the morning, you shower and get dressed, drink coffee, go to work. You attend meetings about maritime trade regulation, sitting at your father’s side, go over endless spreadsheets detailing import-export profit and loss, you pretend to understand them, and you pretend to care, like a pretty human puppet.

You come home at night, skip dinner when you can. You lie in bed next to Adrian. You seek out warmth where there is none. You perform sex without satisfaction.

There has been no question asked. No suspicion, no doubt cast.

You wear the same clothes, drive along the same roads, walk around the same hallways.

And no one seems to notice that you are different. That you experienced imperious want and incandescent pleasure. That you carry a secret. Nestled, dormant and quiet, between your lungs, like a wild and unknown creature.

Whatever part of him you welcomed inside you transformed the hollowed spaces of your existence. It redefined the void, creating a place of your own where to curate your new desires.

His lips on your lips, your body molded into his, and pressed against your hips, an unfulfilled promise for more.

In the palm of your hand, the ghost sensation of Frankie’s hold, now forever gone and lost, and your highlighted loneliness feels like a barless prison. On your own, always, again, to divert the old familiar pain of being you.

Weeks go by. The guilt recedes, and sadness takes its place, like clockwork, like physics. Like a new sort of weight coating your limbs. A nostalgic longing without any object.

In the idle moments of your day, when you’re stuck in traffic, in a meeting, or in a conversation, your mind wanders back to him. The solid slope of his shoulders. The strong span of his back. Muscles bunching up under your grip. His scent, his curls, his taste. An organic trace seared into your being.

His rebuttal, after he’d given you so much, felt less like a rejection than like a refusal to heed a deeply rooted instinct.

His stare was no longer hard and cold. It carried only sorrow and loss.

Does he think of you like you think of him? Does he miss the contact of your skin, or the abandon of your kiss?

Did he walk away from your embrace with something to keep, like you did?

Day after day, summer fades into fall, the change hardly perceptible through the consistently sweltering weather.

Day after day, focusing becomes tricky, finding sleep more and more difficult and your train of thought turns downright maniacal.

Ava’s calls go straight to voicemail.

More often than not, you start drinking as soon as you come home to fence off the tears of exhaustion, hoping Adrian won’t notice. Another line you had promised yourself never to cross, and under the combined effects of the alcohol and the antidepressants, you feel drowsy and dizzy, increasingly disconnected from your reality. A nagging sting settles on the left side of your lower abdomen. But you don’t mind the pain as much as you mind turning into your mother.

Some days, you think you’d like nothing more than to give way, allow yourself to drown into the proven refuge of self-abuse. Whenever you indulge the thought, soothing images spring to mind, oil on canvas, deep green, tender brown. Ophelia, crowned with wild flowers and rings of violets, sleeping peacefully in a shallow stream.

When you finally return to the Hole in the Wall, it’s only with the hope of hindering your impending tailspin.

In the parking, after turning off the ignition, you sit in your car for the whole of five minutes, staring numbly at the dark lot where the red truck had been parked.

Mark’s hesitant greeting puzzles you; by now you have lost most of your ability to read people’s reactions.

You walk to the counter and choose to sit on one of the high stools. Somewhere deep down, you enjoy his distance; you relish the sadistic pleasure of reliving the humiliation you felt standing before him, freshly fucked dumb on a total stranger’s fingers.

Besides, you’ll take the attention, however uncomfortable it may be.

“Long time no see,” Mark says, and you produce a poorly executed smile.

“I don’t know… two weeks? I’ve been busy,” you add as a way of apologizing.

“It’s been a month,” he replies curtly.

You try a brown ale, this time, rich and bitter. He busies himself behind the counter, cleaning and wiping, while you drain your glass in silence. You haven’t eaten all day, and you’re drinking too fast. Nausea laps against your diaphragm. It’s the last missing scene from this scenario: you, throwing up in the toilet of his bar.

You’re considering leaving when he speaks again.

“Trucker hat dude came by.”

Your head shots up and you glare at him, eyes widening under your pinched brow, a new wave of sickness nudging further up. He gauges your face, twirling a towel inside a pint glass, waiting for your answer, but when you give him none, he goes on.

“Did he…” he starts, and his eyes slowly go back and forth between yours, “he didn’t hurt you or anything? Cause if he did, if you wanna press charges, I can—“

“No,” you cut him off, “god no, I’m fine. I’m perfectly ok,” you add unnecessarily when his gaze narrows.

He pauses for a moment, like he’s the only one who can judge if you are, indeed, perfectly ok, before he faces away from you to put back the clean glasses on the lower shelves behind him.

When he’s done, he turns back around, props his hands low on his hips, and for the first time since you’ve entered the place, he stands perfectly still.

“He’s been asking about you.”

Between your lungs, the creature begins to stir.

“He came back,” you say, surprisingly matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Asked if you come here every Friday.”

Piece by piece, your mind starts swiveling, sluggish and blunt after being successfully dulled out by the past couple of weeks of excessive drinking. You picture his tall figure standing in the small bar, perhaps he sat on the stool you’re sitting on now? Did he lift his cap to comb his hair with his fingers before he spoke?

Mark is talking again, and it’s a conscious effort to bring your attention back to his words.

“Asked if you always come on your own. If I know your name.”

“I never told you my name,” you panic, “what did you tell him?”

“I see your name every week on your AmEx Gold, sweetheart, but I kindly told him to go fuck himself,” he scoffs.

His sardonic tone snaps you out of your drifting daydreaming. Your face immediately hardens. You sit up straight, drawing further away from him and he seems to change his mind. He’s softer when he speaks next.

“Look, I don’t know what’s the lowdown between you two, you understand? And anyway, I’m not in the habit of discussing my regulars with just about anyone. That kinda goes against the job’s ethics, you know what I mean?”

You shrug away the rational, albeit patronizing explanation with a huff of annoyance. You feel more alert than you have in weeks.

“When was that?” you ask.

“Last week. Thursday, I think.”

“Shit.”

Mark lets out a heavy sigh, resembling that of an exhausted father, and he opens the cash register.

“He left a note for you.”

—

An address. Written in all caps, black ink on a white piece of paper torn from a lined notebook. No phone number, not date, no time… and no name. Just the address. Under the feeble cabin light of your car, the paper looks old, like it’s been carried around tucked inside a wallet for years, and time has turned it yellow.

The coordinates on the dashboard GPS are identical to the ones on the paper. They were identical back in the parking, at the bar, when you typed them in; they were identical at every single red light you stopped at and checked. And they’re still identical now, glowing in blue letters, cold and synthetic, above the message You have reached your destination.

You raise your head again and stare at the building in front of you.

It’s a motel. One floor, L shaped, slightly sloping roof. With wrought iron details, a porch hanging low and square wooden pillars demarcating each room, nine of them in total. On the right, underneath a bare bulb, a large ice machine gleams like a beacon for lost time-travelers, next to a pay phone with a cut-off cord and a missing receiver. On the rear end of the building, to the left, above what looks like the reception, a 4 feet tall sign spells MOTEL in red neon letters.

At its height, the place probably looked nice. But that was a rough 55, 60 years ago, you estimate. Now it’s nearly derelict, with visible cracks streaking the yellowing walls, several broken drainpipes, and a missing number on the door of room 7.

If you cared about these kinds of things, you’d figure that the diversion of the main road further south is responsible for the motel’s decaying state.

Your attention is elsewhere, as usual. The parking lot is deserted, save for three vehicles. The red truck is here, parked a couple of places away to your right. Engine off. Empty.

The drive here from the Hall in the Wall was nearly an hour long. The car cruised along poorly lit, narrow two-lane roads, lined with luxuriant vegetation, dense and confining in the pitch darkness of the suburban night. You’ve lived in Tampa your entire life and have never set a foot in this part of the Bay Area. Technically, you’re not even in Tampa anymore.

He’s inside one of these rooms, somewhere. Waiting for you, and that thought alone makes your breathing difficult and your hands clammy.

What now? What’s next? Are you supposed to walk up to the reception and ask about him? A tall man wearing a trucker hat? Frankie?

And what will happen, once you’ve found him?

This is ridiculous. Sordid. It’s gone too far, whatever that is. A motel outside of town. The worst possible cliché. The most degrading place.

Between your lungs, the creature is clawing at your chest.

You shift nervously on the creaking leather seat, exhaling long and shaky, no longer repressing the memory of his sturdy fingers curling inside your warmth, of his tongue swirling inside your mouth. The instant intimacy of your furtive encounter, that turning point, when he briefly relinquished his control.

A chorus of voices rumbles like tumbling boulders inside your head, a cacophony of rules and guidelines, tacit and unspoken, ingrained and internalized. But with every passing minute staring at the bright motel sign, your resolve grows surer.

The yellow curtains ripple behind the rectangular window of room number 2 and you quickly pull the key out of the ignition. Grabbing your phone from the dashboard, you stuff it inside your purse, which you slide under the driver's seat.

Eyes locked on the curtains, you make a fast-paced beeline to the door. Around you, the night is bustling with the sounds and noises of the invisible wildlife. Revealing nothing, containing so much.

With a quick rattle of your heels, you step under the porch, hand extended and ready to knock on the door when it opens for you.

Oh he’s broad, so much broader than you even remembered, blocking the entire doorway with his frame, blue jeans, black shirt, and this goddamn hat that’s already haunting your dreams and your nightmares.

Looking down on you, irate, defiant, daring you to push him aside and enter. Behind him, the room is plunged in darkness. Above you, the porch lights cast a warm hue on his face, that fails to soften his expression. The crease between his brow is deeper than your fears.

You take a step closer, on instinct, but he moves to the side as if to avoid any contact with you and you enter the dark bedroom, carried by your momentum.

Guilt will come back to you later, sporadically, in episodes, but for the most part, you forfeit it wholly when you cross the threshold of room number 2.

He closes the door behind you and flicks up the toggle switch near the door frame. Two quaint lampshades blink to life on the headboard, casting a warm, subdued light. There’s no AC, or he hasn’t turned it on, and the atmosphere inside the room is already stifling, charged with his scent.

“Took you long enough. Thought you wanted to see me,” he grunts, and the creature purrs inside your chest.

“I did. I do.”

Stopping in the middle of the room, you turn around to face him. He’s standing tall and firm and mighty, feet planted apart on the carpeted floor, arms crossed over his chest. Yet you note his hands are splayed across his biceps, as if he were attempting to hug himself.

Perhaps that’s when you convince yourself Frankie is not his real name. Somehow, it makes it easier to believe you’re not the object of his ire.

“Your friend didn’t tell you–”

“He’s not my friend,” you interrupt. “I only got your note earlier. Tonight.”

You let the implication sink in and your gaze travels down to the dip at the base of his neck and back up. The square, yellow bedroom provides you with the brightest environment you’ve ever had the leisure of observing him in.

He’s beautiful, stunning, really, with unique and complex features. Almost pretty, but in a reluctant way, as if it was irrelevant to the life he’s chosen and led. His face speaks so loud, washed over by so many emotions, frustration, doubt and anger, and that lingering sadness in his dark eyes that tugs at your heart and twitches your fingers.

“What’s your name?” he asks, tilting his chin in your direction.

Janet Leigh’s face pops up in black and white inside your mind, driving through a curtain of strident violins, skittish eyes flicking between the road ahead of her and the rearview mirror.

“Marion,” you answer, inexplicably.

“Marion,” he repeats, and you know he knows you’re lying.

Unable to hold his gaze, you look away to the side, and he gives you time to take in the surroundings. The medium size bed with a stained, synthetic bedspread, the practical, shipped furniture, an angular chair and a desk surmounted by a rectangular framed mirror, the antique cathodic TV set hanging from the wall in the corner. The brown carpet. The yellow curtains. The painting of the Appalachian.

And whatever your face says then makes him huff.

“Not what you expected? How did you think this was gonna be? How do you think these things go?”

You look at him again, stunned, lost, hurt maybe, that he should recognize you for what you don’t want to be.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before,” you tell him in a small voice.

He shakes his head, like you aimed to wound, and unconsciously, your fingers find your sternum, jittery, anxious to appease this wild creature scrabbling against your rib cage.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head again, or still, “and you shouldn’t be here either, this is bullshit.”

And he’s right, once more, he is right, neither of you should be here. All the lines you walked, all the rules you abided by, meeting expectations and doing as you were told, and you still end up here, on the outskirts of town, in this gloomy motel. Facing this stranger, begging to surrender to him, with your heart in your hand and your life on your lips.

Eyes strained on his, you move closer, cautious, with your palms upward, as if he were to jolt and scurry away if you were too sudden. If you tame him, perhaps you will tame the wild creature between your lungs as well.

Drawn to his skin, you brush the tips of your fingers along his bicep, and the taut muscle thrums under the freckled, tanned surface of him.

He’s holding his breath, hardened face, hardened stare, deepening crease, and your fingers skate up along the slope of his arm until they meet his hand.

