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noisynaia · 1 year

Note

Santiago saying “that’s right baby, say my name” ?

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐈 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞

Thank you for the request. You are really feeding my Santiago obsession, I wrote this instead of working on my exam project...

summary: Santiago comes home earlier than you had expected, catching you in the middle of pleasuring yourself, and as the good boyfriend that he is, offers to help you out.

pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x afab!reader

word count: 2.3k

note: Explicit (18+) Established relationship. Female mastubartion, vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V (with use of contraception), creampie. No use of (y/n). This has not been beta nor proof read and English is not my native language. Title from ‘Movement’ by Hozier.

...So move me, baby Shake like the bough of a willow tree You do it naturally Move me, baby...

A shaky sigh escapes your mouth, as you slowly slide your fingers from your sternum down through the valley between your breasts to your stomach, letting the pads of your fingers run down your lower abdomen to the middle of your pelvis. Your other hand is palming the soft flesh of one of your exposed breasts, fingers sliding lightly over your nipple.

You are lying sprawled out on the middle of your and your boyfriend’s shared bed, your upper body slightly elevated by the pillows that are supporting your back, your legs spread open with your knees bent, the soles of your feet planted on the mattress. All you can think about as you lay in this possession is Santi. Making you imagine that it is his hands that are touching you as you let your hand wander further down, letting your fingers slowly slide through your wet folds. A warm rush runs through you, your skin tingling at the memory of his touch. You drag your fingers towards your entrance, coating them in the wetness of your arousal before slowly moving them up toward your clit.

Your fingers start to move in slow circles around the nerve bundle, slowly teasing yourself as you feel the heat in your stomach grow. Your eyes are closed tightly shut as you let yourself get lost in the sensation, your mouth slightly agape as you reminisce the feeling of Santiago’s broad, skillful hands touching you. You see him so clearly in your mind, easily recalling his handsome features. The lines of his strong jaw. The curve of his nose. The shape of his lips; lips you so desperately wish you could kiss right now. Those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes of his. You imagine them looking at you as you touch yourself, imagine his dark irises roaming your body through heavy lids.

His name is on your tongue and it spills from your lips as you begin to move your hand faster, adding a bit more pressure which makes your body jerk slightly. You keep moaning out his name as you imagine that it is his fingers that are bringing you pleasure.

“Babe?” A familiar voice utters and you are immediately pulled out of your fantasy.

Your eyes snap open and you squeeze your thighs together, more from instinct than anything else, it is not like he hasn’t seen you in more vulnerable positions before, but something about him catching you like this still makes you feel a little bit of embarrassment.

Santiago is standing in the door of your bedroom, you had not heard him come home, too lost in your little solo session to hear the front door opening or him going to through your house to your shared bedroom. His side is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, an amused smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth like he is having a grand time seeing you like this, but something is flickering in his eyes, something darker, a deep and intense lust.

“You didn’t have to stop for my sake.” He says, uncrossing his arms as he starts to walk over to the bed.

“I… I thought you wouldn’t be home until late?” You mutter a little flustered, he was supposed to be out with the guys tonight, you had not expected him to get home before you had gone to sleep, but the clear look of enjoyment in seeing you like this is making it hard to feel real embarrassment.

“I missed you so I went home early.” He confesses. “Sounds like you were missing me too, huh?” The mattress dips as he climbs down on the bed, placing a hand on each side of your body, caging you under him as his eyes lock with yours.

“I always miss you when you’re not around.” You say, bringing your hand up to his face to cup his cheek, your thumb gently sliding over his cheekbone.

“Well, I’m here now.” He says, his voice low and deep, before leaning down to kiss you hard and passionately, it’s the kind of kiss that you would have you afraid of your knees giving up under you if you had been standing.

“Need you.” You whisper into his mouth as you finally break the kiss to get a breath of air and Santi takes the opportunity to pull off his shirt, throwing it on the floor before he comes crashing down on you again, kissing you like it was the only reason he had been put on this planet.

“Your jeans too.” You pant against his lips as he finally breaks the kiss.

He hums, leaving another quick kiss on your lips before he lifts himself from the bed to get rid of the rest of his clothes. You let out a little moan when his already hard cock springs free as he slides off his boxers. Throbbing and ready, the tip glistening with precum, he must have been standing in the door for a little while you think. You stretch out your arms towards him, gesturing for him to come back down on the bed to you. A devilish smile on his lips as he crawls back down over you.

“You looked so beautiful spread out like that, touching yourself as you moaned my name.” He says as he begins to leave a trail of kisses down your throat. You let out a light moan as he continues his trail of kisses further down your body. He stops when he reaches your lower stomach and looks up at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide, he is looking drunk on love. “Wanna taste you, baby.” He mutters, which makes you let out a little whimper.

You spread your legs wider, you need him so desperately.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby.” He coos, sitting back on his calves to get a better view of your glistening pussy now on free display. “So pretty…” He says in awe. “Are you gonna let me have a taste?”

“Mmm.” You hum through closed lips, nodding to let him know that you are more than willing to let him have a taste of you.

He brings his middle and index finger to your core, slipping them through your folds as he coats them in your slickness.

“You are so beautiful.” He murmurs, letting his fingers explore your vulva. “My sweet, beautiful girl.”

“Fuck, Santi….” You moan as he finally slips his fingers into you. Slowly pumping them in and out of you as he positions himself between your legs. You tangle your fingers in his curls, letting out a little whine as he removes his fingers, making you feel empty, but it turns into a low moan as he lowers his head, taking your clit between his lips and starting to hungrily suck at it.

You grab his hair a little tighter as he brings up a hand to spread your lips open, giving him better access. He brings his other hand to your entrance, sliding his fingers into you once again, slowly pumping into you while his tongue licks and sucks at your clit. He is moaning into your cunt, enjoying the reaction his movements have on you, making you grip his hair even tighter. He keeps lapping into you, keeps working his magic and you feel how your climax is building up, getting ready to explode, and when he curls the fingers inside of you just right you know you’re a goner.

“Fu-ck… Santi, I…” You pant out, your hips jerking up into his mouth.

“I know, baby, I know. You can, baby. Please cum for me.” He hums into your pussy.

It is all you needed to hear, your climax washes over you in hot, electric waves. You whine out as you soak his face and your cunt clenches down around his fingers. Santi keeps pumping you through your orgasm, letting you ride out your high until you get too sensitive and you feel like you can’t take it anymore and you have to tuck on his hair to make him stop. Santi lets out a gasp as he finally detaches his mouth from you, humming happily as he licks his lips.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Can’t get enough of you.” He sighs as he climbs up over your body, caging you between his arms once again before leaning down to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his lips. It sends a warm rush through your body.

“I need you inside of me.” You confess, making him smile down at you, dipping his head down to kiss your lips again.

“Then you shall have me.” He grins into your mouth, kissing you as he takes his cocks in his hand, giving himself a few pumps before he positions himself at your entrance. He kisses your mouth as he starts to slip into you. You feel how your walls stretch as you take more and more of him. You raise your hips, lifting your legs to cross them around his body. You are relishing in the sensation of him filling you up so completely, even with the preparation of his fingers and with your wetness the girth of him still stings a little, but it is not an unwelcome feeling. Santi kisses your cheek and you feel so loved and so content in this moment like you are exactly where you are supposed to be. You can’t help but push your hips upwards, the need for him to move, getting almost unbearable. Your movement has him moan slightly.

“Ready?” He asks, leaving another kiss on your cheek.

“Yeah.” You nod, grinding slightly into him, which has him let out a little grunt. He starts to slowly pull out of you until only the tip of his cock is remaining inside before rolling his hips, pushing all of his cock into you again with one fluid motion, making you cling to his back as he begins to fuck into you, lifting your legs from his waist to his shoulder. The position is letting him thrust deep inside of you with each roll of his hips.

He starts out with a slow, rhythmical pace but his thrusts are quickly getting faster and more desperate as he loses himself more and more in the overwhelming feeling of you. “You feel so good, baby…” He pants out as he keeps thrusting into you. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

“Love you too.” You breathe out, as he keeps pounding you into the soft mattress beneath you. “Fu-uck, love you so much, Santi.”

Your words have him fueled up, the way he is now pounding his cock into you, so deeply and purposefully, makes you cry out in pleasure. “Yes, Santi! Fu-uck, right there! Right there…” You shriek, the pleasure building up to a whole new level. “Santiago, I…I-” You are so close now, and you can feel him twitch inside of you as his name falls from your lips.

“That’s right baby, say my name” He growls “Love when you say it, makes me know that I’m yours.”

“You are, Santi. You are all mine.” You gasp out. His name keeps spilling from your lips over and over again, you’re chanting it like your life is depending on it like it is a prayer you are devoting to a life-giving deity. Your breasts are being squeezed against his broad chest, your sensitive nipples rubbing against his warm skin. Your arms are desperately clinging to his back. His heavy balls are hitting your skin with each strong thrust, and the sound of your skin colliding is filling the room.

“I’m so close.” You babble into his shoulder.

“Yeah, I can feel it, baby… You can, baby, you can cum for me.” He says, bringing a hand to your head and gently guiding it back onto the pillow, as he follows you down kissing you so gently as the last string that is holding you together snaps. Your walls squeeze down around him, sucking him into your warmth as your climax washes over you. He kisses you through it as his own climax comes over him. You hum into him as you feel the warmth of his release filling you up, coating your walls. He keeps thrusting into you, fucking his cum deep into you until it is leaking out around his cock.

You only break the kiss when you physically can’t keep going as your lungs scream for air and you have to catch your breath, but you don’t mind as it makes it possible for you to watch his handsome as he keeps thrusting into you as he rides out his orgasm until his movements finally come to a halt. He sneaks his strong arms around you, kissing you before flipping you over so you’re now laying next to him instead of having him on top of you. He holds you close, the secure feeling of his strong arms around you making you feel safe and secure as he hugs you tight. His softening cock is still inside of you as you both lay and catch your breath.

“I’m glad you came home early.” You finally break the silence, as you whisper into his chest.

“Me too.” He says, squeezing you a little tighter.

The two of you lay like this for a while, until you start to yawn and Santiago gets up and leaves the bedroom. He is soon coming back in with a glass of water for you and a damp washcloth. He cleans you up as you sip the water, soon joining you on the bed again, pulling the warm covers over you both as you snuggle into his broad chest. He is gently stroking your back, whispering sweet nothings and ‘I love yous’ into the room until you fall asleep, completely engulfed in the warm feeling of his love.

...So move me, baby Like you've nothin' left to prove And nothin' to lose Move me, baby...

Movement, Hozier

@cutesyscreenname @alexxavicry

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eyelessfaces · 4 months

Text

I'll be the silence ringing through and through and through

santiago garcia x reader

summary: if santi had it his way, he would be back home, with you, his mouth on your neck or something of that kind– it would have been possible, a few months ago. or in some alternate universe where he hadn’t fucked it all up. in short; santi wants you back.

warnings: mentions of a breakup but no reason is mentioned, alcohol consumption

tags: f!reader, exes to lovers, inevitable angst, fluff

word count: 1.7k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

happy new year!!!! randomly dropping a santi fic to start it right hhhh

fic title is from the song "heart to heart" by fiddlehead :)

reblogs and feedback are extremely (I cannot stress this enough) appreciated!!

If Santi had it his way, he would be back home, with you, his mouth on your neck or something of that kind–

It would have been possible, a few months ago.

Or in some alternate universe where he hadn’t fucked it all up, and where he would be holding you by the waist and kissing your cheek instead of having to watch you from afar, scrutinizing every littlest movement of yours while he was slumped in Frankie’s couch, like an hermit, feeling helpless, the neck of his beer being the only thing to kiss his lips tonight.

Maybe it was just the alcohol, maybe everything would seem way less dramatic tomorrow, save for the hangover headache – but no, scratch that, he wasn’t even drunk, just barely tipsy, so no, tomorrow won’t be better.

It must be the sight of you laughing at another man’s joke then, probably.

Was he hitting on you? Was he just a friend, like Benny, Will and Frankie were to you?

He shouldn’t care; that wasn’t his business, that wasn’t his problem. Not anymore. Not that he had been the kind to carefully observe your every movement any time you talked to another man back when you were together. He had never really been of that kind, he trusted you.

Except here, right now, it was his problem. For some reason, it felt like it was, and even more than before, when you were still together.

Because now that you didn’t love him anymore, there was nothing to stop you from doing anything with that man.

Would that man fill the hole Santi had left in your heart? Would he make you happier that Santi ever had?

Probably. He was probably a good man, would be a good boyfriend, wouldn’t fuck everything up. Would probably even marry you, and he’d be damn right to.

“He’s gay” Will snorts, plopping down next to Santi, giving a small pat to his chest. Santi’s gaze finally departs from you to turn to his right, where his friend has settled next to him.

“Good to know, but I‘m not interested in him,” Santi jokes, looking down at his half full beer. Half empty.

“That, I know.” Will cocks his head to the side, a more serious expression over his face as he brings his beer to his mouth. Santi’s gaze darts back to you and that man talking, a sick feeling filling his stomach as he sees you smile and shake your head frantically just the way you used to when he would come up with a shitty joke. “I’m like, eighty three percent sure she’s still in love with you.” Will speaks again, nudging Santi’s knee with his own.

“Seventeen percent of what?” Santi chuckles, more convinced that the rest of that percentage is the most important part.

“Seventeen percent of, you still fucked up, man.” Will says, patting Santi’s knee before getting up from the couch, already. “I’m not good at math dude, but all I can tell you is, it’s worth trying again!” he declares over the music, pointing at Santi before disappearing through the crowd.

Easier said than done.

Santi sighs, bites the inside of his cheek as he runs a hand over his few days old stubble.

He had never had any issue talking to people with ease, but for some reason, the idea of talking to you tonight seemed like the most intimidating thing he ever had to do in his entire life.

But god, did he want to look at you in the eyes again. To have you make that focused frown whenever you were attentively listening to someone. To see the way your lips curled up into a smile when you could pre shot a joke, and the way you still pretended not to know what the punchline was, and still ended up laughing.

Santi smiles to himself, finishes his beer, and when he looks up, you’re not in the crowd anymore. Then Benny joins him when he goes to the kitchen for a refill, and you happen to slip out of his mind for the time being.

—

The air is crisp, compared to the smothering heat inside. It tickles your cheeks, the tip of your ears, it hits every exposed area of skin, the sweat over it now feeling ice cold.

It’s all you needed and wanted, so you shouldn’t complain.

You walk back and forth along Frankie’s porch, the overwhelming feeling of the slight tipsiness and the fast beating of your heart simmering down, and you lean against the wall, taking a deep breath.

You turn at the sound of the door opening beside you, the loud, previously muffled sound of the music now clear, ending up face to face with the one person you did your best to not go talk to all night long.

“Shit, sorry. I’ll go” Santi apologizes, still firmly holding the doorknob, starting to go back inside.

“No, no, it’s alright” you say, inviting him to stay with you. “I didn’t privatize the porch” you joke, giving him an awkward smile.

He chuckles as he tentatively steps outside, closing the door behind him, leaning his back against the wall beside you. Neither of you say a single word for a while, then he looks over at you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. “I assumed you wouldn’t wanna see me.” he finally declares, making you scoff and shrug.

“I actually don’t mind,” you say, looking over at him. He’s now looking ahead, a small pinched smile over his lips. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before looking back at you.

“I feel like an idiot.”

“Fair enough, you are one.” you immediately sigh, looking away. His gaze is too heavy. “I loved you.” the knot inside your throat tightens only after you pronounce the words, thankfully.

He swallows hard, a shiver running down his spine. It’s not the cold air’s doing. He stares deeply at you, watching you doing your best not to look at him.

“I know.”

The atmosphere hangs heavily as the awkwardness takes over. The silence lingers, punctuated only by the sounds of the night around you.

He pushes himself away from the wall, taking a step closer and turning to look at you, forcing the both of you to truly establish eye contact for the first time tonight.

"I fucked up, I know," he admits, his voice low and filled with remorse. "But I never meant to hurt you." he shakes his head. “Ever.”

You blink, your gaze tearing from his. "You did anyway," you reply, your tone tinged with a mixture of bitterness and sadness. The memories of the pain he caused are still fresh, wounds not fully healed.

He runs a hand over his stubble, a nervous habit you remember all too well. "I know I can't change anything that I did, but I want you to know that I'm sorry."

Your eyes meet his own again, searching for sincerity. "It doesn't fix everything," you say, your guard still up.

He nods understandingly. "I just needed to tell you, and to let you know I haven't stopped thinking about you."

The vulnerability in his gaze begins to chip away at your defenses. Despite the hurt, a part of you softens. "Santi–”

He cuts you off– "I've been thinking, and you know I don’t do it often” he jokes, scoffing. “And I realized how much I lost when I let you go."

A wave of internal conflict washes over you. Your past relationship is a heavy burden you’re carrying, and you’re not sure you should grant him your forgiveness, yet there's a glimmer of something in his eyes that translates his genuine desire for redemption, and there’s some part of you that craves everything you had with him.

“Please,” he starts, his gaze chasing yours as he softly holds onto your wrist. “Please give me a second chance”

His plea hangs in the air, and you can feel the sincerity in his touch. The warmth of his hand on your wrist is a rough contrast to the chill in the night air. You sigh, and look away, torn between the pain of the past and the possibility of a different future. The silence stretches painfully, and you can hear the faint sounds of the night around you – a distant car passing by, the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

A shiver shakes through you, the brown of his eyes seeming deeper than usual, softer as he silently begs for you to say something.

“Second and last chance” you finally declare, refusing to give up on everything you’ve done to try to get over him, yet indulging in everything you’ve ever wanted since you’ve been apart.

He nods silently, his hand leaving your wrist to settle at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Okay. Alright. I won’t need another one” he promises confidently, the frown over his face eventually softening. You smile as his thumb gently rubs over your now cold skin.

“Alright, but you gotta kiss me for it to take effect” you tease as you break the tense atmosphere, readjusting your position onto your feet and placing your hands at either side of his neck. His skin is warm, and you feel his muscles contract under your hands when he laughs.

“Good thing I’ve been wanting to do it all night long” he smirks before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours, smiling as you sigh into the kiss. This is it; you feel complete again.

He tastes of booze, and his light stubble slightly stinging when he moves are surprisingly pleasant. Your hand shifts to rest at the back of his neck, feeling his scar here, his own hands pulling you closer at the waist where he squeezes lightly when you run your other hand through his short hair.

You pull away only once it becomes necessary, the lack of oxygen making you all giddy though you’re not sure it’s just it. Santi is still holding you close as he presses his warm lips over your forehead, laughing when a shiver runs through your spine and makes you jolt.

“Alright” he declares as he strips himself of his shirt, pulling it over your shoulders.

“You already pulled this trick on our first date” you scoff, looking over at him. A sly smirk grows over his face as you adjust the jacket over your shoulders.

“...And it worked, didn’t it?”

—

reblogs and feedback are extremely (I cannot stress this enough) appreciated!!

triple frontier taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @alexxavicry @grxywindd @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @luxisluxurious @dowbastan

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #sorry for the tags it's just to reach more people^^#oscar isaac

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pimosworld · 1 month

Text

Unrequited

Pairing- Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Francisco Morales

Series Summary- Francisco was always afraid of settling down. He left Santiago to pick up the pieces after Colombia and now someone else is taking his place. Now he must cope with repairing the past without disrupting his future.

CW-18+,NSFW,MDNI, Angst, hurt/comfort, lovers to enemies to friends, friends to lovers, PTSD, mentions of addiction, therapy,canon typical violence, depression, anxiety, smut, m/m, m/m/f, eventual poly relationship, alcohol consumption,infidelity, unprotected piv,oral f receiving, oral m receiving, marriage proposals)

WC-5.2k

A/N- I hope you enjoy the first chapter and I’m just going to apologize now for the angst but it will get better…eventually. Happy Frankie Friday. @triplefrontier-anniversary

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 1 Love sick

adjective: love-sick

in love, or missing the person one loves, so much that one is unable to act normally.

Frankie hates how everything feels the same. When the wheels touched down and he exited the plane, it smelled the same. All of his favorite places to eat, the usual stores, the same amount of unbearable traffic. He wanted this to feel different when he returned home. Like he expected his friends and him to be waiting at the airport to greet him with open arms. Like they would roll out the red carpet for him because they all missed him so much. How could he expect that when he couldn’t bother to tell anyone he was still alive let alone returning home? That’s like expecting to win the lottery but never playing. That delusional part of your brain where you imagine how you would spend the money and how you wouldn’t tell anyone.

He’s home now.

The bile starts to rise up in his throat as he approaches the neighborhood he was going to spend the rest of his life in. He was going to live a peaceful, quiet life with him. After Colombia they would have enough money to do whatever they wanted. Relax and finally work out some of that trauma from their shared experiences in the military. He supposed everyone did settle down anyway. What choice did they have after coming back with practically nothing. He heard Will eventually got married and Benny took what little money he had and opened up a boxing gym. Santi-

How was he supposed to return to this life with him after everything that happened in Colombia. Santiago finally gave him everything he wanted on a silver platter, everything Frankie had been asking of him for years. Love me out in the open, Love me out loud, Love me without fear or consequence of failure. So he did. He finally told him ‘after this, no more playing games. We do this for real or not at all, I'm all in if you are.’

His response was to flee. One month turned into six, six months turned into a year. Now three years later he’s coming back to the man he broke and he’s not sure what he’s expecting but it’s making him nearly break out in hives. The outside of the house looks a little different but he can’t put his finger on why. It’s brighter and somehow cleaner. Maybe Santiago had it painted recently. He huffs his bag out of the cab suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier than any pack he’s carried through the jungle with rain soaked clothes all the way down to his socks.

The bench is still there on the front porch that Frankie found at a garage sale. The first piece of furniture that graced the home they picked out together.Frankie told the guys it would be easier if they bought it together. He’s not sure who he thought he was fooling but it certainly wasn’t Benny and Will. Tom didn’t give a shit, he was such a cheap bastard he truly believed they would buy a house together to save money. Another example of Santiago going along with whatever Frankie said as long as he got to call it theirs.

His hands are sweaty and his arms are shaky as he raises them up to knock on the door. Santiago hated doorbells, such a weird quirky thing he never explained makes him laugh now, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. He waits…an uncomfortable amount of time before he thinks he could just turn around and act like he was never here until the door flies open.

You’re standing there practically beaming at him, he’s sure he’s got the most dumbfounded look on his face as he takes you in. You’re adorable as you lean against the door frame in a pair of leggings and a shirt he sort of recognizes, waiting for him to say something. Maybe he has the wrong house and you’re just sparing him the embarrassment. He’s completely bewildered when you surge forward and wrap your some around his middle, he instinctively despite you being a complete stranger embraces your hug. You’re like liquid in his arms as you press your chest to his and he can feel something awaken in him. The amount of warm bodies he found himself under or on top of over the years couldn’t compare to this consuming feeling. The worst part is how innocent you seem and how his thoughts are nothing but. He can smell you, a hint of orange and peach. Body wash, shampoo or perfume he doesn’t really care at the moment.

You mumble something that’s inaudible as you pull back and look at him, something sparkling in your eyes. “I was beginning to think you were like bigfoot, or the Easter bunny…or maybe even Santa Claus.” You giggle and it’s something else he has to add to the list. “Forgive me…it’s nice to meet you Francisco.”

“I see you’ve met my girlfriend.” That voice. The low sultry voice he’s sure he could never forget, not even if he tried. Frankie cried the day his phone was smashed and the voicemail Santi had left for him was lost forever. The last one he left, begging for him to come back, to come home. “Sorry she’s a hugger.” You sheepishly extract yourself from him as his body goes taut.

Santi steps up behind you, protectively and it cuts like a knife. His hand starts at the small of your back and wraps around to your front as he pulls you into his chest. You preen at the touch as you lean against him, kissing the dark stubble on his cheek. Frankie’s sure you don’t notice the fire in your boyfriend's eyes, a threatening stare that was usually only reserved for his enemies. He can see it then, shrouded in hurt and anger. She’s mine. Santiago won’t let him hurt you the way he was hurt. Thrown away and cast aside. That’s how Frankie thinks he’d paint the picture but that’s far from the truth. He was sparing him a lifetime of disappointment.

The feelings he had for you are going up in gray smoke like water doused onto a fire. This is a dangerous feeling, seeing you in his place. It’s not your fault at all that you met Santiago and walked into years of love,torment and jealousy. Frankie can tell how blindly you love Santiago, the way he loved Frankie all those years. He would lay down on a live wire for him, take a bullet for him, take public scrutiny and throw away his family’s judgmental stares for him. Being that vulnerable only puts you in danger.

“Invite him in silly.” You nudge Santi and he barely budges as he scoops up Frankie’s bag and slings it over his shoulder. You yelp as he pats you on the ass to coax you inside.

“Come on in Frank, make yourself at home.” His voice is raw and open, like Frankie’s heart. He grinds his teeth at the name he hates and the implication of home. But he deserves that. Santi is going to make him hurt.

****

The house looks relatively the same on the inside.

Some extra plants and a bookshelf, the distinct smell of lavender and vanilla are the only differences. He wishes it wouldn’t look the same, like everything else. It was like he never left, the same couch they used to spend late nights on, watching the same tv that sits in the corner. The same dining table that they would eat breakfast before going to work and dinner after a long day.

“I’m gonna make some cookies, since it’s a special occasion.” You wink at him and start moving around his kitchen like you know everything. The oven is preheated and you're mixing something into a bowl before he can blink. Humming some tune he’s sure he’s heard as he realizes the shirt you’re wearing is Santi’s favorite.

Santi slides up behind you kissing your neck. “Sounds like a good idea baby.” You glance up at Frankie looking a little bashful as you narrow your eyes at Santi.

“Why don’t you go put your stuff down in the spare bedroom.” Santi doesn’t move and that annoys him even more. He doesn’t have to show him where the room is because this used to be his house, still is technically. He stomps down the hall glaring at some artwork and photos he’s never seen. Stopping in his tracks when he sees a photo of the five of them in Delta. A stupid grin on Santi’s face because Frankie’s grabbing his ass while the photo is being taken. The younger faces of the Miller brothers and Tom.

He stops again when he sees the bedroom they used to share. Nothing much has changed about that either. The bedspread and the ungodly amount of pillows maybe…hopefully the mattress.

He sets his bag down against the wall and opens the window to let some air in. It’s stale and muggy so he shuts it immediately. He can still smell you on him and it’s driving him nuts. He got a whiff of Santi’s cologne during the brief greeting. That was different. He stopped wearing the one Frankie bought him on a mission in Morocco. Santi hadn’t so much as touched him during their hello and he’s not sure if that hurts worse than being able to hold him.

His body eases into the queen mattress as he leans back against the pillows. It’s much more comfortable than the previous one. Frankie never cared about the comfort of others and they argued about it. "It's just a spare bed, what's the problem?” Santiago would roll his eyes and he wanted to kiss that smug look off his face. ‘Our guests should be comfortable too.” He didn’t think they would ever have guests staying in their home other than Benny or Will and those bastards didn’t need a four star plush hotel stay. Now he’s a guest, in his own home and he hates how comfortable he is.

He’s exhausted…mentally, physically, emotionally. Too fatigued to even stand and turn on the ceiling fan that he’s staring at. He’s just starting to close his eyes when he hears a soft rap on the door. He sighs out in frustration, he needs a break from you right now, you’re too perfect and he’s too broken so he just needs a moment. He goes to protest when the door opens but it’s not you who greets him.

Santiago stands in the doorway with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. He looks as though he’s approaching a wild animal in a cage with their favorite treat to calm them down just before they tranquilize them. Frankie sits up as he steps into the room and sets the items down on the bedside table.

“They’re still hot.” His tone is warning like he knows Frankie is going to shove one whole in his mouth the moment he leaves the room and then complain that it burned his tongue.