He’s difficult to catch, you think, even when willing to be caught, but it’s now very clear what you want for yourself. You want him.

It matters not that he belongs to somebody else. If you’re here, it’s because he wants you too. Despair and desire have brought you together, combined, conjoined, converging.

Your hand travels round to the back of his arm, soft and feather-like, up under the hem of his t-shirt, lifting his sleeve. His eyes are boring into yours. You lick your lips, slowly, and lower them to his skin. A light kiss, testing, tender and wet, and underneath it, a tremor.

There’s a terrible density to his body. He’s tension and heat. Pressing your parted lips to his shoulder, you let your tongue peek out between them. You take in the tangy taste of him, it travels through your body like lava, like syrup, heavy and sticky and sweet and it pools down between your hips.

He’s completely still, eerily so. Emboldened, hopeful, you tug on his t-shirt, tentatively at first, and when he doesn’t stop you, when he unfolds his arms, you pull it off his frame, the hat coming off with it. You suck in a sharp breath at the sight of his naked head full of curls, lush and tousled. You want to run your fingers through them. You know that’s probably not a good idea.

His chest, broad and solid, fills your vision, and your hands fly to his sternum where you press them, chasing something invisible, roaming up the plane of his chest, as delicately as possible. Your fingertips drum lightly along his collarbone, as if you were seeing him with your hands, as if all your senses were necessary to take in the whole of him.

His frown turns imploring, his breathing shallow.

“Tell me your name,” he murmurs, his deep baritone a pleading husk.

“You can call me whatever you like,” you answer, lifting his hand and taking his two first fingers into your mouth, eyelids fluttering. You cradle them with the flat of your tongue, brushing against the callous tips of them, saliva flooding your mouth around the salty taste. A moan escapes you, imperceptible, and his jaw ticks around a curse, something you don’t make out, something in Spanish, you’re too dazed with want, too dumb with thirst.

Fire licks up your spine when he moves, fast and sure. His hand tangles in your hair and he sharply tugs your head back, his fingers popping out of your mouth with a hanging thread of saliva. His face has become a threat, a warning, a promise. He’ll give you what you want until you regret asking for it.

His mouth crushes yours, teeth colliding, and his tongue is inside you, swirling and licking.

Like a dam that gives, his strength breaks and sweeps over you, crushing you into his chest with his hold and his kiss, fingers gripping your hair, your ass, and you let him have it, let him bruise your flesh with his need, scraping your fingernails up his arms, on his back.

You’re smiling into the kiss, with relief and eagerness, squirming into him and he hardens his hold before releasing you, swift and sudden, grabbing your blouse and pulling it up in a feverish movement that you follow, lifting your arms like a docile little girl. A seam of the silky fabric rips around your shoulders. You don’t notice it.

His face dives into the crook of your neck, the scruff of his beard grating your skin, and he sinks in his teeth, sucking hard and feral, and at first, you melt into it, before you remember. You force his chest away with both palms, whining, urgent, plaintive, “I can’t– can’t have marks,” when what you really want is to be covered in him.

It makes him chuckle, and it sounds like a growl, so terribly dark, so profoundly disillusioned, that you shiver in the heat of his body. He squeezes your breasts through the thin cotton of your bra, it’s brutal and it hurts like retaliation.

“Get fucking naked, Marion.”

Drawing away from him, you start working the button and zip fly of your skirt with fumbling fingers, blood beating fast and booming in your eardrums, while he toes off his shoes and undoes his belt buckle. Hard metal, the same one that was scraping against your belly when he was crushing you into his red truck, into white-hot pleasure.

His skin looks amber and smooth under the mellow lighting, the harmonious muscles you guessed under his shirt on the very first night highlighted in shadows. A soft belly, and a long, sideways scar on his left side. Would he tell you the history of his wounds? Will you ever have the chance to ask?

Your skirt crumples at your feet, you’re lost in the sight of him, arms falling limp at your sides. Self-consciousness skirts the edges of your lust. This body that you neglect and ignore at best, despise and mistreat if given the chance, will it be worth anything to him? Will he want you like you want him? With determination. Without dignity.

When he pulls down his jeans and his boxer briefs in one deft motion, your eyes widen, but he’s grabbing your arm already, spinning you around like a doll and throwing you onto the bedspread. He climbs on the bed after you, the mattress dips with his weight.

His firm hands spread your legs; he’s manhandled other bodies before yours, the skill evident with his dexterity, the experience obvious in his assurance, and you want to be all of them at once, lovers and enemies.

His hand rubs over your damp panties and you buck into it, trying to raise yourself on your elbows to turn around. You want to see his face as he touches you, see his reaction at the evidence of your arousal, you want to watch his eyes when his cock breaches you, but he presses a large hand between your shoulder blades and pins you into the mattress with a grunt.

He’s unlike anyone you’ve known before, brisk and rough and domineering, and you blush at your inexperience, at his irreverence, when he yanks your panties to the side and spits on your folds. The sheer obscenity feels like a reward for coming this far.

Sprawling your arms forward, bunching the slippery fabric of the bedspread in your fists, you brace yourself, the round tip of his cock lining up at your entrance.

He shoves himself inside you to the base, and you cry out at the blinding intrusion, the strength of his thrust hauling your body forward on the bed. With a harsh grasp, he slides you back down on his length and you bite down another cry, flesh gushing through the splayed fingers clutching your hips.

Crouching over you, he presses his forehead heavy against the back of your head.

“Don’t move,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “don’t fucking move.”

His cock pulsates angry and swollen inside your throbbing pussy, his chest pressing down on your back with each uneven, shaky breath burning your nape.

Sitting back, he wraps his right hand around the strap of your bra and twists it around his fist, pulling on it for leverage as he begins to fuck into you. The thin elastic bands bite into your shoulders, raspy vibrations echoing from your throat straight into the bedding with each of his rhythmic pushes forward.

He’s too much, too fast, too sudden. And he picks up the pace, forcing your right leg up with his knee and angling up his strokes, reaching deeper inside your core. He’s going to puncture your body from the inside, and you contract tight and rigid around his length, writhing underneath him, until he leans into your neck, close to your ear with a command, voice low and gravelly.

“You want it, just fucking take it, then.”

That wild thing inside your chest is swelling, madly swirling, your slick floods around his drilling length. Closing your eyes, the side of your face smearing makeup on the bedspread, you nod with just enough strength to exhale a breathless yes.

Yes. Yes, you want it, just like so. You want to be used, shattered, obliterated by this man.

And so you relent. Curling your fists and sinking your fingernails into your palms, as the pain turns to pleasure and he rams into your taut heat, rams against your cervix, bending you backward, spine ready to snap with each forceful shove.

The room is filled with the explicit sounds and noises of your emerging dirty secret. The relentless smack of his hips against your ass, the lewd squelch of his cock slamming in and out of your cunt, the creaking bedding, his feral groans, your grateful moans.

He’s miles away from you, but that’s what you came here for, drain the sadness from his eyes, make it yours, understand. If you’re only going to have him once, then you want it all.

But his rhythm is faltering already, and it stops abruptly. He releases his grip on you and pulls out with a loud curse, leaving you empty, for all those things you never wanted in the first place to fill you up again.

You feel his knuckles brushing against the swell of your ass as he strokes himself into his release. He loses his balance, and braces his hand next to your face to catch himself as come spurts hot and rich into the curve of your arched back.

He slaps his cock into the cleft of your cheeks once, twice, pumping out the last drops of his spend, and he collapses next to you, with a grunt when his back hits the bed, his chest heaving with exertion.

Unshed tears weigh down your eyelids. Your heart rattles against your rib cage, frantic and irregular. Your blood is thick as molasses, of amber and gold, coursing dense and languid down your limbs, but your nerves are crackling like electrical wires of blue and purple.

The creature between your lungs has tripled in size and your sore cunt throbs with your suspended orgasm.

Sunk into the mattress, you’re unable to round your back or turn your head towards him. Everything hurts. Everything is alive.

Reaching back blindly, you dip the tip of your fingers into the pool of his spend, and bring them back to your lips. Tasting him with delight and a quiet, strengthless moan.

The mattress moves with him as he shifts on the bed, and you feel the warmth of his large hand covering the expanse of your lower back.

Before you can relax into it, he flips you on your back with an easy strength, and you wince with the sudden change of position. What a mess you must look like, flushed face, sweat-damp hair, clotted mascara.

He’s heavy, in his straddle of your thighs. He brings his hand to your mouth, and you open up for him, pulling out your tongue to lick his come-coated palm, wrapping your lips around his fingers as they glide over the hot wet muscle. You swallow his essence with fluttering eyelids, grateful, tears rolling down your temples.

The soft light catches at the sheen of sweat gleaming over his chest, like he’s made of gold, leaning over you like a magnificent and merciful god, like you’ll grant him everything, and you bask into his radiance, your lips pursed into a new smile around his digits.

The frown that hasn’t left his brow softens ever so slightly. His throat bobs, corded muscles, pebbled skin, the tension barely relieved. His fingers slip out of your mouth and come to cup your chin, so gentle your mind fails to comprehend. His touch lingers, warm and relenting and it becomes a caress, trailing down the line of your throat and coming to rest over your beating pulse at the base of your neck.

“Are you real?” he asks, sorrow blurring his dark eyes.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, beading sweat, beading tears. “Make me be.”

He breathes in deeply, and perhaps it’s the first time in years he breathes in so freely.

“Okay,” he nods.

Slowly, with the tip of his tongue darting between his parted lips, he tugs down your bra to the side. His calloused palm finds the soft swell of your breast, and his warmth radiates through your skin. His hold strengthens, he pinches your nipples with his two first fingers, the ones you took in your mouth earlier, harder, until your mouth goes slack with pleasure and with pain, and you keep smiling at him through it all.

Loose, trustful, pliant, you watch as he drags your panties down along your damp skin and spreads your thighs. He pauses, eyes on your core and you lie still, exposed and opened, feeling no shame.

His curls, matted with sweat, are stuck in locks to his forehead. Where was he, when you were still hopeful? Were you too young for him, then?

He dives between your hips, and his teeth bite into the soft skin of your inner thigh. You jerk, palm pushing feebly onto the crown of his head and he freezes, eyes shut, like he doesn’t have enough willpower to let go, like too much of his control has already waned and thawed.

“Please,” you coo, “please. I’ll get in so much trouble.”

And your heart sinks a little with apprehension because, surely, he’ll scoff at you again, but instead he just lets go, bringing his fingers to your swollen folds to part them.

A small whimpering sound escapes you when he latches his lips around your clit, but the sensation is nothing like what you anticipated. Of his previous roughness, only the bruising digging of his fingers into the plush of your hips remains.

His mouth is warm and soothing, a liquid caress, the touch from the tip of his tongue precise but gentle. He shifts with a soft groan, applying more pressure and you keen, head trashed back into the bed. Instantly, he adjusts his grasp, pulling you closer to his face, suckling on your clit with more insistence.

The smooth skin of your calves brushes over his shoulders, your heels digging into the muscles of his back and you’re reminded of that first night again, when he swiveled around to meet your gaze, soft sad eyes, hard cold stare. Your orgasm builds up fast, embarrassingly so, encouraged by his heavy breathing fanning the soft curls on your mound.

The wild creature melts into your blood and flows down to your core, branching out to every nerve from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. And when you come, you come sharp and bright, with your hand clasped over your mouth to muffle a loud mewl and your back arched from the bed.

He forsakes his restored restraint when you recoil from the overstimulation, hardening his hold and fastening his mouth over your cunt to lap up your release, tongue diving in, greedy, burning your walls.

You’re still shaking with the aftershock when he releases you and rises above your trembling body. Lying his forehead on your belly, heavy head, heavy breathing, sweat dripping on your skin, he stays there until his breathing slows down, falling in rhythm with yours. You reach down for his hair, threading your fingers through his curls, at last, and he gives in, leans into the tenderness of your touch.

A stray tear slides down into your hairline and it’s over, he’s gone, standing up, his broad back turned to you, gathering his clothes and dressing up.

The notion of the world around you resurfaces. Outside, tucked away in the heart of the night, countless other wild creatures dwell and carry on, moved by fear or desire, and you lie still in that crushing knowledge. Soon, you will have to leave this bed, confront your solitude to theirs.

You roll to your side and curl up on yourself, drifting with the soft droning from the sleeping creature between your lungs and the sweet soreness thrumming between your hips.

He’s at the door, putting his hat back on, when you call out his name.

“Frankie.”

It passes your lips for the very first time, a long kept secret, a forbidden vow, a usurped oath, and immediately you want to say it again. You want it to be real. You want it to be yours.

Frankie pauses and tilts his head towards the bed without facing you completely.

“Thank you,” you say.

He opens the door to a draft of air wafting in, charged with the salty, humid scent of the faraway bay. He’s about to cross the threshold, and disappear into the night, when he speaks.