Frankie wants to say something but now doesn’t feel right. His tongue is heavy like lead in his mouth and his eyes can’t quite possibly say all that he wants to. I love you, I’m sorry. “You look good.” It’s weak, Santiago knows it as he huffs out a laugh.

“You look tired.” It’s said more of a truth than an insult. He’s sad when he looks at him like someone he used to know. Frankie probably hasn’t had a good night's sleep in three years and that is Santi’s only consolation prize. He got a broken heart and Frankie got perpetual insomnia. “You can stay as long as you want Fish…dinner will be ready in an hour.” Santi exits the bedroom, closing the door softly, leaving his new cologne in the omnium of your scent that clings to him.

As long as he wants and as long as he needs are two very different things. He’s just glad as he takes a bite of the cookie that he’s graduated from Frank to Fish. This cookie tastes how you look. Sickly sweet and warm on his tongue. He’s glad Santi has left the room because he didn’t recognize the sounds coming from him as he savored his first homemade provisions in over three years. Surviving on street food that his stomach hated and questionable canned meat products. He can taste you on his tongue as he finishes the first cookie in the blink of an eye. Four of them stacked on the plate before eating dinner seemed like overkill at first but Santiago had tasted your cookies... He gets to indulge in them whenever he wants and this is just his way of taunting Frankie. He knows Frankie is a weak man who hasn’t let himself enjoy the pleasures in life for quite a while. Temporary pleasures don’t measure up to this.

He kicks off his shoes and props himself up against the pillows again as he absentmindedly reaches for another. A cool breeze whips his face as he looks up at the spinning blades. Santiago must have turned it on without him noticing. His mama always used to tell him to slow down and enjoy his food so he does in this moment. The first one he ate with such urgency like it would be his last, this one he can savor the hints of cinnamon and vanilla. The gooey chocolate makes a mess on his fingers. He glances over to see no napkin so he licks it off getting a hint of salt and peanut butter. There’s no way you could know unless Santiago told you. He holds it in front of him to inspect and sees the small peanut butter chips melted in. That was always his favorite and only Santi knew.

It’s much easier to fall asleep as he polished off the last cookie and most of the milk. This one hour felt better than any full night of sleep he got when he wasn’t home.

****

Frankie feels like his body weighs a ton. Waking up from his nap is disorienting as he remembers where he is. Sleeping in a room he never thought he’d be in, in a place he never thought he’d ever come back to. This short slumber after being sleep deprived for so long is like serving someone an appetizer and telling them the restaurant is closing early.

He showed up unexpectedly and you took it in stride. Like you’ve been here waiting for him this whole time to put the pieces back together. Frankie doesn’t think you’d mind if he skipped out on dinner for some much needed rest but his stomach grumbles as he stares at the empty plate next to him. The smell of garlic,onions and peppers coax him out of the bed as he stretches his creaky bones. He can hear laughter and the clinking of plates as he walks down the hallway, it dawns on him that he hasn’t showered in twelve hours but he doesn’t want to keep you waiting any longer. He’s been enough of a burden these last few years and he won’t let you bear the load any longer.

“Hola bella durmiente.” Santi’s teasing voice hits his ears before he sees him. He wants to flip him off but he’s too tired and that feels too normal.

Frankie glances at the time on the oven as you finish plating something that smells like home. “Shit it’s been two hours.” Santi whistles at him to sit down as he scrubs his hands through his hair.

“Don’t worry about it Francisco, this man takes four hour naps.” You lean over setting the plate down in front of him and your boyfriend. He watches you plant a kiss on Santi’s head, not to flaunt it but just because it’s second nature.

“You never take naps.”

“I’ve learned to relax.” Santi says with a mouthful of food as he points his fork. “You should learn to do the same, Frankie.”

He can breathe a sigh of relief that he can be Frankie again, even in jest.

He takes a bite as you settle in across from him, it’s perfect much like the cookies as he closes his eyes not afraid of the moan that leaves him. “Holy shit this is better than Santi’s Chile verde.”

Santi takes your hand placing a kiss on your fingers. “That’s why I don’t make it anymore.”

“Well don’t be shy, there’s plenty on the stove.” You smile at him and he notices then that you changed. A light touch of makeup and a little perfume. Santi’s still in his tee shirt and jeans but you’ve ditched the old ratty Metallica shirt and swapped it for a bright yellow blouse and jeans.

Santi clears his throat interrupting Frankie observing you. “She’s an amazing chef. She takes a lot of pride in her work, and I take my job as the Guinea pig very seriously.” He leans back and pats his belly.

You’re practically beaming at him as you stand to take his empty plate. He gently grabs your wrist urging you to sit as he absentmindedly grabs Frankie’s to serve them up some more.

****

Frankie used to run from his compliments or brush them off as nothing. He was always too afraid of the praise not realizing how hurtful it was to the other man when he would wave him off. Santi loves you in the way he always wanted Frankie to love him.

He’s grateful for the small talk during the rest of the evening. A few beers and a way too nice bottle of wine has him comfortably buzzed as he listens to you talk about how you met Santiago. In true Santiago form he almost ruined it before it even began.

It was at Will's wedding a little over a year ago.Santiago assumed you were a guest of the bride because he’s certain he would remember meeting you in the many years he’d known Will. He saw you just before the ceremony in a navy blue silk suit, the plunging neckline leaving nothing to the imagination. You looked lost and a little irked when he approached you asking to save him a dance.

He looked for you in the sea of unfamiliar faces during the ceremony and again during the reception. It wasn’t until a very unfortunate moment with a clingy bridesmaid in his lap drunkenly telling him about her new piercing that he locked eyes with you. There was a humorous look on your face as you winked at him. Two men approached you in matching white button ups and black ties and you snapped to attention. He could always tell when someone was giving orders and needed to be taken seriously. The men scurry away when you’re done speaking and start gathering plates and cutlery. Your face relaxes again and you wink at him exiting the ballroom as the girl screeches in his ear ‘are you even listening to me?”

“No sweetheart I’m not.” He quickly displaces her from his lap as she stands there dumbstruck by his actions.

He bursts through the doors and is met with a mostly empty kitchen. You’re standing there wide eyed with another girl in the matching uniform. “Finish boxing up the leftovers for the newlyweds and then you’re good to go.” You brush her arm as you walk past and beeline it straight for him.

“Lost?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“No I ugh…you…-“ He’s scrambling as you stare him down unwavering.

“A man of many words I see.” You pick a piece of lint off his suit jacket and he notes your close proximity.

“You never danced with me.” He teases and you laugh a little. It’s a start

“You seemed to already have a dance partner…and as you can see.” You gesture around the kitchen. “I was a little busy.”

“Oh her…I don’t even know her name.” He winces as you give him an incredulous look.

You’re already walking away toward the ballroom doors before he can recover. He’s hot on your heels, never one to back down from a challenge. “So I can’t convince you to dance with me?”

You spin and he has to stop himself from crashing into you. “Maybe some other time Santiago.” You kiss him on the cheek, leaving a red lipstick reminder for any unknown nameless women.

“Wait…how do you know my name!?”

“I was warned about you.” You yell over your shoulder as you exit the kitchen leaving him there stunned.

It took a lifetime of bribes and I owe yous and promises of future baby sitting to get your number from Will. His wife Emma was pissed until you weaved your way into their lives and the rest is history.

****

It’s been at least an hour since you went off to bed, saying your goodnights to both men. They stayed mostly silent on the couch as they stared at some movie on the tv. Neither one of them paid any attention. Just waiting for any signs of life from you to die down in the bedroom down the hall.

Santi knew your night routine like the back of his hand. You’d wash your face of any makeup and apply what he thought was an absurd amount of creams and oils. You’d sit gingerly on the edge of the bed as you applied this lotion that smelled of rose and coconut, taking your time to cover every inch of your body. Smiling at him all the while asking if he’d like to join to which he’d just tell you one of you had to be rough in the relationship. On the nights he didn’t personally see to it that you were passed out you’d read a few chapters of your book before falling asleep with your finger marking the page and he’d gently retrieve it from you before kissing your forehead making sure not to wake you.

It’s this thought that’s ticking away at him as he counts down the minutes silently while he watches Frankie’s leg nervously bounce beside him. He’s sitting in the spot he used to but he feels miles away. Stark contrast to how they used to be on this couch, cuddling and laughing while they talked about their future.

“Do you love her?”

The words that leave Frankie’s mouth rip through the silence like the sound of a thunder clap. Only the light from the tv illuminates the look on Santi’s face but Frankie can see it clear as day. It’s moments like these that Santi’s aware of his high blood pressure as the sound of his heartbeat whooshes in his ears.

“How dare you ask me that.” His voice starts low but the rage behind it is threatening to boil over.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Yes I love her.” He says a little louder, no lie or waver to his voice.

Frankie scrubs his jaw as he huffs under his breath. “I’m glad you moved on.” The sarcasm dripped from his tone and now Santi is seeing red.

Santi grabs the remote, flicking off the tv plunging them into darkness. “You think I just moved on the moment you left. You do remember being the one who left right?” He hates how Frankie can so quickly get under his skin. This is the exact reaction he wanted from him and he took the bait. “I waited for you. I waited and waited until Will had to pick me up off the floor and make me shower and eat and really take a look at the situation.”

Santi stands and paces the room as Frankie watches someone he thought he knew open up like he’s never done before. Santi loved him but he always let Frankie take the lead. He never put himself first and it almost swallowed him up whole. Frankie knows it’s not fair to judge any of his actions but he’s a scared animal backed into a corner and this is all he’s got left. One last fight before he lunges out in hope’s that Santi will tell him something to justify what he did.

“You may have been torn up for a bit but you look pretty comfortable to me.” Frankie gestures around the room as he stands in front of Santi. “You’ve got nice home cooked meals, all your friends, a beautiful house and someone to fuck at the end of a long day.”

Santi grabs his shirt shoving him back down to the couch. “Don’t act like your bed wasn’t warm these last three years. You and I both know how you are Frank.” Fuck he’s back to Frank.

“I didn’t love any of them.” Frankie says as Santi rolls his eyes.

“You want an award for not falling in love with them.” Frank grits his teeth as the sing song words ooze out of Santi’s mouth while he claps his hands in his face.

“You should keep your voice down, you wouldn't want to wake up your wife.” Frankie says and with no remorse Santi knows he’s wounded. A small part of him is glad for it.

With his voice barely above a whisper as he leans down face to face with Frankie. “She’s not my wife, and you’re not my husband.”

****

Santi quietly closes the door as he watches your sleeping form. It’s one of his favorite things to do. The steady rise and fall of your chest, wondering what peaceful things drift in your dreams. You’re wearing one of his shirts and probably nothing else. Majority of your wardrobe when you weren’t at work consisted of his clothing. It stirred something in him he’d never experienced before you. The way he was possessive over you…he never understood why Frankie would act the way he did when men and women would flirt with him until he met you.

How dare Frankie question his love and his loyalty. He was the one who walked away. How dare he look at you the way he did, thinking Santi wouldn’t notice the desire in his eyes.

“Baby, are you coming to bed or do you want to keep holding the door up?” Your sleepy voice grabs his attention as you pat the spot beside you.

He pushes off the door and pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside.”I thought you were asleep.” His jeans and belt hit the floor with a thud as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“I was but I could hear your thoughts in my dreams.” You sit up wrapping your arms around him. Your hands drift to his stomach, his soft abs flex under your touch as he relaxes against you. You know he wants to say something. The elephant in the room that is Frankie.

“I love you.” His voice barely above a whisper. He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his chest. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart under your fingers.

“I love you too.”He shivers as your lips graze the faint scar traveling down his neck. A reminder of something he’s been through with you that Frankie wasn’t there for. His need for you is made all that more evident with the man he loved, loves in the room down the hall.

He shifts so fast your head is spinning as he pins you underneath him. Whatever thoughts were plaguing him before are long gone with his hands roaming underneath his shirt to graze the soft skin under your breast. His lips swallow your whine as he rolls your nipple between his fingers reveling in the way your body responds to him.

You can feel the hard press of his cock beneath his boxers as he rolls his hips into you. Searching for some kind of friction.

“I need this off.” His voice is strained as he pulls the shirt over your head.

You chuckle trying to reach for him as he shoves his boxers down, laughter dies in your throat at the sight of him. The moonlight in the room illuminates his hard cock, dark at the tip leaking precum on the sheets below.

His hands slide up your thighs as he squeezes the flesh between his fingers. His grip tightens as he cups your ass, lifting you slightly to wrap your legs around him. “Look at you…and you’re all mine.”

You’re breathless as you reach for him, pulling him into your chest.”Santi, kiss me.” You don’t have to ask him twice, your voice is like a siren song as he dips his tongue into you. He can taste the mint from your toothpaste and your cherry chapstick. Mine.

He should go slow, work you open like he always does. He drags the tip through your slick folds and a soft whimper leaves your mouth. You’re being too quiet…because of him. His hands gently press your throat as he buries himself to the hilt. A louder whine escapes you, he knows it drives you crazy as he squeezes just enough to have you panting.

“Fuck I need you, I’m sorry.” He releases your throat and starts an unrelenting pace as you quickly adjust to his size. He’s never been this desperate, not willing to make you come on his mouth or fingers first.

Your body doesn’t seem to care as the slick wet sound of your bodies and your pussy clenching with each thrust has him growling in your ear. “I want to hear you.” He wraps his arms underneath you and grips your shoulders.

“Santi…please.” You don’t want to be used for his anger and revenge but you can’t think straight with his cock ramming that spot deep inside you.

“Please what baby?” He fucks you harder as he watches your face contort in pleasure as you chant his name. He bites down on the swell of your breast and you cry out as he licks and soothes the spot with his tongue.

“Santi…I’m so close.” He knows…he can feel how close you are as your heels dig into his back, your blunt nails scratch at his scalp and you arch your body as your climax washes over you. “Come inside me please, Santi.”

Images flash in his mind of Frankie fucking you through your orgasm as you scream his name, his cock is pulsing and throbbing inside you as he fills you up. His deep ragged breaths in your ear as the aftershocks jolt through him. “I love you.” He says it over and over as he kisses your face, your mouth, your sweat soaked forehead. He’s really saying I’m sorry but those words mean the same right now.

“I love you too baby.” Your voice is wrecked from screaming, having long forgotten about your houseguest. You know this is what he wanted and a small part of you wanted it to. Santiago is yours to keep.

****

Shame washes over Frankie as he cleans his spend off his stomach with his tee shirt. He pulls his boxers up and sits on the edge of the bed staring out into the backyard.

It’s quiet now, in his post orgasmic clarity. All he has are the thoughts running through his mind. The thoughts that have plagued him since he set foot back into this house. How selfish it is to want what’s down the hall in a place he called home.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

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Tagging a few who might be interested:

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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 · 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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writefightandflightclub · 3 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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clazaries · 8 days

Text

The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival NSFW!

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!soldier!reader)

Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders

w/c: 6.6k

Warnings: NSFW! war environment, slight knife play, masturbation (f!reader), oral (m!receiving), self-edging, orgasm denial, choking, dom!Santi, p in v, slight fluff at the end, think that's everything?

a/n: reader's callsign is 'Midge'. this takes place after the events of triple frontier but where the gang are still active members of Delta Force. I kinda imagined Santiago as Ghost from COD (cos daddy)

ENJOY!

***

“Frankie. Sit rep?”

“ETA 30 seconds. Sit tight.”

“Rog’.” Santi’s gravelly voice worms its way into your ear in harsh rumbles as you begin to take position at the edge of a sandy cliff, overwatching the vast desert valley ahead of you. His voice shakes the nerves inside you that are already on high alert. You remind yourself to turn down your comms when you can afford the chance. “Midge, how copy?”

You perk to attention at the sound of your nickname and respond accordingly. “Loud and clear, sir. In position. Eyes on Frankie.”

Towards the heart of the valley, Frankie’s distant figure calmly approaches the enemy-riddled farm under the cover of darkness and you watch with bated breath through a window of green. Directly ahead of you, even further away on the mirroring side of the valley is your superior Santiago “Pope” Garcia, providing overwatch just as you are. You can’t see him but you know he’s there, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Even though you are just as concealed as he is, you have this disconcerting feeling that he’s very much capable of plucking you out, watching you.

You readjust yourself nervously.

It’s incredibly dark with nothing but the twinkling stars and Jupiter’s bright sparkle to keep anyone sane. Without the night vision goggles, you are a lost hope. They sit squarely on your nose, grinding the bone and encasing your eyes, and the sweat trickling down your neck is no home comfort either, but now is not the time to be complaining. You have a job to do.

Having been recently promoted for your sharp shooting and bright mind, you’re no longer an extra in someone else’s play, you’re the real deal now. You’re still taking orders no less, except now word doesn’t have to pass through at least three ranks above you like a game of Chinese Whispers before you receive the order.

Every mission is different but your response has always been the same: subdued nerves to begin, then before long, you’re in your element and the job gets done. However, this task in particular has your heart beating a little harder and you don’t sense it settling any time soon. The whole mission is unnerving. It’s just you, Frankie and Santiago, sent out into the middle of nowhere to retrieve controls for a weapon that’s been missing from the US government for three years. The very same that is currently being protected and fortified by an armada of Russian extremists. Every minute in between the initial briefing and your current breath has been spent quietly fretting about it.

This mission alone has introduced a lot of firsts for you; first time working with Delta Force rather than for, first time working off the grid, first time working in a squad with fewer than 5 comrades beside you, first time being completely and hopelessly outnumbered…

First time feeling extremely, extremely doubtful.

“Remember, this is a covert operation and completely off the grid so keep it quiet. Frankie, I want you in and out before they even get a whiff that you were ever there, and Midge--” you gulp, “keep Frankie alive.”

“Yes, sir.” You and Frankie’s voices ring through simultaneously. By now, Frankie has approached the back door of the barren barn, a large building that no doubt houses a number of enemies inside. Through your scope, you witness Frankie infiltrating the barn, his voice verbally confirming it seconds later. “I’m in. Going dark.”

“Copy that.”

The second you lose sight of him you take a hefty breath, letting it flood your lungs while the waiting game begins. From out here, there’s nothing you can do for him except warn him of any outside movements. As of right now, he’s on his own, doing what he does best.

“Stay sharp.”

You keep quiet on your side of comms, too paranoid to risk speaking unnecessarily. Instead, you keep your wits on what’s in front of you. There’s no movement, not even a breath of wind to shake the lonely tree that stands at the far end of the farm and it feels as though time has stood still. If it wasn’t for the mouse scuttling underneath your sniper stand, you would’ve thought so.

The little creature skips and hops over the rocks to your right, stopping every couple of seconds to clean the dust from its ears. Cute. You quirk a smile at the thought of something as simple as a mouse breaking the tension that’s riddling your bones. God knows you need it. Every fibre of your being is buzzing with uncertainty and the heavy nauseating feeling in your stomach is enough of a sign that something about this mission just isn’t right. Some would call it instinct, others would call it a load of rubbish, regardless, the feeling is there and you’re not willing to ignore it.

In all honesty, you would’ve carried out this mission entirely differently if you had the authority. But that’s the thing. You don’t. Outranked and out-experienced by the two men alongside you, you had no option but to play by their rules. Where you would’ve gone all-in, they chose to keep their cards close to their chests.

You never agreed with the idea that less is more. Not in the military.

Ten agonising minutes pass by. Nothing has been said and nothing warrants being said. Everything about you is screaming to point out the obvious; that something clearly isn’t going right. Frankie should’ve been out by now.

“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Nothing’s happening.”

Santiago instantly replies, a slight ring of chagrin evident in his tone. “Good. Means we haven’t been compromised.”

“Then why isn’t he out?”

“Patience, Midge. Keep focussed.”

You’re seconds away from overstepping boundaries and saying something you shouldn’t, but the moment you open your mouth, you spot a black vehicle off in the distance, quickly morphing into view as it speeds across the expanse of the valley with a plume of dust trailing behind it. It’s heading directly towards the farm.

“Be advised. Vehicle inbound coming in from the north. Pope, you see it?”

“Affirmative. Six Russians inside and likely armed. Do. Not. Engage. Frankie, get the hell on with it and get those controls.”

The vehicle approaches and screeches to a stop, the occupants immediately disperse from the vehicle with rifles in hand. Fear shoots through you, wide eyes pinned on the door Frankie entered through, desperate for it to open again and see Frankie escape but alas, no sign of him. “Come on, come on, come on…”

“Enemies heading towards the front entrance.”

“I’ve got a shot on two of them.”

“No. Stand down. Do not engage. They don’t know we’re here, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Pope’s voice rages through your earpiece again and you wince, both from his tone and volume.

“Why the fuck are we here then?”

“To prevent a ruckus from happening. If we engage, we’ll be the reason for it. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Frankie, for Christ’s sake, you better have those controls.”

You listen intently for his voice, hoping that he’s succeeded and he’s on his way back, but when you hear a slight crackle, a groan and high-pitched frequency piercing through the comms, you assume the worst. Your heart stops dead in your chest when you hear a shot being fired, its echo carrying the weight of dread right to your position. “Fuck! Santi--”

“Frankie! Do you copy?”

Short, resounding booms resonate from the farm and you’re left with no doubt that Frankie’s position has been compromised, leaving his life and the controls to this weapon at stake. You can’t afford to lose both and you’re certain that Pope knows that too, so why isn’t he giving the order for backup?

“He needs help!”

“Stay put! I can’t risk losing two of you. This is Pope to Ironhead, how copy?”

You drown out William’s voice with worries of your own, constantly watching for signs of Frankie’s survival but to no avail, you find none. You knew this mission was never going to succeed. Your instinct was right. And based on that fact alone, what’s to stop you assuming that when your gut instinct is now telling you to go and extract Frankie and the controls yourself, it’s the right decision no matter what your orders are?

“Fuck this.” With haste, you pack up your equipment, whipping it over your shoulder with a new-found surge of adrenaline pumping through you. The hill you’re perched on isn’t tall, but it is steep, so as you run down the slope, your body falls faster than your legs can keep up. The howl of air blows past your ears and the clinking and clanking of your equipment rattles with each step. Even still with the cacophony of sounds, nothing can be louder than your boss’s rage.

“Midge! What the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position!”

You don’t bother responding because you’re too out of breath…and mostly because you’re shit scared. When you hear his voice again, you’re at the door Frankie entered through with a shaky hand holding your pistol and the other tightly gripping the handle.

“Midge, so help me God, if you take another step--”

“We can’t leave Frankie!”

“We don’t know if he’s still alive.”

“But we know the controls are in there, if we can’t get one, we’ll get the other.”

“NO! You get back here right fucking now!” The scratch of his growl descends down your body, making you curl your toes. Suddenly, a farm full of Russian extremists doesn’t seem to be your biggest threat…

“I’m going in.”

A grunted sigh crackles through the comms as Pope watches you push through the door into chaos.