“The room is paid for til morning. I’ll see you next Friday.”

****

Additional note: I woke up on day and decided to build a multiverse of orange bedroom Frankies 🧡 For those who've read PTMY, can you spot all the clues? This Frankie is really pissed off, though, but I kinda like it. I hope you'll like it too 🧡

Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @your-voice-is-mellifluous @mylostloversbookmarks @readingiskeepingmegoing @lovesbiggerthanpride @youandmeand5bucks-blog @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @southernbe @blackvelveteen1339 @anoverwhelmingdin @casa-boiardi @nandan11 @jessthebaker @pedroshotwifey @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @noisynightmarepoetry

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romanarose · 2 months

Text

Ouch!

Santiago Garcia x fem!afab!reader

Join my tag list!

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

#triple frontier #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #fem reader #santiago garcia x fem!reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier anniversary #triple frontier write-a-thon #santiago garcia x reader smut #smut #santiago garcia smut #santi garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader

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spacecowboyhotch · 2 years

Text

The Lion (and the Lamb)

gif credits @designforliving

summary: he’ll do right by you, on his own terms, no matter what.

pairing: fem!reader x santi ‘pope’ garcia

contents: illusions to sex but no smut, alcohol mention, kissing, sickness & flu symptoms, medication & food mention, some tears, nonsexual nudity, all in all tooth-rotting fluff, santi being a major simp

AN: just something sweet until my series for him is done!

word count: 1.6k

oscar characters masterlist | requests are closed until nov. 1st

Santi never allowed himself to love as openly and deeply before he met you.

He claims it’s because it wasn’t supposed to happen until you, that no one he’s ever met is like you. Before this, he never felt safe enough, loved enough, or strong enough to be so unapologetic about his feelings. No matter how many missions went successfully, how many takedowns or hit targets, nothing’s made him feel as secure as the love for him that glitters in your eyes. You render all of his training useless— the sight of you makes his knees go weak and his heart flutter like a lovesick teenager.

You turn Santi to mush from the moment he sees you. All that logic goes out the window when Will and Benny introduce you to him. He’s used to thinking with his dick and his brain respectively, never his heart. When he meets a woman he turns the charm up to the nth degree, flashes that perfect smile of his while he trails his eyes over every curve of her body.

But when your hand slips into his, soft and warm, your smile brighter than the sun, he can hardly think. You murmur your name to him gently, and give his hand a firm shake. Will and Benny introduce him as Pope, along with another friend named Frankie.

His heart beats fast in his chest, his mouth cottony as he forms his reply, “Santiago. Or Santi.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Santiago,” Your mouth caresses his name in a way that makes his hands tremble, and do you notice. You make a note to yourself to always call him that.

That night you make him dance. Not his usual completely uninvested sidestep, the known ritual before he takes a woman home to the real show. He’s wrapped around your finger, literally and figuratively, his body tight and hot against yours on the crowded dance floor. You’ve got your hands fisted in his greying curls, his hips follow yours, mirroring your every move. When you look up at him his eyes are glazed over, completely absorbed in you. He would lay the world at your feet right now, and plans on doing so for as long as you’ll let him.

The moment you lean in and kiss him he’s woefully unprepared, frozen into place as you patiently coax his mouth open. He feels like a fucking idiot— you’re kissing him and he’s just standing here, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights as you open him up. Then you slip your tongue into his mouth and switch flips in his brain. He’s kissing you back, messy and wet, his hands finding your hip and the nape of your neck to pull you closer.

Benny, Will, and Frankie stand on the sidelines, all too entertained with the sight of Pope like this to look for dance partners of their own. Nursing beers and talking crap, taking in every detail so they know every little way to give Santi shit at a later date. And while they all know they’ll joke around, there’s an unspoken feeling that spreads around the table— it’s good to see him like this. Carefree, relaxed, not haunted by all the shit they’ve seen and done. Momentarily free of the guilt and grief. But they focus on the lighter things, a crowded bar isn’t the place to begin unpacking their baggage.

Frankie leans in closer to Benny and Will, shouting over the bass music that thrums through the foundation of the bar, “Where the hell did you meet her?”

“Family friend!” Will calls back, though his eyes don’t leave the two of you on the dance floor.

“She’s got him in a puddle,” Frankie nudges Benny with his shoulder, grinning when he sees that the man is pouting. “And neither of you tried?”

“I did,” Benny replies begrudgingly, “but apparently I’m not enough to handle.”

Frankie and Will try to hold in their laughs, the first man masking his with a cough. Benny throws him a glare, pushing him on the chest.

“You’re plenty to handle in your own way, Benny,” Will assured him.

“She tamed the lion,” Frankie’s in awe of you, his eyes drifting back to where you and Santi are glued together.

You lean to get close enough to whisper in his ear, “Do you…wanna come back to my place?”

A chill runs through him at the unspoken promise your question holds. He shifts, and gets his lips close enough to whisper back not wanting to burst your bubble, “Is that what you want?”

“Mhmm.”

“Whatever you want is what I want,” He murmurs softly, a hint of wonder in his voice.

That’s how the beginning of your relationship unfolds— how Santi ends up being needed in a way he’s never been before. And even though he has no experience in being the perfect partner, in being a partner at all, he’s nothing if not competent, striving to be everything you could need and more. Disappointing you isn’t an option. Being the second best at loving you isn’t an option. He’ll do right by you, on his own terms, at any cost. Even his love for you has a code of ethics he’s created.

It’s that principle that lands you in his lap months later when you’re stuck in bed with the flu.

“You’re going to get sick, Santiago,” You try to lean away when he dips his head for a kiss, but he gets his hand around the base of your throat, and holds you firm while he licks into your mouth. If you weren’t sick this would be ending a hell of a lot differently.

He pulls away, giving you his usual smirk, “I have the immune system of a thousand men. I’m only worried about you.”

“I’m already sick, there’s nothing you can do.”

He looks a little offended by your words, and while you know he hates being told he can’t do things you didn’t know it would apply to this, “There’s plenty I can do, starting with warming you up, you’re fucking freezing cariño.” His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush to his chest.

It’s days of that, bundling up together because your skin is cold as ice, just to wake up hours later hot as a furnace. Santi doesn’t complain once, just unwraps the both of you, and puts an ice pack on your forehead to cool you down. He creates a regime for you, and no matter how tired you are or how much you want to sleep he makes you stick to it. He’s gone over the labels on all the medication, knows which ones you can mix and which ones you have to take in the morning or at night. He plies you with various types of tea, some for congestion, some for aches and pains, others just because he’ll know you’ll like the taste and you need to stay hydrated. His fingers burn as he grips the bowl he feeds you soup from.

While he’s optimistic, your symptoms start to weigh on your mental state, and when he comes back with your tea and soup one afternoon he finds you curled up in bed, a crying heap. He sets the tray he’s carrying down on your dresser before crossing the room and getting in bed with you. He gets his hands on either side of your head and starts kissing away the tears that are streaming down your face. It's unbearable, seeing you like this.

“Hush, baby, it's okay. You’re okay. Hey, you’re my strong girl right?”

You sniffle, wiping your nose haphazardly with a nod, “Yes, but I’m tired, Santiago.”

He rests his forehead against yours, “I know, baby, but you should take a turn for the better in a few days. I called the doctor and she said you're almost there.”

“I want to be there now,” You almost whine, and he nods against you, gives you another encouraging kiss.

“Soon, cariño, I promise. Are you hungry?” You shake your head. He tries again, “Thirsty?”

Another negative.

“How about a bath, does that sound nice?”

“That sounds amazing,” You flash him a smile he hasn’t seen in days.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, gauging if it’s alright to leave you alone. And though your face is tear stained, your eyes look lighter and softer than they did when he’d returned to you. You bump your nose against his, murmuring that you’re fine and it’s okay. It takes him no time to get the bath full of piping hot water, just how the two of you prefer. The water’s soaping and fragrant, the perfect mix of lavender and vanilla.

When he comes back to get you, he’s just in his boxers. You try to protest when he goes to scoop you up, knowing that this isn’t good for his knees or his back, but he shushes you, and carries you to the bath with what seems like little effort. Clothing is on the floor in just seconds, and you aren’t sure how, but he lowers you both into the bath no problem, not even a splash or wave in the water.

The warmth of the water soothes your sore muscles immediately, and you even get hints of the aromatic oil through your congested sinuses. A relieved sign stirs in your chest, you feel the best you have in days, though the sickness is still definitely with you.

“Comfortable?” He asks softly, his hands kneading the flesh of your neck.

“Yeah, nice and warm,” You hum in response, sinking further into the water as your eyes flutter shut.

“I love you baby, get some rest.”

“I love you, Santiago,” You murmur sleepily, leaning your head back against his chest.

There’s nothing like the sound of his name in your mouth, it’s a comfort he’ll always covet. As he holds you close he sinks into the unfamiliar feeling of being home, one he only gets with you.

if you’d like to be on my santi taglist let me know!

santi taglist: @hotchaways, @honeybrowne, @jitterbugs927, @theconsultingdoctor10, @awesomemikaus, @tanzthompson, @siezethenights, @clairevoyanceee, @moonmalice, @tiffanypooh, @dearvirtualdiary, @marc-spectorr, @xbellaxcarolinax, @toracainz, @roseqzpd, @rosecentaur1916, @mccn-bcys, @hotchs-bitch

#santi garcia x fem!reader #santiago garcia x fem!reader #santi garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santi garcia x you #santiago garcia #santiago garcia fic #santiago garcia fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #arson writes randos

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avastrasposts · 8 months

Text

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 27

First of all: look at this beautiful banner @i-own-loki made for my fic! It's amazing, I love it and she is my saviour since I cannot figure out Canva! I'm going to go back and update all the previous posts so this will now be the official fic banner.

Also, chapter 27! I've been looking forward to this one for a while and I hope you enjoy!

Series Master List

Chapter 28 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 10k

Half the morning passes before you stir, only moving because Frankie slips away to the bathroom. When he comes back you stretch, yawning widely as he wraps around you, his hand running down your side.

“I woke up wondering if I’d dreamt that Will was back,” he mumbles, “I can’t believe you found him, couldn’t fucking believe my eyes last night.”

“Imagine my face when I saw him, they put a hood over my head and Will pulled it off, he’d recognized my voice and I was just dumbstruck, started crying straight away.”

“You’re in good company, I’ve never seen Benny that emotional before, except,” he hesitates “except with Hannah, at the end.”

“That was hard, telling Will about Hannah,” you sigh,” I wonder if Benny told him the whole story, all the details, or if maybe he wants to spare him that? I’m not sure I’d wanna know, it can’t be changed.”

“I’d wanna know,” Frankie says, shifting in bed so that he can look at you, “It would fuck me up, but I’d wanna know anyway.”

You shudder, shaking the thoughts off you, “I don’t wanna think about it, I’m happy Will is back, I wanna leave it at that.” You go to push yourself off the bed but Frankie grabs hold of you, his hand behind your neck, and pulls you down to his lips in a hard kiss. There’s an edge of desperation in the way he grips your neck and holds you close to his mouth while his tongue licks into you, all teeth and urgency.

“Yesterday, before you came back,” he says, pulling back a little so that he can look at you, his eyes almost black, “I imagined what I’d do to them if they got even close to doing what Myers did to Hannah. I’d wanna know every detail, because I would do a hundred times worse to them.” His tone is rigid, harsher than you’ve heard from him before, and the intensity behind his words makes you frightened, not for you, but for him.

“Don’t go down that route, Frankie, please,” you say, taking hold of his hand, “don’t even think about it, it’s not a good head space to be in.”

“I can’t help it, the thought of that happening to you…” he trails off, you feel his fingers flexing around the back of your neck, “I just wanna fucking make them-”

“Stop, Frankie,” you cut him off, “I don’t want you thinking about it, and if anything was to happen to me, I don’t want you doing anything,” you take his hand from behind your neck, putting the other one on his cheek. “If I go missing, come find me, please, tear the world apart if you have to, I’ll do the same for you. But don’t lose yourself to revenge, I don’t want that for you.” Frankie’s eyes soften at your words as you run your thumb over his cheek, “You’ll break my heart if you let hatred take over, I want you to be my sweet Frankie, even if I’m not here.”

“Please don’t talk about not being here,” he says, his voice thick, “that thought fucking kills me, that’s what scares me more than anything.”

“Being without you scares me the most too, Frankie, but promise you won’t wreck yourself trying to get revenge if something happens to me.”

He takes in your worried face, your eyes searching his for assurance. The very thought of someone hurting you, or worse, makes his heart stutter, his first instinct is to think of all the ways he can bring retribution. But your pleading eyes, your hand on his check as you beg him to promise you a different path, makes him squash it down, he can’t deny you anything, even this.

“I promise, cariño, I promise I won’t lose myself.” His kiss is gentle this time, his arms wrapping around you, as you cup his face. You let yourself stay wrapped up by him for a few, quiet minutes, breathing in his warm scent, his soft lips and hands on your skin.