“Just so you know, if you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.”

~~~~

Miraculously, you did exactly that. You survived. Not only did you extract Frankie’s beaten body and save his life, you also retrieved the controls before they got away. You can’t deny that the odds were slim and it did nearly cost both of your lives, but at the expense of breaking a few rules and a few bones, you made it. And you won’t apologise for a single bit of it sitting here in an unused briefing room with Santiago.

The tale of twists and turns didn’t end when you and Frankie both made it out alive only hours ago, in fact, it continues with Santi; a man with chains around his heart, a shield around his mind and a look of steel donning his face. It is fair to say his reputation precedes him, especially since his comrade Redfly died years ago. Before you met him officially, you had only ever heard of his emotionless gaze, his inhuman self-restraint and deeply enigmatic personality, and you found it strange that no one told you what it was like to be around him. Until Frankie told you that how you felt being in a room with him could not be explained through words, it was something you had to experience for yourself.

Frankie was right. You had to be there to see that he was stronger, colder, smarter, more intimidating than anyone had let on. His presence wasn’t one to be easily swallowed. It was obvious that strangers couldn’t settle the unease they felt when he walked into the room; cautious eyes, bitten lips, fidgeting muscles. They succumbed to his eerie, silent domination very quickly. Quicker if those dark eyes were locked on you. They were seared into the back of your mind the moment they landed on you for the first time, remembering how you just couldn’t decipher the encrypted messages they hid. Whoever stated that the eyes were windows to the soul had clearly never met Santiago.

But tonight, that restraint is gone. He is positively seething. Outwardly, publicly, irrationally seething. In the dimly lit room, he stands menacingly in the corner where the light doesn’t quite reach, yet still you can see his knuckles tensing and untensing with each breath he takes. You don’t say a word, quietly picking at the forming scab on your knuckle, and in your head, you speak the words you don’t have the conviction to say out loud.

“Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you are?”

You slowly peer up to him, his words still processing as you narrow in on him. “Reckless? With all due respect, my actions saved a man’s life and finished the mission. What part of that is reckless?”

“The part where you didn’t follow my orders! You went rogue. Off plan. Completely out of line. If you don’t follow orders, you don’t know how it will end. I could’ve lost you both unnecessarily.”

“Could’ve,” you mutter.

He begins to loom closer, taking every word of yours like they’re a sour taste in his mouth. In muted tones, he whispers out to you. “What?”

“You said you could’ve lost us both. But you didn’t.” The words feel like liberation. It’s the first time you’ve ever behaved like this. It’s so uncharacteristic but you just feel so insulted by his lack of gratitude or appreciation that anger bubbles inside you, spitting out words that you know you shouldn't, turning you into someone you definitely aren’t. You are usually a rule follower, you are usually obedient, and you usually respect authority, but in the blinding light of anger, you just can’t surrender to Santiago’s discipline so easily.

“And you should’ve listened to me. But you didn’t. Nobody ever fucking listens to me and they end up dead because of it.”

“Just because Redfly did, doesn’t mean everyone else will too.”

Low blow, Midge.

Sensing immediate regret, you keep your eyes firmly pinned on your hands on the table in front of you. Like a dark rain cloud, you catch sight of his shadow engulfing your own. His stature and all-encompassing presence emerges behind you but you don’t dare move a single muscle. His hands curl around the back of the chair you’re sitting in, the pathetic plastic creaking under his fists. The brave front you’re putting on begins to yield to his growing temperament and the facade crumbles piece by piece.

Everyone in the unit had heard of what happened when a certain team of the Delta Force went rogue. The US Army had never let them live it down since.

He leans his head over your stiff shoulder and you can even feel the heat of his anger just glazing over the shell of your ear.

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Santiago spits every word with heavy articulation as if he’s etching the words into your brain. His laboured breathing is a concern, knowing that it’s a warning of the wrath that’s about to ensue. “Redfly didn’t follow my orders to stand down and it inevitably got him killed. And right now, the same might happen to you.”

With a sharp, unexpectant tug of your hair, your head whips back, swinging the chair with you until the overhead light burns into your eyes. Reflexes have your hands gripping the edge of the table until they turn white with tension, stopping yourself from tipping backwards. The sudden blade on your neck stops you moving forward.

“Do you remember what I said to you before you disobeyed me?”

You remember all too well. If you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.

“You wouldn’t.”

Santiago presses the blade harder against your skin, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t I?”

You really don’t know whether to call his bluff but to stay on the safe side you remain silent. Until anything happens, you are both stuck staring into each other’s eyes, holding a resentment none of you are willing to let go of. Looking up at him, it’s obvious that he is teetering on the edge of breaking a few rules himself, allowing the sharp edge of the knife to roll across the expanse of your neck, bobbing as you swallow, until the sharp point rests precariously atop your pulse. But even he knows himself that he wouldn’t follow through with it, because as much as it pains him to admit it, your courageous actions, although downright stupid, did save Frankie’s life and secured the controls. And he fucking hates it. If there was anything he could do to scare the absolute shit out of you to stop you being so smug and defiant about it, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Santiago,” you warn, just as the point of the knife starts to break through the thin layer of skin on your neck. You try to move your head but he still has his fist entangled through your roots.

The instant the little whine of his name broke from your lips, something snapped inside him. The desperation of it, it was too provocative for him to ignore and an electrical feeling pulsed from his chest and shot straight towards his dick. Having you in his tight clutches, essentially at his mercy, exacerbated the feeling and suddenly he could feel himself growing hard. Fuck, what was he doing?

It’s perverse of him to want to hear it again, to see those plump but bitten lips of yours say his name again in a plea for his forgiveness. He becomes so fixated on the idea that he gets carried away, pricking your skin with the knife, watching as your eyes widen and your body writhing beneath him.

“AHH! Pope--fuck--okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, just…please let go of the knife.” There it was again, the slight twitch in his dick, one that makes him grow uncomfortable beneath his boxers.

It’s one thing for Pope to be angry, but when lust is thrown into the equation, there’s much less he can do to suppress it and with you still whimpering beneath him, it’s something he’s quickly realised.

He relieves the pressure of the knife just enough to alleviate the pain but not enough that you haven’t completely escaped its threat. He moves out of your sight, his head dropping lower until his lips are gracing across your ear. You hear nothing but his slow breathing, funnelling down your ear and you instantly shiver. You want to pull away from him but for some reason, you’re chemically drawn into him; his close proximity, the smell of him, the hold he has on you, it’s all so…dangerously alluring. Something changes and the air starts to grow hot.

“Y’know,” he purrs, “I can’t allow you stay on my team if you can’t listen to my orders--”

“No! No, I-I want to stay.”

“How do I know you won’t pull something stupid like this again, hm? You’re still a rookie, you’re not an addition to this team, no, what you are is a liability. Your actions today proved to me that you are just not capable.”

“I am. I was promoted for a reason.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Prove you’re capable and I might consider keeping you on my team.”

“How?”

“It’s simple,” he says, his lips trailing from your ear to skim across your cheek, just teasing with feather light touches. “Follow…my…orders. Do you understand?”

Your cheeks are burning, your lungs are heaving, everything about this screams ‘this is a risk you shouldn’t take’. But it’s hard to heed those words when Santiago’s grip of your hair loossens to soothing scalp scratches, when the tips of his lips and his nose brush over your burning cheek, inhaling the scent of you, when your gut is telling you to listen to how tempted your body is, how wanting it is for him.

Your thighs press together beneath the table.

“Yes.”

“Yes…what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Better. Stand up.” You swing forward so fast that a violent rush of blood to your head almost makes you lose your balance, but Santiago keeps you up with a firm hold to your arm while he casually throws the knife onto the table. He perches himself in front of you to lean against the edge of the table, touching toe-to-toe and holds your gaze; bold, dark brown eyes that give nothing away about the inner workings of his mind. And it’s those same eyes that can read everything about you.

“Nervous, soldier?”

“No, sir.”

“Don’t lie.”

“A…A little, sir.”

“Good, you should be. Take off your top.”

With those words, you know, that whatever happens from this moment on, Santiago will not be following any official protocol but his own. You do as he says, now feeling the heat of the room touching your bare skin. Santiago admires the way your belt hugs around your waist, waiting for the moment his hands can do the same when he’s fucking you from behind. Your bra is standard, nothing sexy. It’s what he expects on a day you had been on a mission, but what his eyes catch is your nipples pebbling through the material, and the slight blood stain discolouring the straps from the shrapnel wound to your shoulder that he didn’t realise you had.

“At ease,” he commands. You act on instinct, bracing your hands behind your back with your legs standing shoulders-width apart. The instruction has been ingrained in you since the day you started your training. “You got hurt?”

“Minor wounds.”

“Wounds you wouldn’t have had if you had listened to me.”

Fluttering warmth spreads from your core the moment Santiago cups your breast, your nipple weaving through his fingers and caught in a tight pinch. When you don’t react, he peers up at you to engage in a wordless conversation that both are in tune with. Keep going? Yes. He brings his other hand up to mirror the other and this time he finally elicits a small, but audible sigh from you.

It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone like this, even longer for Santiago. His failures to locate his old contact Yovanna in Australia broke him and since then, he had sworn off getting close with anyone for fears of time repeating itself. As for you? You had yet to claim anyone as your own. Sure, you’ve had a few romances over the years but no one had ever satisfied you in the sick, slightly twisted way you were searching for. Up until now, you didn’t think there was a man out there who was interested in the same things you were. You didn’t think they existed.

Until you met Santiago. He is a thrill personified.

It was impossibly cruel that the world had dealt you this hand; to fantasise over the ways his gravelly voice could murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things to you, the ways his experienced hands could ruin with the slightest of touches. However, you always knew that professionalism and the dangers of your line of work would always take priority over your fantasies, and you forced yourself out of your fictional world to come face to face with the harsh reality of war. It was a miracle how you were able to survive this long without going absolutely feral, but now, with Santiago losing his patience too, you’re starting to think that you won’t last much longer.

“So fucking reckless,” he whispers, a reminder for both you and himself. His brow dips when his frustration rolls back in its tide, keeping that stone-cold expression hard on his face. It’s slightly different though. His parted lips, his vigorous movements, the slight pant to his breath. In your eyes, it all points towards desire more than frustration. “As your superior…” His voice is somehow quieter, but it’s heard all the same, “it’s my responsibility to punish you, to teach you a lesson about discipline. You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. You understand?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck fluidly, your hands itching to wipe it away but obedience locks them behind your back. Suddenly, he snaps forward, his hand coming to snatch your jaw and force you to look him in the eyes. The precision of his quick movements makes you flinch, trapping a breath in your lungs and he notices, lips curling momentarily.

“Yes, sir!”

Shivers follow wherever his other hand roams. He moulds out the shape of your waist and hips, squeezing tighter than your belt ever could. He begins to unbuckle your belt with little regard, popping the button of your trousers and bursting the zip to admire the way your trousers hang loosely from your hips. Everything inside you tenses at the sudden exposure.

Santiago begins toying with you, running his knuckles lightly over the edge of your underwear, dipping just the tip of his finger beneath the elastic rim, but retreats just as quickly. He follows the line of your navel, travelling up and up to trace small ghostly circles around your ribcage and it takes everything in you not to shudder. Your body can’t quite figure out how to tune into him, the stark contrast between the harsh grip he has on your jaw and the fluttering touches to your body has your mind going crazy and it’s mildly disorientating.

His thumb circles around your chin before resting upon your bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout for his eyes to fixate on. He has that expression on his face that you’ve seen before; determined and fully resolute. The features of a man with authority.

“That mouth…” he pants, “‘s gotten you into trouble today.” He draws you in until the tips of your noses clash and he’s a hair’s breadth away from kissing you. Instead…“I want to fuck it. Get on your knees, soldier.”

Your knees collide the cold surface of the ground almost instantly much to his pleasure. He wastes no time undoing his belt as efficiently as he did yours, and before too long the tip of his lengthy cock replaces where his thumb was just seconds before, wet with little beads of cum. Your hands reach out to guide him into your mouth but he snatches your wrist before you can commit.

“Nuh-uh, this one’s for you. If you have some semblance of discipline, you’ll cum only when I say.”

You nod, falsely, and promptly take him into your mouth with one hand at the base of his cock while the other slips beneath your underwear and swirls around your clit the way you know best. A strangled groan leaves his throat and you feel the vibrations of it with the way his cock twitches in your mouth. The same pleasure buzzes in you, spreading warmth from your stomach down to your cunt.

Despite having eventually found a rhythm that you can settle into, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can, you can’t find balance. Your multitasking skills have taken a hit because as soon as you feel the tight pinch of pleasure erupting from your clit, you know you can’t succumb to it and just like that, all your focus and effort turns to pleasuring him and the feeling dissipates. It’s torturous having to edge yourself, it’s not something you are particularly well-versed in.

“So good, so fucking good,” he praises. Santiago’s hands come to scrape through your hair and take control, causing you to move faster and suck him down even harder, so much that you have to plant your other hand against his thigh to regain balance, going against his orders. He notices and chastises you. “Get that fucking hand back where it should be.”

A moan gargles from your throat, a lack of patience wearing you thin. It doesn’t help that you’re incredibly turned on by the whole situation and you’re hesitant to touch yourself because of it, unsure how much more you can take before yet another one of Santi’s orders is disobeyed. So you take it slow, lazily circling around your bud just enough to keep you satiated while you occupy yourself with Santiago. Your mouth detaches from him with a pop, using those tear-stained eyes of yours to silently beg for his own release in exchange for your own but his head is thrown back and takes no notice, indulging in the way your tongue swirls around his tip. Just the sight of the vein popping from his neck is enough to send a rush of lust to mount up onto the orgasm that’s impatiently waiting. Fuck, you really need to cum.

What gets his attention is your needy little whine. A whine that warns you both that you’re on the precipice of cumming, that if you pressed any harder on your sensitive clit you would combust. Your thighs are almost rattling beneath you.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns in a low growl, thrusting into your wet mouth and straight to the back of your throat. “Don’t you disobey me.”

“I can’t hold on,” you splutter.

“You can and you will. Fuuuck…”

Decidedly, your hand comes to a halt because after all, this is about discipline, right? It’s all about being able to control yourself, to place your trust in him and listen to what he says hoping that it will all pay off.

You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto your hand, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens.

Santiago leans forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath, but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you proved yourself.

“Fucking hell,” Santiago pants. His grip loosens around you and you suck down a large breath as he releases you. The instant your lips are free, he forces you to a stand and claims them, humming into them with hunger. He slips his tongue past your lips searching for a taste of himself on you with a delectable moan. It only takes him a couple of seconds of clawing at your waist before his hand slips beneath your underwear to feel the result of your constant edging; a wet cunt that’s pleading for relief. The slightest touch of his fingers has your hips buckling, you’re so close it hurts.

“So wet. So needy.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. You want it, you need it, you can’t live without it, for god sake, please!

“Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “On whose authority?”

“Santiago, please.”

“I told you this is about discipline and listening to orders--” his fingers drill into your clit with absolute precision and immediately takes control of your pleasure, luring it to the surface. “Did I say you could cum?”

“No, but--”

“Then you can’t. Have the discipline to stop it.”

“Fuck!” Just seconds away from orgasm, you drop to a crouch, his hand slipping from you in one fluid movement. So close, so fucking close.

Santiago maniacally chuckles above you. He has little sympathy for you hunched on the ground reeling into yourself, but what he does have though, is just a little pride. Pride that you listened, that you obeyed no matter how desperate you were to go against his word. Because, of course, in Santiago’s eyes, his word overrules everyone else’s. His word is gospel. What he says goes.

You don’t get to relish the pride he has for you because you are spiralling. Your shaking body can’t allow you to stand knowing that even the slightest friction of anything against your clit would set you off and you’ve done so well to abide by his rules, you wouldn’t want to ruin it.

Santiago’s hand comes to stroke the back of your head in a supportive manner to find that you’re burning up. It’s obvious that you need release and that resides with him.

“Stand up.”

“I…I don’t think I can.”

“Come on,” he demands, his tone a little harsher. “Stand up and put your hands on the table.”

Shaky legs raise you to your feet and you brace yourself against the hard wooden table, the cold surface just a slight relief to the fire raging through your body. Santiago teases down your trousers leaving your panties to feel the brush of his hips against your ass, giving you a large hint of what’s to come. Your stomach plummets at the thought of having to hang onto the precipice for any longer. You could cry at the thought, tears ready and waiting behind your eyes.

“Good girl,” he whispers seductively. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate for release that just one--” he lightly brushes your clit through your underwear, “little--” he does it again and you judder, “touch will set you off.”

Jesus, you could cry. You could cry and cry and cry, and beg for forgiveness, yield and submit yourself completely to him for the one second of pure bliss you’re starving for. He’s reduced you to nothing but a licentious and needy beggar you don’t recognise.

“How much longer can you last?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway.

“I’ll break if you touch me.”

“Perfect.”

Wicked hands and fast reflexes rip your drenched underwear from you and Santiago mercilessly drills his cock straight into you. The second you feel him fill you up, one hand comes to encircle your neck, closing off your oxygen while his fingers find your clit once again and with just a few devious laps around your clit, you explode. A blinding light flashes behind your eyes and your body becomes engulfed by a white-hot pain that ironically, freezes you to the spot. Santiago growls loudly behind you, feeling how your pussy clenches so tightly around him that he’s barely spared an inch to move, but his fingers don’t face the same challenge and are still effortlessly ruining you to the core. There’s a pathetic attempt from you to remove his hand but his persistence remains far superior.

Santiago relieves the pressure on your throat to hear you sing for him. You’re thankful the walls are thick enough to contain your cries.

The thing is, Santiago knew you were close, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close he was too, especially so soon after you sucked him dry. With how intensely your pussy milks him of everything he has, it takes less than a few forceful thrusts before he succumbs to his orgasm and collapses on top of you. It washes over him hard, electrocuting every nerve and filling every pore with sweat. Fuck, he thinks, haven’t felt this good in years.

Warmth envelopes you both, eyes fluttering to a close with the liberating feeling of release. Santiago, having just a little more sanity than you do, still has enough energy to lazily work his hips back and forth, fucking you so slowly and deeply, you think it might just trigger another explosion. Alas, he spares you the burden and finally comes to rest against you.

It feels like an eternity has passed by the time the heat dwindles and air returns to your lungs. During the quiet minutes that pass, euphoria eases into your muscles, massaging out the cramp and any discomfort of your desperate attempts to contain your orgasm. The soft, grounding kisses that Santiago leaves at the nape of your neck seem to have a similar effect and you hum contentedly.

“I mean it, by the way,” Santiago mutters behind you, still brushing his lips against your skin. “You really could’ve gotten yourself killed today.” His fingers trace down your shoulder, gently running across the bandage that covers your shrapnel wounds to reinforce his point.

You sigh. “I know.”

You feel him leave you, alleviating his weight and dressing himself. “Look at me.”

You’re just about able to turn yourself around, and with Santiago’s help, he dresses you too. Once decent, the very hands that ruined you come to clamp against your cheeks, far too delicate for what you had known them to be. “What you did today was out of line—”

This again. “But Frankie--”

“Frankie is a different story. His mission to infiltrate the barn and receive the controls meant that the chances of him dying was a lot higher than ours. And even though it’s a fucking bastard of a pill to swallow, it’s just one of those things that we all have to come to terms with. I went into this mission already prepared to accept the possibility of his death should anything go wrong. Yours I wasn’t willing to accept.”

“But I didn’t die.”

“You’re not getting it.” His words are spat through gritted teeth and something in you sinks at the disappointment. The only thing that seems to calm him down is the sensation of your forehead against his, proof that you are alive. “Frankie’s death would’ve hurt, yes, but like I said, I would’ve seen it coming. If you expect disappointment, you won’t get disappointed. But when you threw yourself into the firing line like that, you started playing a game of Russian Roulette. Neither of us knew whether you were going to live or die and I panicked. I was so scared, terrified even at the thought of losing you because I knew I would never be able to recover from it. Your death, your untimely, unprecedented death under my watch would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. That’s the difference between you and Frankie. That’s the lesson you need to learn from this.”

Your eyebrows crunch together, feeling stupid for not coming to the realisation sooner. You feel embarrassed to admit that you had never thought of it like that.

A long silence fills the room because you’re not too sure how to put the feeling of heavy regret into words, none of them justifiable enough to convey even a hint of the remorse that you feel inside. The fact that you refuse to look Santiago in the eyes is proof enough to him that you’re aware of the mistake you made, and instead of looking for a response, he settles for your silence and simply brushes his thumb across the highs of your cheek.

“Just promise me you won’t do it again, no matter how immoral it seems, no matter whose life is at stake, please, if at all possible, keep yourself safe.”

“I promise.”

He brings his lips to yours, melting them together in a kiss as though it is his last. “Good,” he smiles lightly, sealing the lesson with a kiss to your forehead. “I…I might’ve gotten carried away trying to get that message to sink in.”

For the first time in a while, you smile. “It’s okay. I’ve definitely learned my lesson not to piss you off.”

“Hmm, keep your promise and stay alive long enough and you’ll find out what the reward is.”

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campingwiththecharmings · 7 months

Note

hi baby<3 can i please have a uhhhh “next time we get into an argument, i’m reminding you that i took your virginity” WITH A LARGE SIDE OF SANTI PLEASE OH MY GOFFJKNKJFN

Long Time Coming

AN: Thanks for sending this in, Hads. And thanks also for being so patient with me lol. I struggled a little with this prompt for some reason, but I hope you still enjoy what I ended up with. ❤️

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,950 Pairing: Santiago Garcia x F!Reader Warnings: p in v, praise kink (if you squint), a little angst, a dash of inner turmoil, overuse of italics, probably too much softness but i'm a sap so 🤷‍♀️ AO3

——————

Your breath stalls in your chest when you see him, body stiffening, eyes widening in surprise.

“Santi?”

He shifts awkwardly on his boot-clad feet, averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck. He’s older than you remember, but it’s definitely him—those deep, brown eyes, tight curls, full lips, chiseled jaw.

“Hey,” he says quietly, the look in his eyes hesitant but hopeful.

You twist your lips, crossing your arms over your chest as anger flares in your belly. You’d been best friends growing up, pretty much inseparable. So when he’d joined the military a week after high school graduation, you’d been understandably gutted. You’d tried to be supportive, knew this was his best chance of getting out of this shithole of a town, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was abandoning you. Maybe it was silly, but you’d always assumed you’d eventually end up together, maybe married, maybe not, but together nonetheless. The idea of losing him, of losing that future was difficult to deal with.

Him confessing his love to you the night before he was set to leave didn’t help matters. Especially when you’d told him you felt the same.

He’d kissed you, his hands cupping your cheeks almost reverently, like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched, and you’d melted into each other, an awkward tangle of lips and hands and teeth. He’d admitted afterward that you were his first, something you’d found hard to believe given how flirtatious he always was. You can still recall the faint flush of his cheeks when he’d said, “Yeah well, the only one I wanted was…you.”

Needless to say, neither of you had gotten much sleep.

The memory of that night had gotten you through the many long stretches of time apart that followed. You’d kept in touch as much as possible, writing letters and emails and talking over the phone. He’d come home to you a few times, warming your bed for a week or two before shipping out again and starting the cycle over. You’d dreamed of a day when he’d stay, when he’d come back and never leave, when he’d finally be yours.

Sadly, that day had never come.

It had happened slowly, responses to your emails and letters taking longer and longer, scheduled calls being rescheduled or missed completely, until they just…stopped all together. You’d panicked, thought that something had happened to him, thought he’d been killed in action, but no one would tell you anything because you “weren’t family.” You’d held out hope for months, hope that’d he’d call, that he’d write, that he’d come home to you. But he hadn’t.

Until now.

You’re not sure how he’d found you; you’d left your childhood home years ago, and had moved around quite a bit since, just searching for a place to belong. You’d finally settled on this place a few months ago, the quaint little town making you feel at peace for the first time in ages.

Seeing him takes you back, back to the place you were before, to the place where you’d lost him, to the place where he’d left you without a second thought.

Ignoring the part of you that is elated at his sudden, unannounced reappearance, you say, “I thought you were dead.”

He winces at your bluntness but maintains eye contact. “I can explain…if you’ll let me.”

You glare at him, the pain you’d felt all those years ago, the pain you thought you’d overcome, rearing its ugly head and stabbing you in the chest like a knife. When you don’t say anything, he sighs, stepping closer.

“I’m so sorry, cariño.”

You swallow hard, willing the tears welling in your eyes not to fall. After a moment you blink, looking away and inhaling shakily.

“Come in,” you say flatly, stepping to the side so he can slip in past you.

After grabbing you both a drink, you settle on the couch where he tells you about how right before he lost contact with you, he was recruited for this special ops team and they told him that he couldn’t tell anyone about it, that he couldn’t have any communication with the outside world. He’d made the mistake of thinking this was only during missions and was devastated when he’d discovered it wasn’t. He tells you he’s thought of you every single day, sick with guilt over the fact that he hadn’t been able to tell you where he was, what he was doing, that he was even alive. When he’d finally gotten out (and he was out, for good, he says), he’d gone home, hoping that you’d still be there, hoping you’d let him explain. He’d been gutted when they’d told him you left.

You ask him how he found you and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck and mumbling something about calling in a few favors. You nod, unsure what to say, unsure what to do. You want him, God do you want him. For years, you’ve been trying to forget about him, to move on, but no one has ever made you feel the way he did….the way he does. When you meet his eyes again, you know he feels the same.

“Do you remember that night? The one right before I left?” he asks, leaning closer as he sets his empty glass beside yours on the coffee table.

Emotions swirl inside you as the memories come flooding back—the awkward tangle of limbs as you’d torn at each other’s clothing, the desperation you’d felt, the need. You nod, swallowing thickly.

“I think about that night all the time,” he rasps, a soft, nostalgic smile forming on his lips.

His eyes are unfocused, as if he’s reliving that memory now, just as you had only moments ago. He looks so soft, like the man you remember, the one that you’d fallen for all those years ago. You still love him, you never stopped, and now that he’s here with you again…all you want is to start over.

Unable to help yourself, you lean in, tentatively pressing your lips to his. His body stills, limbs going rigid, and you almost pull away, but then he sighs in relief, his breath shaky as he kisses you back, hard. His hands cup your cheeks, holding your face to his as he devours your mouth, his tongue hot as it slides against yours. You moan, your fingers fumbling with the hem of his shirt. He lets you pull it over his head, immediately reclaiming your mouth as you toss it somewhere behind you. Your shirt is next, thumping lightly as it hits the floor beside his. His hands rove over every inch of exposed skin and you arch into it, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. It’s clumsy, much like that night, and you can’t help the smile you press against his lips at the thought.

You both rush to divest each other of your remaining clothing, giggling when Santi trips as he steps out of his pants. He lays you on the couch, covering your naked body with his, arms braced on either side of your head. He pauses as he settles over you, his warm eyes greedily roving your face.

“I love you,” he whispers, leaning in and nuzzling his nose against yours.

Something settles in your chest, something warm, something light, and you smile, reaching up to comb your fingers through his salt and pepper curls. He leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering in pleasure.

“I love you too, Santi,” you breathe, right before you pull his mouth back to yours.

He smiles against your lips, his mouth sliding languidly over yours. You sigh at the feel of his skin against yours, at the comforting weight of him on top of you. This, right here, right now, this moment with him, it feels more like home than any other place you’ve ever been. Maybe those sayings were right, maybe home isn’t a place, but a person. Tears well in your eyes at the thought and you will them not to fall. Santi’s groan is broken as he pushes inside you, his cock stretching you, filling you better than anyone else ever could—like he was made for you, and you were made for him.

You moan, arching into him as he buries his face in your neck, his muscles tight as he stills, trying desperately to pull himself together. It was like this that first night too, you remember. He’d been so keyed up, so lost in you, he’d almost come the moment he slipped inside your warmth. You smile, rubbing his back soothingly, wordlessly telling him it’s okay (because you know he’s stressing right now).

He relaxes not long after, the tension in his body lessening as he grinds into you, pulling your leg higher around his waist. You moan as he somehow slips in even further, shivering as his cock bumps against your cervix. He groans when you flutter around him, his mouth finding yours against as he pushes and pulls, taking you both higher and higher. It’s soft and it’s slow, all the emotions you’d thought you’d buried long ago swirling like a hurricane in your head, in your heart. They’re so strong, you can’t help the tears that begin to fall, slipping out and winding down your cheeks as you and Santi cling to one another.

You fall over the edge together, so wrapped up and lost in each other you no longer know where he begins and you end. Finally, after all these years, you feel whole, feel complete.

Later, after a much-needed nap (followed by more sex), you order take out and settle back onto the couch. You’re curled into his side, clad only in his shirt (him in his boxers) as you share a carton of lo mein, chuckling as he stuffs a ridiculous amount of noodles into his mouth. He smiles at you with puffy cheeks and you laugh again, cleaning the corners of his mouth off with your thumb. You still can’t believe he’s here with you, that he’s staying.

Santi catches the look in your eyes and he softens, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. You kiss him back, humming at the taste of him. When you pull away, he presses his forehead to yours, your breaths mingling.

The carton of lo mein is in your lap and you frown when you notice it looks lower than you’d realized.

“Santi, you ate all the noodles,” you pout, pulling back enough to shoot him a half-hearted glare.

He bites his lip, eyes guiltily flicking down to the mostly empty container before meeting yours again.

“We had Chinese that first night too, didn’t we?” he rasps, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You snort, shaking your head. “That’s not gonna work every time, you know.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says airily, clearly fighting back a smile.

You raise an eyebrow, smirking at him. “Fine. The next time we get into an argument, I’m reminding you that I took your virginity.”

His eyes darken a little, running his tongue slowly over his bottom lip. He’s silent for a moment, then reaches for another carton on the coffee table. He holds it up between you, as if it’s an offering and you take it with a smile.

“Good boy, Garcia,” you say with a smirk, eyeing him teasingly as you crack open another carton of noodles, “Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

Later, he makes you pay for that comment (“How’s this for a trick, cariño.”)

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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thirsty-flygirl · 7 months

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Good With Their Mouths