“We should go downstairs and see the others,” he mumbles, still close to your lips, “see what Will has to say about the smugglers.”

You nod and pull away a little from him, taking his hand and tugging him off the bed. It’s a couple of quick showers for the both of you and then you go downstairs. Will and Benny are on the couch as you walk in, Pope making coffee in the kitchen.

“Morning, sleepy heads!” Benny greets you, he’s got a wide grin, looking happy and relaxed next to his brother.

“Morning,” you say as Will pushes off the couch and comes over for a hug.

“Did you sleep ok?” he asks, tilting your head up to check on the cut his men left on your cheek.

“Out like a light,” you say, and it was true, you hadn’t even had a nightmare. “You ok?” you ask in a lower voice and he catches your meaning, giving you a nod and a small crooked smile.

“I’m good, it’s surreal to suddenly have breakfast with you guys like nothing changed, and about Hannah…” he shakes his head a little, “I always hoped, a little at least, that she was still ok. But to know that she was alive until just a few months ago…that’s gonna take some time to process.” He shrugs and you nod, leaving it at that for now.

Will, Benny and Pope have obviously been talking before Frankie and you arrived and they fill you in on the details while you have breakfast.

“So, the thing with Conway yesterday,” Will says, “had been brewing for a while. The guy’s an asshole, he was only part of the crew because he had good connections when we first started out. He’s been pushing for us to start smuggling and trading drugs, opiates mainly, but I’ve said no to that from the beginning, not happening.”

“We heard that from Jodie Graham, she said you guys wouldn’t sell any to her,” you say, refilling your coffee mug.

“Jodie’s good to trade with but that was always our disagreement, but she was fine with it, didn’t push it.”

“So what’s the plan for your crew now?” Frankie’s looking over at Will, “We talked about approaching you guys and working together before but now,” he glances over at you, “I’m not gonna trust them, they attacked us and we’ve taken out a lot of your guys, there’s gonna be bad blood.”

“Yeah, the idea of you joining my crew died when you killed Conway’s brother in the warehouse,” Will says, shaking his head. “They had orders to scare you, ‘bit of intimidation, not kill you, but that obviously backfired.”

“Ok, so collaboration is out of the question,” Benny says, “then what the fuck do we do? Take them out?”

Will sighs and leans back against the counter, uncrossing his arms to rub one hand over his face. “I don’t think that’s gonna work, I mean, yeah we can take them out, we can handle them, no problem. But first off, I don’t wanna, not all of them are bad like Conway, and I’ve been working with some of them for years, I don’t wanna turn around and kill them, or give them a reason to kill me. But,” he shifts on his feet, crossing his arms again, “the guys who you’ve killed, they had family, and friends, in this QZ. And I’m not saying you did the wrong thing when you killed them, they attacked you,” Will’s holding up his hands as both Benny and Pope start to object. “But, as a result, the guys in the crew are out for your blood, and as they start spreading the word about who killed their friends and family, we’re toast, we can’t stay in this QZ.”

You breath out a low fuck….and sink your head into your hands. You’ve just settled in New York, you just fucking got here, and now you’re all stuck with either leaving, or watching you back at every step.

“Great, back into no man’s land,” Pope growls.

“We should’ve just come to you straight away, Will,” you say, looking over at the other three guys, “We were being fucking stupid.”

“I’ve been keeping a low profile, and my guys wouldn’t have trusted you, you’re new in the QZ, unknown, too risky. And,” Will shrugs, “what’s done is done, and the Conway situation would’ve blown up anyway.”

“So we need to leave again,” Frankie says, seemingly shaking himself out of inactivity, “when, how and where to? We need to figure out where the fuck we’re going this time.”

“I think I can answer the ‘how’,” Will says, “I talked to Jodie in private the last time I saw her. She was willing to let me sail with them up to Dartmouth, outside Providence. They trade up there. Their ship is big enough for the five of us, and them, so as long as we pay our way, they’ll take us.”

“That gets us a long way away from New York,” Pope says, “sounds like a good idea. And getting to Orchard Beach is no problem, we’ll just have to be extra cautious and avoid your guys, Will.”

“And then what?” you ask. “Is there a QZ in Providence?”

“Yeah, there is,” Will nodded, “Jodie says it’s small but decent, might be good to check out, if not, the Boston QZ isn’t much further north and that’s a big one.”

You look over at Frankie who nods at you, “I’m in, if we have to leave, that sounds like a solid idea.”

“I’m in too, and sailing sounds like a really nice way to travel,” you look back at Will, nodding your agreement.

“Alright, if everyone’s in, I’ll get in touch with Jodie, set it up. In the meantime, we need to lay low,” Will says and everyone agrees.

The next few days are spent collecting supplies and going over the resources you have while trying to stay out of sight. Frankie and Pope do a short trip outside the wall to clear a cache they’ve got stashed. You pace the apartment while they’re gone, glancing out through the window every time you hear a noise. When they get back you breathe a long sigh of relief, pulling Frankie in for a long hug. He tangles his fingers in your hair as he holds you close, letting his solid body under your arms sooth you.

You choose to leave just after the curfew comes into effect at six pm, jogging through the empty QZ until you get to a tunnel you rarely use because it’s broken up and slow going. Slipping into it, the five of you stop just inside the entrance, waiting for anyone who might’ve followed you. After fifteen minutes you continue on, nothing moves behind you. You get through to the other end without any issues and quickly make your way through the Bronx towards Orchard Beach. Nothing stirs in the night and it’s almost worse, you’re expecting something to happen, something to go wrong, but you arrive at the beach with plenty of time to spare.

You camp out on the side of the beach, waiting for Jodie and Damon to show up. You’re nervous while you wait, pacing back and forth until Frankie stops you by pulling you to the side and wrapping his arms around you. He doesn’t have to say anything, you just bury your face against his soft flannel shirt, and let him rub his hands up and down your back.

By the time the ship sails into the bay, a thin new moon has risen over Long Island and there’s a steady breeze. Jodie comes in with the small dinghy and gets you all out to the ship, it takes two trips to get you all and your bags onto the sailing vessel. Once you’ve climbed onboard and look back towards the shore, you feel your shoulders relax, leaving New York QZ and the exposed world outside the walls behind. Damon and Jodie get the sails up, helped by Pope, the only one of you with any kind of sailing experience, and the ship starts moving north. Damon sets a course that takes the ship out through the Long Island Sound and as it widens the shorelines on both sides disappear from view.

“I’ll take the first watch,” he says, “Jodie will take the second one so you’re all welcome to sleep in the bunks below deck, might be a bit cramped though but there’s plenty of room to sleep on deck.”

Benny, Will and Pope disappear beneath deck and you poke your head down too. There’s two bunk beds set up on either side of the narrow hull. At the aft of the ship there’s a small bedroom where Jodie and Damon sleep.

“I wouldn’t mind sleeping up on deck, what about you?” you ask Frankie, eyeing the one single bunk bed available.

“Sounds like a very nice idea,” he smiles, “Will snores.”

“I do not,” Will grumbles in reply from the top bunk he’s climbed into, already inside his sleeping bag.

Frankie chuckles and pulls you back up top. There’s plenty of room on deck and you roll out your sleeping mats, cushioning them with a few thick pillows Damon offers you, and zipping your sleeping bag together. The night air is cool but fresh and salty as Frankie pulls you close, your head on his arm as you both look up at the sky. The stars are impossibly bright out here on the water and in a low voice Frankie points out the different constellations, showing you the north star, a bright light in the sky.

“It’s less than one degree away from the north pole, so if you see it, you always know where north is.”

“Did you ever use it to navigate with?” you ask, tilting your head to get a better look at it.

“Several times, it’s a quick reference when you’re moving at night.”

“You’re such a boy scout, Francisco,” you tease him, “Big, scary, Delta Force boy scout.” You giggle as he growls into your ear, his fingers finding the soft skin at your waist and tickling you.

“If we were in a bed I’d show you how I got my knot tying merit badge,” he chuckles as you squirm under his fingers.

“Pretty sure we’ve already done that,” you smile as his hands return to their soft caresses over your skin.

“Pretty sure you really enjoyed it too,” Frankie smirks, the memory of several occasions when he’d used his one tie to restrain your hands making you squeeze your legs together. Something to remember for when you’re next in a safe location and on your own. Right now you’re getting sleepy and you turn, your back pressed up against his chest.

“Sleep well, hermosa, te amo.” Frankie nudges his nose against your neck as he gives you a soft kiss.

“I love you too, my sweet Frankie,” you mumble, his arm a warm weight over your body.

Damon and Jodie make sure the ship sails safely through the night and when the early morning sun wakes you, the ship has already passed New Haven. It’s another full day of sailing before you reach Dartmouth according to Damon and you’ve already agreed to spend a second night on the ship so that you can disembark the next morning in daylight. A whole day on a sailing ship turns into what feels like a well deserved holiday and you’re starting to think Jodie and Damon really have the best idea about how to live in the apocalypse.

“Do you ever see other ships out here?” You ask as Damon brings out the fishing rods after breakfast.

“Not much anymore,” he says, “in the beginning there were a lot of boats around, both sailing boats and motor ones, nowadays we only see sailing ships but even they are rare. Might get one passing on the horizon.”

“Do you ever approach them, see if anyone is alive?” you ask as he hands you one of the rods and a tub of homemade bait.

“Sometimes, depends on how badly we need supplies or gear. We follow them for a bit, see if anything stirs, most times the ships are empty or have infected on them. In the past year we’ve only come across two other ships with people on them. Trade with one of them, the other one wanted nothing to do with us.”

You cast out, following Damon’s instructions, the other guys are also casting out around the ship, Frankie’s next to you, he’s been listening to Damon speaking.

“Do you ever go ashore?” he asks, “For supplies?”

“No need any more, we trade for what we need most times, scavenge ships for the rest.”

“And eat a lot of fish,” Jodie sighs from the steering wheel, “I used to love eating fresh fish, now I’d be happy if I never ate fish again in my life.”

“I’ll see if I can catch a burger for you, Jodie,” Will jokes from the stern and everyone laughs, it’s a nice relaxed, holiday feeling on deck. Frankie insists on you wearing his cap as he sees you squinting at the sun, it smells like him and you give him a grateful kiss on the cheek. The sun has already given him a deeper tan and more freckles and he looks irresistible as he pulls off his t-shirt, he catches you staring and winks at you with a grin.

“You look like a snack, Frankie,” you whisper into his ear as you kiss his cheek again and he smiles, turning his head and kissing your lips.

“Never thought I’d be getting a tan in the apocalypse.”

Between the six of you fishing, you catch plenty, more than you need. But Damon has figured out how to extract salt from the ocean water, and shows you all how he preserves the fish by drying and salting it. He gives you plenty of what he’s already dried as extra rations, and prepares what you’ve caught while the best catch gets grilled straight away.

None of you have eaten fresh fish in years and it feels like a feast and even more like a holiday when Damon serves up what you’ve just caught. You stuff yourself, tipping back on the deck after lunch with your hands on your belly, groaning at how full you are. Frankie smiles down at you from above, his unruly curls waving in the breeze as his eyes crinkle at the corners with a smile, sunlight filtering in and out between the sails and lighting up his tan skin. You’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia, a memory of your first date with him, lying back on his blanket in the park, your belly full of tacos and smiling up at this gorgeous man who’d just taken you up for your first helicopter ride.

“Do you remember when we had tacos in the park?” you ask and put your hand up to his curls, running your fingers through them.

“How could I forget,” he smiles, “our first date. I fell asleep on your chest and if you keep doing that I’m going to fall asleep again.”

You smile up at him and rake your nails across his scalp, always his favorite thing. He drops down and puts his arm over your waist, head on your chest just like he did in the park and it doesn’t take long before you can hear his soft snoring. You catch Will glancing over at the two of you with a smile but when he turns away it slips off his face, replaced with something more doleful. He turns and looks out over the empty ocean and you see his hand curl, white knuckled, around the railing and you know what he’s thinking about. You blink back sudden tears as you look up at the blue sky, dotted with little white tufts. You’d give anything to have Hannah safe on this ship with Will too.

By the time the sun slips under the western horizon, you’ve reached Dartmouth, the old town dark but still relatively unbroken by the looks of it. Damon takes the ship out further into Buzzards Bay and anchors up. You’re sleepy and relaxed after a day in the sun when you curl up next to Frankie on deck, falling asleep almost instantly as the ship gently sways on the waves.

The following morning the fog is thick over the bay, but Jodie and Damon have sailed here many times and they easily navigate to the shore, bringing you in at Nonquitt Beach outside Dartmouth. Jodie rows the dinghy in, bringing Pope, Frankie and you in last.

“Thanks for everything, Jodie,” Pope says, as he unloads the last of the bags. “Safe sailing, we’ll try to get word to you about where we end up.”