My fave fictional men have some very specific talents in the bedroom.

A/N: Back from the dead, put me in horny jail, whatever. I thought about it and I wrote it. Also, if you have any other Oscar/Pedro, Triple Frontier/Ted Lasso characters to add, let me know - this was way more fun that it should have been.

Spicy times ahead - minors DNI

Frankie Morales

We all know what Frankie is good at, and it’s keeping his idiotic buddies in line and eating pussy. That man has memorized every single sound and movement that you make during sex and he uses it to his advantage when he’s DTF. Which is all the time. He’s a tease, kissing down your body, stopping at all the hot zones from your lips to the apex of your thighs. He’ll nip at your mouth, slide down to circle his talented tongue around your nipple, then slowly make his way down your torso. He loves sucking a mark on your hip bone, marking you as his in a way that no other person can, but keeping it discreet because the man does not kiss and tell. Once he gets to your thighs, he will pepper the insides with kisses and nips while you whine and press your hips toward his generous mouth. After you’re nearly insane with arousal, he will gently suck at your clit, almost igniting your fuse right away. But again, this man knows exactly how to prolong your pleasure, so he will pull back just before the point of no return. You might bitch for a second, but the man dives in, tongue fucking your cunt and moaning so loudly your neighbors can hear him. He will alternate for an hour, sucking you off and licking up the taste of your slick until he finally lets you cum. You, of course, almost blackout from the sensation, but he doesn’t let up, working you even higher. You quickly cum again, squirting, and Frankie will swallow down everything you give him, then clean you up and ask for more two hours later.

Jamie Tartt

Jamie doesn’t always eat pussy, but when he does you can count on cumming hard. While his favorite thing in bed is to fuck you from behind while staring in a mirror at the way your tits swing and the face you make when you shatter around his (very impressive) dick, he will gladly eat you out if he has the time and he’s not too exhausted. What he lacks in finesse, he makes up for in effort. Jamie eats you out like he plays football - with one goal in mind. He wants to make you forget every name but his and, damn him, it works every time. He knows exactly what gets you off and will get right down to business when given the chance. He talks just as much in bed as he does on the pitch and holy shit, can this boy talk dirty to you. “Fuck, love, your pussy was made for eatin’,” he grins up at you as he swipes his tongue through your folds, blue eyes crinkling because he knows you’re just dying for it. “Mmmm, c’mon, you can do better than that,” he says while you beg him to let you cum, “tell me what you want, and you know I’ll give it to you . . “ All you can do is moan incoherently, which makes him absolutely smug because he knows exactly what you want and exactly how to give it to you. He spends his time between your legs sucking your clit the way you like and telling you what a good girl you are, how your cunt was made for him to fuck, that you taste so fucking good right now that he might cum before he can even sink his cock into you.. . . yeah. Jamie Tartt eats pussy.

Benny Miller

It’s hard for Benny to slow down, but when he does it’s literally the best you’ve ever had. He takes his time, stripping you down to your panties and breathing you in before he ever thinks about touching you. Your quiet whimpers whenever his lips brush against your most sensitive spots, still covered by your soaked panties, drives him wild. But he is a trained soldier and he knows how to wait out his target, so he’ll wait until you’re absolutely begging him to put his mouth on you. Once he does, it takes you about 30 seconds to reach your peak, but that’s okay, because your boy will spend as much time down there as he needs to make you come at least two more times before getting his dick wet. The second one is a slow burn, lots of kisses pressed against your clit and gentle pressure as he sucks on your folds. He loves to stroke his tongue inside you, following it up with his fingers, as many as you can take. Once you give in to him and cum for the second time, he will ramp it up, relentlessly licking and biting at you until you flood his mouth with your arousal. He will quickly move up to kiss you hard, fucking your mouth with his tongue so that you can taste yourself while sliding his thick cock inside you.

Santiago Garcia

We all know Santi fucks. Like, one look at this guy and you know he’s down for it any time, any place. He will turn that baseball cap around as soon as you give him the go sign and he’s on his knees ready to send you to heaven. He’s made a career out of paying attention to minute details and scanning for possible weaknesses, and making you cum is, in his mind, another mission. He has every sound, every breath cataloged. He knows when it’s too much and when it’s not enough, and he uses your body the way he knows you like it best. That said, he eats your pussy when he wants to eat your pussy, not the other way around. Luckily for you, he wants it almost every fucking day. It’s usually a surprise attack from Santi; you never know where or when, but he makes you so hot that the minute he initiates something you want it now. Something as innocent as washing dishes turns into a fuckfest; he’ll dip his hands in the warm, soapy water, flinging a little onto your white t-shirt so he can see your bra clearly underneath. As your nipples harden, he will stand behind you and massage your tits, pressing against you so you can feel his cock harden. His fingers will trail down your body, slipping underneath your shirt to softly stroke the curve of your belly before gently pulling your shorts down, kneeling on the floor despite his shitty joints because when he’s got your sweet pussy this close to his face, nothing hurts.He will begin from the back because he’s a goddamn KING, spreading your ass cheeks and letting his tongue lazily lick your hole(s). He’s a talker, but it’s more in quiet groans and whispers against your skin than actual words: “Oh, sweetheart, you’re so wet . . . let me take care of you . . . ‘s that all for me? . . .” Once you’re trembling and gripping the sink to stay standing, he will lead you to a more comfortable location for the main event.

Roy Kent

Okay. Okay. OKAY. Roy gives Pussy Eating King Frankie Morales a run for his money. This man serves cunt and eats it too. He will give it to you any way you want it. You want it slow, romantic? Roy Kent will gently lick your clit until you feel like you might explode from the sheer pleasure his mouth can bring you. The man doesn’t miss a spot, softly sucking and kissing your clit, your lips, the skin of your thighs, and everywhere in between. But the way you moan his name, like you’re on another plane of existence and he is the singular thing keeping you tied to Earth? Drives him absolutely feral. He can turn on a dime, eating your pussy like a starving man eating his first meal in a month. His groans are absolutely filthy, his big hands wrapping around your thighs so he can keep you right where he wants you. He’ll press his hips into the mattress, just to relieve some of the pressure on his cock, and he’ll cum, just like that, and be hard again for you in less time than it takes to get through halftime on match day. Once he’s completely wrung the pleasure from your body, he will grip himself and look you in the fucking eye as he slides into you. The intensity in his gaze and way he says, “Fuck, you’re incredible,” makes you nearly cum again.

Javier Pena

One of my OG fictional boyfriends, Javi doesn’t eat pussy. Okay, he does, but it’s definitely not his favorite thing to do. Thing is, the man is so fucking good at it, he deserves a medal and a membership card, or something. Everything about him screams sexy, from his swagger to the way those big brown eyes just need to give you a look (yeah, you know the one, where he eye fucks you from head to toe and then just licks that pouty bottom lip) to get you wet. He’s a little like Santiago Garcia, the way he will eat your pussy when he wants to, not when you want it. Once he’s down there, though, he savors you. He’s not a chump and if he’s gonna do it, he’s gonna do it well. He pays attention to the things you like, and will nibble and suck your clit in alternating rhythms, slow and fast, to get you off. The one thing that sets Javi apart is the way he uses those thick fingers to help push you over the edge. While his lips and tongue are working your clit, he thrusts his fingers inside you, stretching you so good. Curling his fingers up until he finds the spot that makes you explode, Javi will work you until you’re almost there, pulling back before he can taste your sweet cum. Instead, he’ll trail those wet fingers down to your ass, slowly working them against your skin and dipping inside you, watching your pussy clench around nothing. Eventually he’ll finish the job, but not until you’re a sweaty, teary mess on his bed and swearing you’ll do anything for him if he’ll just let you cum.

Poe Dameron

Poe, my baby, my true love, and the one that got away (yes, I’m delusional). This man does not have a lot of time, so most of your sexual liaisons are a bit rushed and there’s not enough time or space to really get down to business. BUT. When you both have a few unoccupied hours to yourselves? You will be absolutely torn apart, put back together, and shattered again. Poe Dameron loves you. He loves every. Single. Part of you. Every curve, dimple, roll; the hard places and the soft places and the places that you hate - Poe finds you absolutely stunning and would gladly spend hours worshiping every inch of your body if your little whines and breathy moans didn’t make him want to get right to the main event. His sexy, panty-melting smirk as he runs his tongue down your body floods your core to the point where you would feel embarrassed if it didn’t feel so fucking good. And Poe loves how wet you get for him. He gently tugs your underwear down your legs, eyes glued to the heaven between your thighs. He’s almost reverent at this moment, settling down on the mattress and letting his thumbs pull you apart - just a little - so he can see your slit leaking. You hear a shaky breath, and those brown doe eyes will just stare into yours. In that moment, you can see how badly he wants you, and you feel beautiful under him. “I love how wet you get for me,” he mumbles, eyes never leaving you as he dips his head and licks up a taste with the tip of his tongue. Just the smallest touch makes your hips jump and he spreads that warm hand flat on your belly to keep you grounded. “Shhh, sweetheart, I’ll make you feel good,” he says and you believe it with everything inside you. Poe gets messy when he eats you out, using every part of his mouth to make you feel good. He loves it, really, the scent and the taste and the sight of you, coming undone on his bed. When you cum, it’s a long, rolling orgasm that just won’t stop, one right into the second, and maybe a third if you have the time. When he’s sure you’re satisfied, he’ll lick his lips and kiss back up your body, taking your mouth with his and letting his tongue swipe against yours as he urges his thick cock inside your wet heat. Eyes rolling back, Poe will let out the most satisfied groan as he begins thrusting, bringing you both quickly to release. When the two of you cum together, he’ll rest his forehead against yours and give you a soft kiss, the ring he always wears resting between your breasts on its chain.

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eyelessfaces · 6 months

Text

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

santiago garcia x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: dirty talk

warnings: reader wears a skirt, exhibitionism kink, public teasing, creampie

word count: 0.9k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

Santiago had developed the habit of being the worst kind of tease in public.

He knew it made you slightly embarrassed, not to the point of uncomfortability though; he would never do something that you didn’t feel comfortable with, and he knew you liked playing along, acting like it bothered you when in reality you enjoyed it.

It was rather frequent for his public teasing to resurface, especially at parties like the one you were at at the moment.

It was Benny’s birthday, and his garden was rather crowded, including with people you weren’t familiar with. That fact didn’t particularly bother Santiago, and you both knew it. It actually excited him more to have complete strangers around, so you knew he could be insufferable, and it had already started when everyone started eating and his hand had conveniently settled at your thigh, progressively going higher up under your skirt as he acted completely oblivious and chatted with Frankie across the table.

This was step one, and the day was far from over.

Despite your best efforts to always be surrounded just so he could be annoyed by the fact he wouldn’t be able to tease you, you forgot the game for a second to take another drink in the kitchen, and Santi took advantage of that weakness.

You hadn’t even heard him coming, you only felt his arms wrapping around you when he hugged you from the back, making you jump in surprise, your glass almost slipping from your grip.

“I can’t wait for everyone to go to sleep so I can wreck you” he whispered into your ear as he shifted his position to grind his hard on against your ass, making you bite back a moan.

Goosebumps raised over your skin, your grip tightening over your glass. “Really, I can’t wait, maybe I could take you right here, where anyone could come and see us” he mutters as he puts his hands over the globes of your ass, kneading the tender flesh over your skirt.

“Bet you’d love someone walking in while I pound that pretty pussy” you can hear the teasing tone and the sly smirk in his voice as he raises the piece of cloth, exposing your underwear, a small whine leaving your mouth as you feel air hitting the damp patch between your legs. “Mh?” his hand pushes onto your lower back so you could bend against the counter, and you don’t even put any force to try to stop this – objectively – unreasonable decision.

“Tell me to stop, baby” he whispers, pressing himself over you to speak to your ear, his erection pressing even more firmly against you. You don’t say anything, because you don't want him to stop, and that’s when you hear the sound of his fly before feeling him push your underwear to the side, the feeling of his tip circling your entrance eliciting a small grunt of anticipation coming from your throat.

“Quiet” he murmurs as he gathers the wetness pooling at your folds before progressively inching himself inside you, a low groan escaping his own mouth as he bottoms out and really plunges his cock inside of you.

Benny’s bathroom had already seen its fair share of action from the both of you, but having your way in the kitchen was a whole new experience, no lock and the possibility of everyone and anyone walking in on you at any moment.

Technically, the chances that someone would walk in on you or hear you were low. Everyone was outside, music was blasting and almost every drink was within reach; you only came to the kitchen to get a fresh glass of water.

Now you were gripping onto your filled glass, knuckles turning another color from how hard you were holding onto it while Santi was pounding into you. His rhythm was demanding, restless and a bit desperate; you feel his hands bunching up your skirt, holding onto it tight as the obvious sound of skin on skin resonates in Benny’s open kitchen.

You have no idea what you would actually do if someone walked in while Santiago was taking you, and despite your best efforts to think of a backup plan, you give up on trying to ponder over that subject when Santi’s hand wraps around you and his fingers settle to rub rough circles over your clit.

Your body jolts at the feeling, the glass in your hand being the least of your concern at the moment; it rolls over the counter with a coarse sound as you come, its content spilling in a trail falling to the floor as you writhe under your boyfriend, drips falling beside your feet.

His movements hasten as he helps you ride out your high, seeking his own; he presses himself flush against you, his breath halting as he pumps his seed inside you, your head falling to rest over your extended, numb arms.

You feel him gently ease himself out of you, pull your underwear back over your sensitive cunt.

"Good girl." he smirks as he slaps your ass, smoothing the fabric of your skirt so it could look like no one had ever touched it. “My pretty little slut.” he hands you a kitchen towel, kissing your cheek before leaving, as if nothing had ever happened, like every single time.

No one would ever know what happened here, if it wasn’t for Benny’s high tech fridge having a camera.

—

as always please reblog and tell me your thoughts it helps a lot!!

+ @flightlessangelwings

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia smut #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia smut #triple frontier #oscar isaac #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #fawkinktober

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pimosworld · 6 months

Text

Never have I ever

Kinktober Prompt-Voyeurism,Squirting,Polyamory

Pairing -Will Miller x f!reader x Tf boys x f!reader

Summary-You and the boys play a game and things take an interesting turn.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, Voyuerism, Smut, Fluff, Rough sex, Dom Will, mentions of anal, mentions of MM dynamics, restraints, mentions of safe word but no use, established poly relationship, Unprotected PIV, cream pie, squirting, aftercare. Appropriate discussion of past relationships.

WC-4K

A/N- Set in the story of us verse but can be read as a stand alone. Reader is not race coded, no use of Y/N. This is my current WIP procrastination, when lightning strikes you must write. My first kinktober prompt. I just reached 400 followers and this is 4000 words so I’m gonna take this as my follower celebration as well.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

“Ben, are we seriously playing this?” The five of you are situated comfortably in your usual spots in the living room and somehow the younger Miller has convinced you all to ‘make things more interesting’ in his words.

“I’m too old for this.” Frankie mumbles into his beer as he downs the rest.

“We know…that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of it.” You chuckle briefly as Santi’s hand skirts higher up your thigh under the blanket. He’s been slowly torturing you as you relaxed on the couch, all of you decompressing and going over your week. It was a new ritual to discuss the ins and outs of your time apart but it seemed Ben was growing tired of the normal mostly mundane conversation.

“Hands up let’s go.” The impatient Miller barks from his spot on the floor, too big to fit anywhere else and you're always unsure of why Will won’t just get a bigger couch. You suggested a few months ago that it would be nice for all of you to be able to relax together. He agreed but evidently it takes time to find the perfect one.