“Take care of yourselves now,” she gives you all a final wave before pushing off the shore again.

“Ok, back on dry land,” Benny says, looking over across the beach, towards the residential area behind it, “What does the map say, what route?”

“We head north up to route six, follow that to Taunton River, route six crosses it but if that bridge is out, there’s another one just to the north,” Pope says. “After that it’s a straight stretch into Providence.

Will looks over Pope’s shoulder and points at the neighborhood beyond the beach, “I suggest we try to get through this area and then go inland up to route six. Less houses when we’re away from the coast here.”

Pope nods in agreement and pockets the map while the rest of you ready your guns. You’ve got three rifles between you now, and you’ve each got a handgun. In silence you all start moving across the beach, Pope in the lead, Will bringing up the rear. It’s not fast going but the neighborhood is empty and quiet. Jodie and Damon had left you here because it was a regular spot for them to meet traders and the area was regularly cleared by people who moved through it and it shows. The buildings are empty, looted, and nothing stirs.

Finding route six is easy and then you turn west, following it to the river. The trek takes most of the day, a few detours necessary to avoid infected and by the time you see the river, it’s too late to go further, but at least your first day off the ship has been uneventful. Finding a safe looking building to stay in for the night, Pope, Will and Benny go through it, making sure it’s empty, before you make camp in the top apartment. You all divvy up the watches and despite being outside the wall in an unknown city, you sleep fairly well after your watch, and the night passes quietly. You wake up on your side with Frankie’s arm around your waist and his solid body pressed up against your back, by the sound of his heavy breathing, he’s still sound asleep. Desperate for a pee, you carefully move away from his arm and step into your boots. Will is on watch, the final one for the night, and he gives you a warm smile as you step out of the apartment after a quick bathroom visit. He’s standing at the top of the stairs and you lean against the window ledge next to him.

“All quiet?” you ask in a low voice, not wanting to wake the others still sleeping inside the apartment.

“All quiet,” he confirms with a nod, “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, it felt pretty safe here, and having you four around helps,” you smile, “It’s really good having you back, Will,” you give his hand a quick squeeze and he smiles again.

“It’s good being back with you all too,” he says but then hesitates, falling silent for a minute while you watch his mind work, and you reflect over how Will was always more like Frankie with his words, never speaking just for the sake of speaking, they always consider what they want to say before they speak.

“It’s good being back with family,” he offers eventually, “and not just Benny. You, Frankie and Pope too. I had people I trusted to a certain degree in New York, mostly because I had to trust them. But they were never friends, never family. I’d forgotten what it feels like to be with family.” He looks over at you again, “I missed it more than I realized.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t find each other sooner. We heard rumors about a guy who sounded like you in the months after the outbreak, but we didn’t think it could be you because it was all the way up in New York.”

“Yeah, Benny told me about it, I don’t think I would’ve believed it myself.” He shoulders the rifle and comes to stand next to you, leaning back against the window ledge. “I...I feel guilty for not trying harder to get back to Hannah, to Arlington. Things might’ve been different if I had.”

“Or you could’ve died on the way there, there’s no point in thinking you could’ve changed anything. We did what we thought we could do.”

Will stays silent for a few minutes, you turn to glance out through the window, down at the street, it’s slowly getting lighter now. As you turn back you hear him exhale slowly.

“Benny told me about Lucía, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to Frankie about it yet,” Will says, his voice even lower, looking over at you. “I’m really sorry, Ben told me it got pretty bad.”

“It did, we were at Denny’s cabin after and he shut off, barely even spoke. I…I had moments when I wasn’t sure we’d make it, it would’ve been so easy to just stop trying to survive. Frankie didn’t seem to see a reason to live either, I had to keep him alive.”

“What got him out of it?”

“He got kinda jolted out of it when we got attacked on our way to the Franklin QZ, we were attacked by raiders, we got separated but Frankie killed them, burnt their place down and got us out. But what he had to do…to Lucía…” you trail off, exhaling slowly, “He’s…there’s something darker in him now, it changed him.”

“I think we’ve all changed, forced by circumstances,” Will says, keeping an eye on the open door to the apartment down the hall, “but that kind of trauma would break anyone, and Frankie had been through a lot even before it.” He looks over at you again, “He’d be a lot worse off if it wasn’t for you though, you know that right?” Will gently nudges your shoulder with his own, “You were good for him from the start, before the outbreak, and anyone can see now how you ground him, keep him centered.”

“I hope it’s enough,” you sigh. Frankie’s darker moments were less frequent after the years he’d spent getting help from Herb, but you’d seen them flare back up when things got heated. The anger was closer to the surface than ever, never directed at you, but always present if he perceived a threat to you, or the violent thoughts he fell into when he thought of revenge.

“Morning guys,” Pope comes out of the apartment, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, “all quiet?”

“Yeah, we’re just catching up,” Will says and you push off from the window ledge.

“Morning, Pope.”

“Morning, hermana,” he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze, “Please go wake Fish, he responds so much better to your morning kisses than mine.”

“Tonto del culo,” you smirk at him and he chuckles.

“He really is only teaching you the bad ones.”

You find Frankie still sound asleep and you almost don’t want to wake him, he looks peaceful and younger, splayed on his belly with his arm as a pillow, the other one thrown over where you’d slept. Benny has stirred across the room, sitting up and scratching his chest.

“Is it morning?” he asks, his voice drowsy.

“Yeah, the others are up, I’m just gonna wake Frankie,” you whisper and Benny nods, pushing back his sleeping bag. You sink down on your side, next to Frankie, and run your fingers through his curls, pressing your lips to his scruffy cheek. His nose twitches and a low rumble comes from his chest.

“Keep doing that, hermosa,” he mutters, his voice rough with sleep and you smile into his patchy beard, your nails scratching across his scalp.

“Time to wake up, love,” you whisper and he grumbles again, his arm coming up to wrap around your waist and pull you closer, his nose buried against the soft skin of your throat.

“Despiértate, el pececito,” Pope says, coming into the apartment again, grinning at Frankie’s grumbling.

“Don’t fucking call me that, I’m bigger and older than you,” he mutters, rolling over on his back as you sit up.

Coffee and breakfast is quickly done and then packed up before you all head down to the street again. Route six leads right up to the river’s edge, but that’s where it stops, the huge six lane bridge has been wiped out by the bombing after outbreak day. The twisted blue girders lay rusting in the water next to the USS Massachusetts.

“Alright, plan B,” Pope says, pointing north, “there’s another bridge about two miles upriver.”

“I wonder if anyone thought to make camp on the warship,” Benny says as you walk past it. Nothing stirs and it looks uninhabited but also like it would make a regular fortress with a few guards.

“Probably, but I prefer Jodie and Damon’s idea,” Frankie says, “be far out on the ocean, away from everything, that’s how I’d like to do it.”

“Wish I could sail,” he adds in a lower voice so that only you can hear, “then that’s what I’d do, take us out there, maybe find a small, uninhabited island down south for shelter during the winter.”

“I’d like that, Frankie,” you whisper back at him and he gives you a quick wink, before he turns forward again.

“ ‘Veterans’ Memorial Bridge’, how appropriate,” Benny says as you approach the smaller bridge, “But it doesn’t look too good.”

“Looks like it should hold though,” Pope says, “Let’s get a closer look.”

The bridge is low and flat and used to open in the middle to let ships through, the center section splitting in two parts and standing straight up. Most of the bridge is still in place and looks solid, but the part that opens hangs below the bridge, as if the two movable slabs have collapsed and sunk lower than their hinges should allow. You all walk up to the edge of the bridge and look out over the tilting road surface. The opposite side of the bridge sits lower than the eastern side, you have to jump across and down to get to it but it seems doable, even to you.

Benny takes a cautious step onto the part of the bridge that slopes downwards, it doesn’t move under him and he tests it by bouncing on his feets, as if he was on a trampoline, finally jumping up and slamming his boots down onto the surface. The bridge doesn’t budge and Benny looks up at the rest of you.

“Seems solid enough,” he says, bouncing a few more times.

“What’s our option, Pope?” Frankie asks, eyeing the gap at the end.

“Next bridge is twelve miles north of here,” Pope replies, “Doable, but it takes us a long way away from Providence.”

Will steps out on the bridge next to his brother and does a few test jumps, moving further out from the solid section.

“It’s not moving an inch, I say we go this way, the jump at the end is easy enough.”

“Ok,” Frankie agrees, “But let’s go slowly and carefully, I don’t want a fucking bridge collapsing under me.”

“Too many arepas, fishsticks,” Benny taunts and Frankie flips him off.

Slowly you all move down the sloping road surface, it remains solid, even when you get to the end of the section and look down at the jump.

“That side tilts a bit more, be careful when you jump, Benny,” Will says, eyeing his brother as he gets ready to jump.

“Nothing to it, Ironhead,” Benny says and takes a gigantic leap, overshooting the gap by several feet and slamming down onto the road surface with a grin.

“Beat that, bro!” he calls, flexing his arms, posing for imaginary cameras.

Will chuckles and backs up, “Watch me, Benny boy.” Will takes a running start and launches himself over the gap, landing a clear foot further than Benny who scowls.

“I didn’t have a running start, that doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, whatever, big bro beat ya, kid.” Will smirks and dodges Benny’s playful swipe at his head.

“I’ll jump first, you follow me, cariño, ok?” Frankie says, “I’ll catch you when you land.”

“Ok, but it’s a tiny jump, I’ll be fine, Frankie,” you smile and he gets ready to jump, he’s not going to take part in the Miller brother’s pissing contest. He takes a few steps back and clears the gap, landing just in front of Benny who whoops.

“Still in the lea - oh fuck!”

The bridge groans and drops, the section screeching further down towards the water, the angle suddenly sharp.

“Grab the railing!” Will yells, yanking Benny towards the side while Frankie scrambles to find purchase on something.

“Frankie!” you yell, you see his boots scraping across the asphalt as he slips down the road. “Will!” Pope shouts, “Grab Fish! Grab him!”

“Take my hand, Benny!” He grabs Benny’s hand in an armlock and Benny hooks his other arm around the railing, Will reaching out towards Frankie.

Your heart threatens to jump out of your chest as you watch Frankie scraping along the road, slipping further down as he tries to get to the railing and Will’s hand. You can hear him cursing as his boots slip and he skids down closer to the edge. The bridge groans again and Frankie stumbles, at the last second launching himself forward and grabbing hold of the last part of the railing, his boots dangling over the fifty feet drop.

“Pull me up!” he shouts, “Pull me the fuck up!”

“I got you,” Will calls, scrambling down the railing, using it as a ladder, “I got you!” He hangs on with one hand and reaches down to Frankie, grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling him up. Benny manages to hook his arm around Will’s waist and together they get Frankie high enough so that he can get his feet up on the railing too.

“Climb!” you yell, “You’ve got to get off the bridge!” You can hear it groaning under them. Benny is already scrambling up the railing, Will makes sure Frankie’s got a good grip and then they both start climbing, rushing as the bridge section slips lower. It’s hanging at almost ninety degrees now and the screech of the metal hinges makes you and Santi yell at them to climb faster.

Frankie heaves himself over the ledge, Will and Benny holding on to his arms, dragging him up. They scramble to their feet and run backwards as the section rips loose and crashes into the water below.

“Fuck…” you hear Benny gasp, Frankie’s bent double, his hands on his knees as he looks over to the other side where you and Pope are now stuck.

“How far did you say the next bridge was?” you ask Santi, your eyes still on Frankie.

“Twelve miles, four hour hike if we don’t run into trouble.” He gives the guys on the other side a wave, “You guys ok, no injuries?”

Frankie shakes his head and Benny gives a thumbs up, they’re both standing up now, a safe distance from the ledge.

“Pope!” Will calls from across the bridge, “what’s the name of the next bridge?”

Pope pulls out the map, “Berkley Bridge, twelve miles north,” he calls back, “Follow the one thirty eight, along the river. There’s a high school next to the bridge, on the west side.”

“Alright, we’ll meet you there,” Will calls back, “we’ll leave markers if we get there first.”

“See you there, stay safe!” Pope calls back, giving them a wave. Frankie’s eyes meet yours and despite the distance you can see the anxiety, you know you’ve got the same look.

“Pope!” he calls, and Pope cuts him off.

“I know, hermano, I’ll keep her safe, I’ll get her back to you, don’t worry about it.” You feel Santi put his hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze, pulling you back towards the eastern shore. You raise your hand to Frankie, and he does the same.

“Stay safe, Frankie, I love you.”

“Te amo, mi vida. Stay safe!”

Pope and you head back to the eastern shore, you feel your legs shaking, the adrenaline leaving your system and you stumble slightly. Pope reaches out and grabs your shoulder, holding you steady.

“Take it easy, hermana, you doing ok?”

“Just a bit shaky after all that,” you say, “that was way too fucking close.”

“Yeah, it was,” Santi gives you a squeeze and keeps walking, “thank fuck Will and Benny were there too.”

“I wish I could be as cool as you guys in situations like that, and then just brush it off and keep going.”

“We had years of training, remember? And it didn’t always do us a lot of good, trained to do some fucked up shit but no one taught us how to deal with the aftermath.” Pope pulls out the map and scans the street for any landmarks. “We basically just need to follow the river but it curves around a bit so I’m gonna try to not get us too lost.”

Off in the distance you hear the tell tale sound of infected and you both freeze in your tracks before Pope grabs your arm and pulls you into an alley. Skirting around, moving slowly and carefully, it’s slow going for the rest of the day. You end up spending an hour hiding inside a building while a horde of at least fifty infected shamble past on the street outside.

“It might’ve been the noise of the bridge falling that attracted them,” Pope says, peeking out through the window at the last infected stragglers.

“I hope there's no more heading this way,” you say, it’s already been three hours since you left the others at the bridge and you’ve still got a long way to go. At this pace you won’t get the next bridge before nightfall.

Together you carefully leave the building and move quickly away from the horde, checking every street corner and blind spot before you move on. You manage to move a few more miles, but then a chilling screech goes up close by and Pope pulls you down behind a car, crouching down. It’s in the nick of time, four runners stumble out of an alley across the street.

“Fuck, they’re everywhere today,” Pope breathes. Glancing behind you he motions you backwards, into a shop, “In here, we need to get off the street.”

It looks like a small mom and pop dry cleaning business inside, you see racks of empty coat hangers behind a counter as Pope scouts forwards and finds the door to the second floor. The door opens up with a small tap of his boot and you both make your way up the stairs slowly. Whoever ran this shop clearly lived on top of it, the stairs leading to a small landing with a closed front door. Pope pushes it open without resistance and quickly scans the small hallway that it opens to. He motions for you to close the door behind you and it shuts with a soft click. Nothing stirs and you quietly follow Pope towards what looks like the living room. You’ve both got your guns out, Pope in front as he steps through the doorway and sweeps the room. He spots the man a split second before the butt of a rifle comes down on the side of his head and he’s thrown to the floor. The crack to his skull disorientates him but he manages to hold on to his gun, rolling onto his back and aiming at the man now advancing on him, a shotgun raised and cocked. His head throbs and he blinks rapidly to clear the fog threatening to envelope him.

“Lower the gun or your girl gets hurt.” The growl comes from a second man, holding you firm, your arm twisted up behind your back and a large hunting knife pressed against your throat. He’d grabbed you as Pope stumbled to the ground, twisting the gun out of your hand as he yanked you into the room and bent your arm painfully up behind your back. You can feel the cold blade press into your throat, just shy of nicking your skin.

You see Pope quickly scan the situation, the determination in the two men, the knife against your throat, and he drops his gun, sliding it across the floor..

“Check him for any other weapons and tie him up,” your captor orders the man with the shotgun. “On your belly, hands behind your back,” he tells Pope. You see the anger in Santi’s eyes as he rolls over, gritting his teeth. The man holding you doesn’t relent his grip, your shoulder is screaming, another half an inch and he’ll dislocate it.

“Please, my shoulder,” you whimper, “you’re breaking it.”

“Don’t worry, darlin´, as soon as he’s secured I’ll loosen my grip.” He’s still got the blade tight against your throat, forcing your head back, his voice is close to your ear and the deep drawl of his rough voice makes your skin crawl.

The man with the shotgun quickly secures Pope’s hands with a cable tie, patting him down and stepping back.

“He’s clear, Joel, now what?”

He looks over at the man holding you and your brain goes into overdrive, putting the face of the man in front of you, older now, more worn, together with the deep Texan drawl of the man behind you.

“Miller!” you gasp, your throat scraping against the knife as the man’s eyes snap to yours. “You’re Tommy Miller! We met, fourth of July, at Denny’s cabin.” You feel the man behind you tighten his grip on your arm, bending it just a little bit further back and you sob, “You’re Will and Benny’s cousins!”

“You’re Frankie’s girl!” Tommy blurts out, his eyes suddenly wide with recognition, “And you,” he looks at Pope, still belly down on the floor, “you’re one of the Delta Force guys.”

“Yeah, I’m Pope, get these fucking things off me, man,” he spits. Tommy takes a step forward but Joel barks.

“Tommy, wait! What the fuck are you doing, we can’t trust them!”

“C’mon, Joel, we know them,” Tommy says but he stops in his tracks.

“Yeah, we knew them, for a weekend, six fucking years ago!” Joel snaps back, Now the-”

“We’re with Will and Benny,” you interrupt, moving your head back as much as you can from the sharp blade. “We got separated this morning, they’re on the other side of the river, we’re trying to get to the next bridge to meet them.”

“Will and Benny are alive?” Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he shoots Joel a hopeful look before he quickly schools his face back into neutrality.

“How do we know you’re not just lying? Who else is with you?” Joel growls from behind you.

“Why the fuck would we lie about that?” Pope growls right back at him from the floor, “We’ve been with Benny since Arlington, at the beginning, and we just found Will in New York about a week ago.”

“Frankie’s with us,” you say, “It’s just us, Frankie, Will and Benny.”

“Joel…” Tommy says, “We can’t walk away from this, we gotta see if they’re telling the truth:”

Joel remains silent behind you, you can see Tommy’s eyes on him but his grip on your arm is still firm. It’s like the two brother’s are having a silent conversation, deciding your fate as your shoulder screams in protest.

“Fine,” Joel finally spits, “but if they fuck us, it’s on you, Tommy!” He removes the knife from your throat and releases your arms. You collapse forward, stumbling away from him with your arm cradled to your chest. Tommy kneels next to Pope and cuts his ties and Pope gets to his feet with a grumbled thanks.

“Lead the way then, you two in front,” Joel says as you glance back at him. He’s changed more than Tommy, a bit more gray around his temples and on his jaw, but it’s his face, the expression in his eyes that’s made him almost unrecognizable. The Joel you knew for a long weekend six years ago had a friendly, warm face. You still remember his belly laughs when his daughter and Lucía brought him down with tickles, a friendly giant who didn’t even protest when Lucía lay flat across his legs with Sarah over his chest. The man scowling at you now looks dangerous and feral, angry lines carved into his face and a hard set jaw.

“Sure, I’ll take the lead,” Pope says, accepting his gun back from Tommy, much to Joel’s dissatisfaction. “Let me just check her shoulder first, you twisted it pretty hard by the looks of it.” The sharp tone in his voice isn’t lost on Joel and he only answers with another low growl.

Pope gently prods your shoulder and you wince under his touch. “Feels like the muscle has been torn, like a sprain,” he says, “I’ll make you a sling when we get to the others, keep your hand hooked into your jacket for now.” He briefly cups your cheek with his hand, “You ok, hermana?” he asks in a low voice and you’re reminded of how similar his eyes are to Frankie’s when they share the same look of concern.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say, giving him a small smile and he smiles back.

“Ok, we’ve got about two hours I think, to the bridge,” he says, looking over at Joel who gives a curt nod. “We good to go?”

“Yeah, take the lead,” Joel says and motions to the door.

Pope quickly finds the back door of the shop, scanning the narrow alley before stepping out. You stay behind him, then Tommy, with Joel covering the rear. You move as fast as possible through the streets, eventually coming out into the countryside and cutting across fields. Twice you have to hastily hide from groups of infected, still moving south towards the broken bridge but after the second group has passed you see no more. By the time you see the river again the sun has just sunk below the horizon, it’s taken you almost the whole day to cover the twelve miles and you’re exhausted. As the Berkley Bridge finally comes into view you’re dead on your feet, hungry and thirsty and your shoulder aches.

“Hang in there,” Pope says to you in a low voice, dropping back and giving your uninjured shoulder a squeeze, “the high school is just on the other side of the bridge.”

“I can’t wait to just lie down and sleep,” you reply, “I really hope the others got there ok.”

Pope nods in response and steps forward again, taking the lead as you all step onto the bridge. It’s in one piece and you breathe a sigh of relief when you’re across it. It doesn’t take long to reach the high school and Pope quickly finds a marker carved into the gate post.

“Back door,” he says and leads you around the building. It’s fully dark now and it’s slow going, but you finally see a half open door to a smaller section of the school and as you approach you hear the sound of a weapon cocking.

“Stop, identify yourself!” you hear Frankie’s low voice, stern and commanding, he’s expecting two people, not four, and he’s raised the rifle, aiming at you through the darkness.

“Catfish,” Pope calls, “stand down, it’s us.”

You see Frankie lower his rifle a little bit as the four of you come out of the gloom, his finger is still near the trigger and he doesn’t put the safety on.

“Who’s with you?” he asks, his eyes landing on Joel and Tommy behind you.

“Joel and Tommy Miller, Ben and Will’s cousins,” Pope replies and you see recognition flash across Frankie’s face before his eyes widen. .

“Holy shit, what are the odds of that?”

“Pretty high I’d say,” Tommy replies, stepping forward and extending his hand, “Good to see you again, man.” Frankie shakes his hand and then Joel, who, a bit more reluctantly, grabs Frankie’s hand as he extends it.

“Come inside, and we’ll bar this door for the night,” Frankie says, stepping to the side and motioning the men towards the door before he turns to you. His eyebrows knit together as he sees your arm, still hooked into the opening of your jacket to support your shoulder.

“You’re hurt, what happened?” He shoulders the rifle and steps forward as gently reaches for your wrist.

“It’s my shoulder, Pope says the muscle is torn a bit. He’s gonna make me a sling.”

“How did it happen?” he asks, moving his hands up to your shoulder, his eyes searching yours for any discomfort.

“I’ll tell you later, I just wanna get inside and sit down, I’m exhausted, Frankie.”

“Of course, c’mere, I’ve got you,” he leads you inside and helps you off with your pack as Pope and Tommy shut the door and slide a heavy iron girder in place.

“We’re just a bit further in, we found a room with shuttered windows so we can have some light.” Frankie leads you all down a hallway and turns right, pushing open a door he steps into a classroom. The desks have been pushed up along the walls and in the middle Will’s got a couple of camper stoves set up, the smell of food making your stomach growl.

“Look who we found,” Pope grins as he waves Tommy and Joel in through the door. You can’t help but smile as you see Will and Benny look up, confusion on their faces at first and then, almost simultaneously, shift into huge smiles as they recognise their cousins.

“Holy shit, what the actual fuck?!” Benny whoops and jumps to his feet, grabbing Joel into a bear hug, “Where the fuck did you come from?!” he says as he tries to pick Joel up off the floor under loud protests.

“Put me the fuck down, Benny,” he laughs, slapping him on the back. Will and Tommy hug, big grins on both men and then Benny pulls Tommy into another bear hug, laughing as Will embraces Joel. It’s good to see the tension melt away from Tommy and especially Joel. He’d been guarded the whole way, not quite trusting that Pope and you were telling the truth. But now, seeing the four Miller cousins hug it out with big smiles, even Joel looks less intimidating.

Frankie gently takes your uninjured hand and leads you over to where his sleeping bag is rolled out, helping you sit down. You sink down gratefully and lean back against the wall, finally relaxing.

“Let me get your boots off,” he says in a low voice, the Miller boys still catching up and laughing behind him. You nod and rest your head against the wall, closing your eyes. Your shoulder is throbbing, you’re going to have to dip into your small supply of expired painkillers soon. Frankie pulls your boots off, and your damp socks, gently rubbing the soles of your feet as you sigh and shoot him a pleased smile.

“Thanks, Frankie,” you mumble.

“Anything, hermosa,” he smiles back, letting go of your feet. “But I need to check your shoulder, might be less nice.”

“Do what you have to do as long as I can have food afterwards, I’m starving.”

“You took a long time getting here, what happened?” Frankie asks, making you sit up so that he can slide your jacket off.

“There were infected everywhere, we had to stay hidden for long periods of time. Pope thinks maybe the noise from the bridge collapsing attracted them.”

“Yeah, we saw some on our side of the river, but not that many. How does this feel?” He gently prods the joint of your shoulder and you wince as he carefully moves your arm.

“Hurts and feels very stiff,” you say, glancing down at it. There’s a dark bruise forming and you can see the swelling around the joint..

“If we had an ice pack I’d put it on,” Frankie says, “But for now, keep it still, I’ll get you that sling.” Frankie steps over to his pack and rifles through it, coming back and setting your shoulder more comfortably against your chest. You watch his deft hands as he works and when he’s done you lean in and capture his lips in a soft kiss. He hums against you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your skin.

“I’m so happy you’re ok, Frankie,” you whisper, “Did you get hurt on the bridge?”

“Just a few scrapes,” he says, his mouth still close to yours as he turns up his palms and shows you a few angry looking lines. “I had to clean them with alcohol, that fucking stung,” he chuckles, “but they’re fine now. How did you hurt your shoulder?”

“Promise you won’t get mad?” you say, pulling back a little so that you can see his face clearly and he frowns at you.

“What happened?” His eyebrows come together in a frown, his body stiffening under your touch.

“We, Pope and me, had to hide in a building when a group of infected surprised us.Turned out Joel and Tommy were already in there and they grabbed us, Joel twisted my arm behind my back. But they didn’t know it was us,” you say hastily as you see Frankie scowl and look towards Joel. “Frankie,” you pull his eyes back to you, “they just did what we would’ve done if someone unknown walked in here now.”

“Yeah, ok,” he relents, his face softening again, “Let me get you some food, should be done now.”

As Frankie stands up Joel comes over, he’s got a bowl in his hand and as he crouches down he hands it to you.

“How’s the shoulder? Sorry ‘bout it,” he says, looking at the makeshift sling Frankie’s put together.

“It’s sore, but it’ll heal, don’t worry about it,” you reply, gratefully accepting the bowl of stew and rice.

“Alright,” Joel responds, clearing his throat, “Good, and thanks for…” he waves his hand over at where Benny and Will are deep in conversation with Tommy, going over what’s happened in the six years since they last saw each other. “It’s good seeing them in one piece.”

“I’m glad we were able to bring you guys together,” you say as Joel gets to his feet again, nodding to Frankie.

“Good to see you too, Frankie.”

“Yeah, same, Joel,” Frankie replies as Joel turns and begins rolling out his sleeping mat.

Frankie grabs a bowl for himself and sinks down next to you, you’re almost done with the stew, wolfing it down.

“Got you some painkillers too, cariño,” he hands them to you with his water canteen and you gratefully swallow the two pills. Once they kick in you slip into your sleeping bag, drifting off as Frankie helps Ben take care of the dishes. You barely wake as he slips in next to you, careful to not disturb your shoulder, but you reach for his hand as he puts his arm over your waist, turning your head towards him as he places a soft kiss on your cheek.

The dull throbbing in your shoulder wakes you early next morning and forces you to get up, just to get some relief. There’s thin slivers of light shining through the shutters, giving you enough light to move around and pad out into the hallway in your socks. You’d missed any talk of having a watch roster last night but it seems you were allowed to sleep through the night. Tommy is sitting on a bench close to the door you came in through, playing cards with himself, a rifle next to him.

“Morning,” you greet him and he looks up.

“Hey, how’s the shoulder?” He scoots over on the bench, making room for you as you carefully move your arm.

“Sore and swollen, it’ll take a few days to get better, but don’t worry about it,” you say as you see his apologetic face, “you did what we would’ve done in the same situation.”

“Yeah, I suppose, we all have to assume the next person we meet is either infected or the enemy.”

“Not much trust going ‘round these days,” you agree, watching him gather up the cards and shuffle them.

“I wanted to ask you,” you begin cautiously as he starts dealing. “Joel’s daughter, Sarah?”

Tommy nods, his hands stopping as he looks up at you, “She didn’t make it, she died that first night,” he says, his voice low and you sigh and close your eyes.

“Fuck...I’m sorry, Tommy,” you look up at him again as he leans back against the wall. “I didn’t wanna assume but when she wasn’t with you, I had to ask.”

“Yeah, of course, just don’t mention it to Joel,” Tommy tilts his head so that he can look over at you. “He’s not one to talk about it.”

You nod, rubbing your hand over your face, “I get it, more than you think.”

“Frankie’s girl?” Tommy says and you hear the question in his voice.

“A few days after the outbreak, she got infected.”

Now it’s Tommy’s turn to breathe out a low Fuck as he drops his head back against the wall again. “I’m sorry, for you and for Frankie, she was a great kid.”

“So was Sarah,” you say, giving Tommy a weak smile, “Lucìa wouldn’t stop talking about her after we got home, she was bugging Benny to invite you guys over as soon as possible so that they could meet again.”

Tommy chuckles softly, “Yeah, I remember them thick as thieves at Denny’s, Lucìa following her around like a puppy.” He absentmindedly shuffles the deck of cards in his hand as you both stay silent for a few minutes, the soft snores of the still sleeping men coming from the classroom.

Tommy suddenly laughs softly, keeping his voice low, “I remember how annoyed Frankie got when I flirted with you that weekend, he got really possessive, those hickeys the next morning,” he grins and you feel your cheeks getting red at the memory, even all these years later.

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” you say and Tommy nods.

“Poker? I promise I won’t suggest the strip version,” he grins, dealing out the cards again.

You play a couple of rounds until you hear people stirring in the classroom. Frankie pokes his head out of the door and comes over when he sees you.

“Morning, sweetie,” you smile up at him as he bends to give you a kiss.

“Morning, cariño, you sleep ok? How’s the shoulder?” He lets his kiss linger a little bit longer than usual, his hand cupping the back of your head, before he pulls back and sits down on the bench next to you.

“Sore and swollen,” you say, shifting it a bit.

“I’ll get you a better sling today, just need a piece of wood to support your arm.”

“What’s the plan, down to Providence?” you ask, “I don’t know if you guys made plans after I fell asleep last night.”

“Not Providence,” Tommy says immediately, “we were on our way there but the QZ’s fell, overrun by infected.”

“Shit, what happened?” you ask, “We heard it was fine just a few days ago.”

“Not sure, but we ran into a survivor a week ago and he said FEDRA got challenged by another group when FEDRA kept cutting rations. FEDRA took out the other group pretty harshly, imposed martial law and people tried escaping or rebelling, it had been going on for a couple of months.” Tommy gathers the cards up and shuffles them before putting them back in the box. “The survivor we talked to didn’t know how it had happened, but infected got in, or someone who was infected slipped through the checkpoint, it started spreading on the inside anyway. FEDRA lost control and started executing everyone, so riots broke out and FEDRA left, just took the last working trucks and just took off.”

“Did you get to Providence, what’s the situation like there now?” Frankie asks, leaning forward to look at Tommy.

“We didn’t get to the gates, got told to not go anywhere near it, too many infected.” Tommy glances up towards the door as Joel looks out.

“Morning, Joel.”

“Morning, coffee’s ready if y'all want some,” he says and you can smell it wafting through the hallway now.

“So what’s your plan then?” Frankie asks as you go back towards the classroom.

“Boston, I think,” Tommy says, “It’s the nearest QZ from here, big enough.”

You sit down next to Will who gives you a quick smile and a mug of coffee, Frankie sinks to the floor next to you too.

“Thanks, Will,” he says, taking a second mug. “So what’s our plan then, if Providence is a no go?” He looks over at Will and Pope, “Boston for us too?”

“I don’t know about you guys,” Benny says, “but I think we should stick together, with Joel and Tommy I mean.”

You see Pope frown, he hasn’t warmed up to Joel after yesterday, and by the way Joel stiffens and scowls at his coffee mug, you know he’s not all for it either.

“I think it’s a great idea, Benny;” Tommy says, glancing over at Joel, “You guys are family and we know you and Will consider the rest of y’all as family too, we can trust each other.”

“What do you say, Joel?” Will asks, he can sense that Joel’s not totally onboard and the older man looks down at his coffee, jaw working as he seems to go over the options in his head.

“Yeah, might be a good idea,” he says eventually, but there’s still hesitation in his voice, “there’s safety in numbers and y’all are ex Special Ops, and like Tommy says, we can trust each other,” he says the last thing looking over at Pope who holds his gaze for a few seconds before nodding.

“Yeah, we can trust each other.”

Joel nods to Pope, the two men seeming to come to some sort of silent agreement.

You think it seems like a good idea, it makes sense. You can’t see Will and Benny just walking away from their cousins now, even if they’re maybe not the same people they were six years ago. And like Joel said, there’s safety in numbers and it’s forty miles to Boston, lots of bombed out suburban landscape to cover. You shudder at the thought, your shoulder aches, you’re in no shape to take on anything and the thought of having to cover forty miles on foot makes you miserable. Frankie notices your body shiver and slips his arm around your waist.

“What’s up, hermosa?” he whispers softly in your ear as he leans his chin on your good shoulder.

“It’s a long way to Boston,” you whisper back, looking over at him with worried eyes, “I’m scared, so much can go wrong.”

“We’ll go slow, be cautious, and not let Benny jump on bridges.” The last thing he says with a crooked smile, nudging your nose with the cool tip of his own.

“No more bridges please,” you say, giving him a small smile.

“Maybe I should lay off the arepas,” Frankie chuckles softly, his hand now rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back. “Amor de mi vida,” he whispers after a while, “I can’t promise everything will be fine, but I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, I promise that.”

“And keep yourself safe,” you add, “you’re the love of my life too, Frankie.” He gives a little nod before his soft lips press against yours. You’re still sitting next to Will, right by the camping stove, but you’re in a bubble of your own with Frankie. The others talk about Boston, the route and possible dangers. You don’t notice Joel watching you with a frown, his fingers tapping on his thigh, before he glances down at the broken watch on his arm.

Chapter 28

129 notes · View notes

pimosworld · 10 months

Text

The story of us chapter 3

Pairing -Triple frontier boys x f!reader

Summary-Set before the reader and the boys are officially together and how it all came to be.

CW-18+,MDNI,individual warnings for each chapter.Angst,fluff,comfort,mentions of ptsd,cursing,mlm, brief mention of homophobia,mentions of sex, canon events,we hate tom. Please let me know if I forgot any warnings.

WC-3.7k

Chapter Summary- The boys discuss your future and your past.

Not beta read

Notes-See Masterlist for full story notes

[Series Masterlist]

Chapter III The deal is off

——————————————

The further he gets from your house the more you feel the weight lifting off your shoulders. You glance up at Benny watching his eyes as he makes sure your boyfriend ex gets in his car and drives away. You don’t know if he even realizes he’s rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder to steadily ground himself.

“I hope you don’t mind if we stay?” He glances at you with those puppy dog eyes and you can’t resist.

“I would be upset if you wanted to leave.” You can feel him relax against you as he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Come on honey, let's go inside.” You’re too exhausted to notice him helping you through the most menial task of standing and walking inside your own house.

As you enter you see Frankie putting your table where it should be and Will surveying the hole in your wall and Santi…grabbing his keys? Of course he was leaving, all of this was too much. You couldn’t ask him to stay after dealing with your shitty ex. His eyes meet yours and you desperately try to wipe the tears welling in your eyes,putting on the best Im okay smile you can muster.

As if he can read your mind he strides over to you with confidence as he pulls you into a tight hug. You can smell his cologne on his neck as he cradles the back of your head with one hand and places a soft kiss on your temple.

“Cariño I’m not leaving, I just need to grab something from the truck.” You reluctantly let him go and have a seat on your couch.

The events of the last few hours seem like a blur. You have so many questions you need answers too but is now even the right time to ask? What are these feelings you have brewing for the men you’ve known your entire adult life? It has to be the vulnerable state you’re in causing these inappropriate thoughts. You had a boyfriend less than ten minutes ago. A poor excuse for one and frankly seemed like your only option.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when Benny plops down next to you and grabs the remote. Frankie sits on the other side of you and pulls you against his broad chest relaxing against the arm rest. Okay so we’re not going to talk about it…that’s fine with me.

“I’m gonna come fix the hole on Friday, it’s my day off.” Will states as he makes his way to the kitchen to grab some beers from your fridge. You’ve missed the way they all fit into your life so easily. You’re trying your best to choke back the tears that have been threatening to spill since they arrived.

Santi toes the door open with his boot as his arms are full of grocery bags. “ I got all your favorites honey.” You can feel the lump tightening in your throat and your chest constricting-what is happening?

“Well I know what we’re watching.” Benny smiles at you as he selects the Mummy your favorite from the Netflix recently watched list.

You’re getting hot and they feel too close, it’s all too much. Not addressing the elephant in the room shouldn’t be this hard but it’s making your skin crawl.

Will comes over and hands Benny a beer as he gets comfortable on the loveseat. “I think Santi is making you something stronger.” He winks at you and you’re grateful you’re seated because you would have been in a puddle on the floor at that moment. Are they doing this on purpose?

Santi rounds the couch and sets his beer and your margarita on the coffee table.

“You’re in my seat.”

“Come on man there are no assigned seats.” Ben whines as he slumps down to the floor in front of you. Always doing as he’s told despite the protests.

You’re surely on the verge of a heart attack as the pain surges through your chest. The lump in your throat makes it hard to swallow and you don’t know how long you’ve been holding your breath.

Frankie senses too late what is happening as you stiffen against him, your shirt is clinging to you and your breaths have become ragged, you grip his thigh trying to ground yourself as the pressure consumes you.

“Honey?” You don’t hear him call you as he leans in, drowned out by your own thoughts of why you deserve this treatment. Too caught up in your self loathing to comprehend that they’re trying to pull you out.

Santi hands you a Reese's, your favorite candy. You stare with your palm open like it holds all of life’s answers. The damn breaks as you sob into Frankie’s chest. They’re all staring at you wide eyed and concerned as he consoles you.

“Shhh… I know it’s a lot. It’s gonna be ok hermosa.”

He knows all too well how it feels when you're drowning above water. No one can see the signs until it’s too late. The feeling like you’re suffocating but you have plenty of oxygen at your disposal. Every breath you take isn’t enough to stop the barrage of tears once they start.

“I told you to get sour patch kids.” Ben half whispers to Santi. Your crying turns to laughter and you’re sure they’re convinced you’ve lost your mind.

You take a few deep breaths into Frankie’s chest, inhaling his woodsy scent and faintly hearing his coaching your breathing. You can feel the steady rise and the fall of his chest.

“Thank you.” You say barely above a whisper.

Frankie squeezes your shoulder simultaneously with Santi squeezing your leg. A calm silence falls over the group as the tension recedes from your body.

“Sweetheart you don’t have to thank us, you’ve saved us more times than this.” Will…always the voice of reason. “This is our fault.” You open your mouth to protest but he raises a gentle hand.

“We’ve let you save us too many times, we’ve become so reliant on you that we failed to see when you needed us.”

You don’t really know what to say at this moment so you open your favorite candy and take a bite. It’s never tasted this good. You give Benny the other half as he half bites your finger causing you to giggle. You offer one to Frankie and he happily obliges.

“Mmm my guilty pleasure.” The double meaning is lost on you.

You offer one to Will and your fingers brush as he takes it from you. “Only because you offered.” Ever the gentleman.

“Before you even offer I’m not eating it.” Stubborn as a mule.

“Santiago…if you don’t take it I'm going to cry again.” Not your best tactic but it will surely work.

He groans in protest as he takes it from your hand.

“You have to eat it too.” Frankie barks out a laugh that makes you swell with pride.

“That’s my girl.” He whispers in your ear as he squeezes your waist. The barrage of emotions you’re feeling right now can only be described as delirium.

“As you wish for cariño.” Santi slowly puts the chocolate in his mouth, not breaking eye contact. The air in the room is leaving for completely different reasons. You are in trouble

Three margaritas deep and your sadness has quickly been replaced by your drunken state.

“Please just admit they’re all hot.”

“Honey, you say this every time we watch this.” Benny is resting his head on the cushion between you and Frankie.

You’re playing with his hair as he leans into your touch.

“Tell me…you don’t think they’re attractive?” The alcohol has you feeling a little bold and relaxed. Something you haven’t felt in weeks.

“Oh they’re definitely attractive…so how did you end up with Mike if you find them attractive?” Frankie slaps him in the back of his head as a hush falls over the room.

He’s right, how did you end up with him? You can’t even be mad at his question. You can however dish it back.

“I can’t date all of you and evidently you’re the most eligible bachelors in town…so the rest of us get Mike and people like him.”

You miss the knowing glances they all send each other as your head slumps back on Frankie’s shoulder.

You don’t know when you fell asleep or how you ended up tucked into your bed but a sudden panic falls over you at the thought of being alone. That is until you hear the low sounds of the tv still on in your living room and the not so quiet sound of Benny's voice. You can sleep peacefully knowing they would never leave.

****

“Will you lower your voice,you’re gonna wake her up.” Santi bristles at Benny as he emerges from your kitchen with more beers.

Benny has had his fair share of tequila and can’t possibly be in control of the octave in his voice.

“Listen…all I’m saying is we already spend every moment of our lives together,it wouldn’t be that big a deal.” He’s half whispering and shouting and his brother just rolls his eyes.

“No.” Santi deadpans just staring at the tv, anything to take his mind off the ridiculous proposal from Benny. He looks to Frankie for some help but he’s too preoccupied with the animated way Benny is flailing his arms as he talks and he knows he’s lost his comrade to the tequila as well. He’s seen that look in Frankie’s eyes so many times. The look he’s given him when he’s feeling flirtatious. The look you all give each other from time to time.

“I don’t recall you being the boss of me Santiago.” He says in a sing-song tone, Frankie can’t help the giggle that escapes him watching the antics unfold.

“You’re outnumbered anyway,Frankie was already planning on asking her out and I know my brother is in love with her.”

“Leave me out of this.” Will says half asleep from the loveseat.

“I would rather have her in my life and be alone than not have her in my life at all if me or any of you idiots broke her heart.”

A silence falls over the room as they all ponder what life would be like without you in it.

Surprisingly Frankie breaks the silence first before Benny can cause anymore annoyance to his half drunk and sleepy cohorts.

“We almost didn’t have her in our lives because of that asshole…so I’m willing to try and see where this goes.”

Santi huffs a laugh to himself as he runs his hands down his face. “And you’re both gonna be fine with whoever she chooses?” The question on everyone’s minds lingers in the air.

“I trust you guys more than anyone and I’d be happier if she was with one of us than some guy I know would break her heart.” Benny always wore his heart on his sleeve,never backing down to defend one of them or you.

“Fine…do what you want but when it all blows up in our faces just know I will never forgive you for ruining what he had.”

Benny leans back against Frankie on the couch, a triumphant grin on his face as he’s lulled to sleep by the rise and fall of his chest. He is so content like this, dreaming of you and finally able to relax for the first time in weeks knowing you’re safe and he has everything he could ever ask for under one roof.

It’s settled then, the deal is off.

***

10 years ago

They’re all crowded into the mess hall after another boring day of cleaning and bitch work. The air is thick with tension since they haven’t been on assignment in weeks, not since Frankie’s near death injury. Frankie wasn’t thinking clearly when he was stabbed in the side, he hadn’t properly swept the room…preoccupied with his thoughts after hearing a gunshot close by and wondering if it was Santi or Benny injured. He doesn’t know when things started to shift for him but as the weeks went on he felt more than friendship for his comrades. It nearly got him killed.

Frankie’s never been that close to death and Santi has been distant since. The thought of losing him pushed feelings to the surface he’s never felt before. He didn’t know how to handle them, of course he loved his friends and would lay down his life for them but this was something else. He was never good at addressing his feelings and so he ran. He couldn’t physically go anywhere so into his mind he went.

It made everyone on edge, Frankie had a sadness in his eyes and Benny wanted to help him anyway he can but he pushed him away. They were all fracturing as though weeks prior they weren’t the closest they’ve ever been.

Will constantly snapped at his brother telling him to get his shit together, Tom snapped at all of them for being so caught up in anything besides their jobs. They were acting anything but the special ops soldiers that they were. Too many feelings were involved causing them to implode.

“Davis,Garcia,Morales,Millers…report to the briefing room nineteen hundred hours.” The sound of the lieutenant colonel causing a bush to fall over the room. He exits swiftly on his feet in his crisp army fatigues.

“Fuck.” Tom says not so quietly “I knew you guys were gonna fuck this up acting all weird.”

“Fuck you.” Frankie spits back at Tom as he stands with his tray to leave the hall. Santi and Benny can’t hide the grin spreading across their faces. It’s the most he’s said in weeks and they’ll cling to that small gesture if it’s all they can get.

Benny looks up at Will and sees the heartbreak in his eyes, he knows that being in delta is everything to him, he wishes he could take it as seriously as his brother does. He hopes things haven’t been ruined for all of them and he vows to try harder for him if they can get a second chance. He mouths a silent “I’m sorry.” To his brother which he returns with a smile and for the first time in weeks Ben feels like he can breathe a little.

They’re all silent as they make their way to the briefing room, the unanswered question looming among them. A million thoughts swimming in their head about their future. Would they be disciplined?demoted?discharged? None of it feels right to think about.

Of course they arrive 15 minutes early, all of them too nervous to wait any longer. As they approach the room a soft voice is heard through the door followed by laughter from the colonel. He’s laughing? They didn’t think the man was capable of anything but surly disposition. They exchange confused glances amongst each other as Tom opens the door first.

You’re leaning against the desk with your arms folded across your chest, the crinkle in your eyes and the small dimple in your cheeks is the least distracting thing about you as you laugh at something the colonel said. The standard issue army shirt and pants do nothing to hide your figure and it takes Frankie a moment to realize Tom is the only one seated at the desks.

You turn to face them as the four men are left gaping in the doorway like fools.

“Have a seat.” The colonel pulls them from their thoughts as you clear your throat and stand at attention in the front of the room. The smile has dropped from your face as you level them with your intense gaze. Intentionally making eye contact with each of them as they move to sit down.

Ben awkwardly crashes into Santi causing the desk to scratch against the floor and he hopes the floor would swallow him whole at this moment.

They’re the picture of imperfection and the farthest thing from highly trained soldiers, looking at the moment more like highschool teenagers. You drop your head to crack a smile but Will catches the way you clear your throat to disguise the laughter.

“Gentleman, this is your new combat medic, I wanted you all to meet and become acquainted before your new assignment next week.” The colonel says your name and Santi is repeating it in his head as many times as necessary so as not to forget, he wasn’t always good with names but he didn’t want to forget yours.

Frankie’s mind drifts elsewhere as relief floods him knowing they wouldn’t be disciplined for whatever he thought the military knew about his their situation. He feels a little bad that the previous medic had been discharged but it was her job to try and save their lives in the event something happened. He thought that day may have been his last as he watched her shakily stitch him up and eventually Will moved her out of the way and finished opting for his horrible stitch job and steady hands to hers.

“You can talk in here but be back to your quarters before curfew,understood.”

A resounding yes sir from the group and he’s exiting the room but not before he smiles at you.

Santi notices and thinks how wildly inappropriate it may have been or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but he can’t necessarily blame the colonel for shameless flirting. There was a draw about you that he couldn’t shake.

“I’m Sant-

“Im Fran-

They begin introductions at once and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you at their eagerness. Santi glares at his friend and Frankie raises his hand in mock surrender.

“I’m Santiago Garcia but you can call me pope.”

“I’m Will and that’s my brother Benny.”

“I’m Fraancisco Morales but you can call me Frankie.” He blushes slightly and you’re unsure why he would be embarrassed by his name.

As if on cue Benny clears his throat “You can call him Fish actually.” Frankie groans and raises his hand to shield his face from you.

“I’ll kill you” he mouths to Benny and any nerves you had for this introduction and joining this tight knit group are slowly dissipating.

You don’t have the heart to tell them the colonel has already told you as much as he could about each of them and of course that included their names. You knew as much about each of them as a small file could tell you except for the fact that they were distractingly handsome and beautiful.

It’s almost unreal that they all ended up together as if they were some inappropriate military calendar that you could buy at the cheap corner store. Even Tom who has yet to introduce himself had some appeal.

“So what are your qualifications?”

Maybe not

“You must be Tom.” He gapes at you unsure of how you knew his name, before he can open his mouth for a reply you raise your hand at him.

You walk the short distance to the desk he’s seated at as you place your hands on the front coming almost eye level with him.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t qualified and I certainly don’t need to list my years of experience or accolades to you. The colonel isn’t going to send me home because for some reason you might not like me or deem me to be unfit.”

It’s embarrassing and Frankie is grateful to whatever god above that your attention is honed in on Tom as he adjusts the growing bulge in his pants at your unwillingness to back down from a challenge.

“I’m only going to say this once, when you’re bleeding out from a stab wound or a gunshot, I’m the one you want by your side.” You lean away from the desk as Tom stands to tower over you. You still don’t shy away as he comes toe to toe with you. You could hear a pin drop as they all hold their breath awaiting his response.

“Honey listen, I’m only going to say this once. I’m the only one in this group that gives orders.” Tom smirks at the rage filling your eyes,hoping he can back you down and thinking he’s successful as you move to leave the room. You stop just short of the door as you turn on your heels.

“If you call me honey again it will be the last time you speak.” He laughs and some of the tension leaves the room as they all let out a breath.

“Sure thing honey bee but I don’t know what you think you’re gonna do.”

You open the door to leave, throwing a mischievous grin over your shoulder. “Bees do sting you know.”

It’s quiet for a moment after you leave, despite Tom's gruff introduction it seems you fit right in.

“We need some rules.” Tom says first and Will nods in agreement.

“Do not fuck her.”

“Jesus Tom who said anything about that.” Frankie should be ashamed for coming back at him so harshly, seeing as though he was having some trouble concealing that he wanted to do just that earlier.

“That was mostly directed at Pope, but after your little injury I figured we needed to lay down some ground rules.”

Santi hangs his head, he can’t protest not with the way his reputation was and the fact that he may have inadvertently played a role in Frankie being injured.

“He’s right,we need to tighten up and get our shit together. We can’t have this getting complicated with our lives on the line and I don’t want to lose another medic.” Will always the voice of reason.

“Okay but what about after?” Benny is half joking,half serious. Will slaps the back of his head as Frankie tries to conceal his laughter.

“No…I don’t care if it’s years down the line, we don’t need to complicate this anymore or ruin any friendships.” It’s the honesty in Santis voice that has Benny and Frankie sure that this is the way it has to be.

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