Everyone reluctantly puts their hands up, Santiago opting for one hand because he can’t pry his other from the warmth of you under the blanket. The other part of you knows he’ll probably lose this game and he doesn’t feel like putting too much effort into revealing how much of a slut he was before he pulled his head out of his ass and finally told you how he felt.

“Both hands, Pope.” Frankie chides from beside you and Santi squeezes your thigh before drawing his hand out and flipping him off.

This game was an odd choice, almost completely out of left field. The five of you knew almost everything there was to know about each other. Although you’re sure the boys know a lot more about their respective sexual escapades than they know about yours. Nothing among these men is ever done by accident, you’re just waiting to see the angle that’s being played so you don’t end up trapped. The confused and amused looks on the others' faces has you a little at ease since it seems this is a solo mission for Ben and those didn’t always go as planned.

“I’ll start since it was my idea.” Will sends you a look from across the room as to say of course and you’re acutely aware that he hasn’t let out one protest or sign of stopping this game. You’re almost positive it’ll come down to you both in the end and he knows it judging by the smug look on his face.

“Never have I ever faked an orgasm.” You roll your eyes as you put one finger down. Maybe you were going to lose after all. The chuckles from the others don’t help your embarrassment, even though you should hardly blame yourself. It doesn’t need to be clarified that since you’d been with all of them there was no need to fake it anymore, but it was definitely known by all that you had to in the past an ungodly amount of times.

You brave a look up from the carpet that you’d all but memorized as you see Ben's wide tooth grinning at Frankie beside you. You look over just in time to see Frankie put his finger down as the redness creeps up his neck. He’s staring daggers at the younger Miller and Santi’s chuckles send vibrations through your body as you lean into him.

“How did she not know?” You ask him in the sweetest tone, no judgment behind it, just genuine curiosity.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, his calloused fingers digging into the patchy part of his beard. No doubt thinking how long this night will be if we have to explain each finger down,but of course that’s always Ben’s plan. He wants to draw this out for as long as he can.

“I pulled out and spit on her back.” He says it so sheepishly you almost feel bad for him. An image flashes in your mind and you make the mistake of looking over at Will who is doing his best to not completely lose it. You cup your mouth trying to suppress the giggle but it’s far too late.

“Laugh it up honey.” The funniest part is how could anyone not be thoroughly enjoying themselves when Francisco Morales is behind the wheel, but you figure it’s their loss.

You wrack your brain for something you’ve never done that they may have.Blowjob,one night stand,sent a nude photo,had sex in public…those are all out.

Will interrupts your thoughts as he speaks from the loveseat. “Never have I ever had a threesome.” He just saved you in more ways than one as you see Benny and Frankie glance at each other as they put a finger down. Santi tsks beside you and you don’t even have to look over to see he did as well.

You miss the look Santi shoots Frankie above your head as he makes a mental note. Ben may have been a thorn in his side at times but right now he could kiss the ground he walked on. Unbeknownst to you this has turned into a silent competition of memorizing everything you’ve never done,each time you don’t put a finger down he clocks one of them. He doesn’t even care that he’s about to lose as the room thrums with sexual tension.

As you predicted you and Will have the most fingers left. You have three,Will has two and Benny has one that he’s been holding onto for dear life. Santi and Frankie had long been out, Santi rejoins the group after refreshing your drinks. He knew he hasn't missed anything since it was getting harder to think of things as the game went on.

You need to get Ben out and you were sure this next question would. If it also took one down for Will then you would just be getting lucky you guessed.

“Never have I ever done anal.” Santi stifles a moan next you as Frankie not so subtly adjusts the growing bulge in his jeans. You were so focused on winning that you have no idea how thin of a thread they were holding onto. Frankie’s been fighting the mental image of checking each thing off your list one by one. Santiago isn’t faring much better not having realized how much innocence was still lying dormant in you.

Ben concedes as he grabs the pillow he was using on the floor, your brace for the moment that he decides to toss it at you only for him to place it gingerly in his lap.

“Welcome to the club.” Frankie mutters under his breath as you stare down Will who now has one finger up…interesting.

“Never have I ever been tied up.” Fuck

You put a finger down and wait for the responses that eventually never come. Will was playing dirty, he knows for a fact you’ve been tied up. It had only been a week since he asked you if you wanted to try it.

This was it,you had to go for the kill…but how bad did you want to win? You know there’s only one way but it will certainly come at a cost. In the end the cost may be worth it.

You raise up on the couch sitting back on your heels,proudly displaying the two fingers you have left. You can’t chance a look at anyone besides Will or you might chicken out. Frankie’s fingers grip nervously at the blanket that’s fallen next to you. He wants to reach out and touch you, the only sound over your beating heart is the rustling of the couch cushions as Santi leans forward just into your peripheral vision. Breath in…Breathe out 3,2,1.

“Never have I ever made someone squirt.” You say it so fast they almost don’t catch it…almost.

“Ha…he’s never made anyone…” Ben is silenced mid sentence as Will closes his fist and leans back into the seat. He doesn’t really care that he’s lost, in reality he’s actually won this game. Judging by the shocked looks on their faces or Ben’s mouth hanging agape. You didn’t fully think this through, your brain was clouded with the thrill of winning.

He almost feels bad for you as he says the momentary look of triumph quickly turns into one of defeat. It’s written all over your face as the realization sets in that you’ve completely fucked yourself, you would be a horrible poker player because you just revealed all your cards. If this were a lion's den you were a fresh piece of meat.

A drop of sweat trickles down your back as you lower your hand slowly to place it on your thigh. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Prove it.” Santi’s voice is so close to your ear you nearly jump out of your skin.

Will tilts his head at you as if to challenge you. This game was far from over and you’d be damned if you were going to lose. You stand from the couch and walk over to him. Four sets of eyes watching your every move as you grab his hand and pull him to stand. You raise your eyebrows as an acceptance to his challenge and he starts to lead you away from them toward the hallway. You sense no movement behind you as you make your way to his bedroom.

“You boys coming or not?” A small stampede sounds behind you and you chuckle picturing them trying not to trample each other as their bodies catch up with their feet, no doubt all thought having left their brains.

****

Santi’s lost count, has it been five or six times Will has brought you to the edge only to pull away and deny you what you so desperately want and need. He’s no stranger to this game but he doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on by it. Watching from a whole different viewpoint. Being a spectator is thrilling and watching you writhe and chase his touch after each denial makes his cock achingly hard in his jeans.

Frankie’s not doing much better as he tries to follow Will's rules he laid out before starting. If you want me to show you then you don’t touch her unless I tell you to. The captain in him didn’t come out often anymore but when it did he commanded respect.

Ben stares on with excitement and curiosity written all over his face. He watches as you grip the sheets, your chest heaving as sweat beads down your forehead. Will told you not to touch yourself and Ben didn’t know you could be so obedient.

Wills got you so on edge you can’t be shy anymore about the way you beg for him and plead for him to let you come. A far cry from when you first entered the bedroom.

He had slowly undressed you and instructed you to lay flat on the bed. He crawled over your body kissing and biting his way up your thighs and your stomach. His hand caressed your breast as his tongue laved over the other. It was too much and not enough as your eyes met the others standing in the room. They’d all seen you in this position before but something about them watching suddenly has you feeling vulnerable.

“Look at me.” He leaned in and kissed you, deep and passionate as his hand gripped your waist and his tongue prodded your mouth. An expert distraction to bring you back to the moment.

“It’s just me and you.” It was the last thing he said to you before he methodically took you apart right before their eyes. You knew he was taking his time, putting on a show. He wasn’t simply going to make you squirt and move on like some conquest. He wanted to draw this out, show them what he was capable of.

He started with his mouth as his breath ghosted over your slick folds. He looked up at you through hooded lids one more time to give you a chance to back out, when you gave no indication of wanting to stop he dragged his tongue expertly through your slit. Parting it with his thumb as he dove in circling your clit. You were a goner from the beginning as he brought you to the first cliff only to leave you hanging. You cried out his name in desperation as he dipped two fingers in, pumping in and out as he bit down on your thigh. The pleasure and pain mixed in with you on display had your nerves alight.

With each denied release you can feel the pressure building in your core, it’s so close you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. You can taste yourself as he leans over you again kissing you through your whimpers as your body shakes beneath him.

“Will please…” Your sweet voice begging is like music to their ears. Frankie would give you whatever you want if you asked him but Will doesn’t budge.

“Please what sweetheart…I can’t read your mind.”

Son of a bitch he’s trying to kill you.

For all his resolve Santiago can’t help but be impressed. Even if this sudden burst of confidence is all a show for them he has to admit he would’ve caved by now and just went straight for the finale.

You’re not even sure when Ben and Frankie sat on the bed leaning against the headboard beside you, or when Santi sat at the end to have a perfect view of your pussy clenching around nothing as your arousal drips onto the sheets below.

“Please Will, I need you inside me…I need to come please.” You’re practically crying as he shushes you, his cock leaking precum on your stomach as it twitches in anticipation. He’s not going to be able to last much longer at this rate either.

He leans back on his heels as he grips the base of his cock, slapping your clit and dragging it through your slick as he slowly prods your entrance. The noise you make almost has him buckling as you sigh into it finally having what you want.

He starts at a slow pace as he wraps your legs around his waist, he can see the way your face contorts with every slap of his hips against yours. You can feel every vein and ridge as the lude sounds of your sweat and slick echo in the room.

You can’t see it from where you are but Frankie’s itching to touch you, desperately wanting to break the rule as he watches you try not to touch yourself.

Ben is mesmerized as he watches your breasts bounce with every thrust of Will's hips, he wants to latch onto you and bite down until you're screaming his name, but he knows his brother would do more than scold him if he so much as tried to touch you right now.

Santi’s waiting…waiting for any sign or movement as to how he does it. He’s thoroughly enjoying himself but he’s seen nothing new, nothing he hasn’t done to you a dozen times over. Any indication as to what Will has managed to do before the rest of them. It’s driving him a little mad as he watches you beg for it like you’ve never had it before.

You can feel the tension building as Will picks up his pace, he shifts your legs to either side of his head as he punches the air out of your lungs with every thrust. He brings his thumb down rubbing fast circles on your clit as you try to grab his wrist. That all too familiar feeling has you keen and arch your back. “Grab her hands.” Frankie moves before you can think, your wrists gripped tightly in one of his palms above your head.

“Wait…please.” He chuckles under his breath as his chest heaves with the sharp movements. Not mere seconds ago you were begging to come and now you’re begging him to stop.

You crane your head back and lock eyes with Ben, his eyes are etched with worry as he lays there helpless to your pleas. “Will!”

“She’s fine…aren’t you sweetheart?” You can’t think, he’s fucked you so dumb you cant remember your own name let alone formulate a sentence. “Yes.” Is all you can manage.

“She knows what to say if she wants to stop.” He grits through his teeth as his orgasm steadily approaches, his thighs burn and he’s surely bruised your calves as he grips tightly to them.

You’ve never safe worded with him and you don’t plan on it now. It feels so good as the searing hot sensation creeps up your spine threatening to take purchase in your brain. “Please don’t stop.”

He gestures to Frankie to grab the pillow, who moves with lightning speed as he situates it under your back. Santi looks at your face then, and he finally sees it. The look of panic and bliss as you succumb to the inevitable. He’s seen this look before but he ran from it afraid that he might hurt you. Will punches something deep inside you as he lifts your hips, the sound you make bordering on pornography while your arousal coats his stomach almost forcing him out of you completely.

He thrusts once and twice before nearly collapsing his weight onto you as he comes through your high. He releases your legs as he leans in to give you a kiss. Will was nothing if thorough and he always made sure you were okay. It’s in this moment that you truly feel like it’s just the two of you and not aware of the blissed out expressions of the other men.

“You did so good for me.” He pants out against your mouth as he desperately tries to catch his breath.

You highly doubt this is what Ben had in mind when he suggested this game but it ended much better than any of you would have anticipated.

Moments pass and you’ve just barely recovered. You’re in need of a shower and some water as you try to move slightly, the grip on your wrists tighten as you look back at Frankie.

Do it again.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging a few who might be interested

@csarab615 @syrupsstuff @ghostslillady @uudelally @onefinnedwonder-fm @thedreadandthefugitivemind @romanarose @scarletthefierce

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ofstarsandvibranium · 1 year

Text

My You-niverse: Santiago "Pope" Garcia

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader, throughout the series: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Warning: some violence

A/N: sorry it's been a while. my heart hasn't really been into fic writing, but im determined to finish this series eventually so here you go

Series Masterlist

You felt a little bit more like yourself in this universe. It seemed like you were in some sort of military group? The only woman, surrounded by men. The men, your colleagues, seemed to respect you and valued your opinion, which was very nice.

When the hostiles were taken care of you, you all met at the rendezvous point where you all piled into a heli, piloted by your friend in the Standard Oil hat.

'Pope' plopped beside you, nudging your knee with his, "You good? You look a lil' dazed."

You give him a lop sided grin, "Think I hit my head too hard when you tackled me to the ground, but I've had worse."

Pope lets out a hum and leans back in his seat, "You called me Marc back there. Who's Marc?"

You shook your head, "I-Someone I knew. Guess I just got confused for a sec."

Pope pulled out a flashlight and pointed it towards your eyes. You tried swatting it away, "What're you doing?"

"Trying to make sure you're not concussed."

"I'm fine!"

"What's my name?"

"Pope."

"My real name."

"Santiago." His name rolls of your tongue and you're surprised that you know his name.

He hummed and narrowed his eyes at you, "You're still getting checked when we get back."

You rolled your eyes, "Whatever." You let out a deep breath, but the action made you hiss.

Pope cocked a brow at you, "What's wrong?"

You rubbed your side, "I think I got a few cracked ribs."

He snorted, "'I'm fine' my ass."

You stuck your tongue out and Pope tried to grab it. You started swatting his hand away, but you were interrupted by a fake gagging noise.

You look across the heli to see Will fake gagging.

"What's up with you?"

"You guys are such a fucking couple it's disgusting."

"You're just jealous you haven't found your person yet," Ben smirked, nudging his brother.

You shrugged, settling in your spot, resting your head on Pope's shoulder. Your eyes started fluttering close, sleep taking you a lot quicker than you expected.

"Rosie," Ben nudged your foot and you slowly woke.

"Hm?" you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You looked around and noticed that the helicopter had landed. You were back on the airstrip and the only one left.

"I told you I'd get her," Pope flicked Ben's ear and pushed him to the side. He then looked to you, "You need help getting out, baby?"

You slowly maneuvered out of the aircraft, trying to keep your breath steady as your ribs screamed at you in pain.

You winced as you stepped out, Pope catching you as you fell forward, "I gotcha, baby. I gotcha." he turned to his young friend, "Help me out, Ben."

Both men wrapped your arms around their shoulders and escorted you to the van. All of the men insisted on getting you to the hospital first before heading home.

"We take care of our own, remember?" Will reminded you as he started the drive to the hospital.

_______________

You definitely had a few cracked ribs. You were prescribed some pain meds and plenty of ice packs. After making sure you were okay, the group of you headed back home.

Well, you thought you and Santi were, but he wanted you to heal more to ensure you're okay to travel back home. So he graciously reserved a room at a nice hotel on the beach. There, he played the dutiful boyfriend; making sure you iced your ribs, you took your medication if the pain became too much; and overall made sure that you were comfortable.

You couldn't be completely active, but he did take you on walks on the beach. He kept his arm around your hip to keep you up and he matched pace with you.

"This is nice. Kinda like a mini vacation," you say as you slowly lower onto a beach chair, "Sad we'll have to leave this place soon. Back to reality." You sigh, rubbing the side where your ribs were injured.

"I know," Santi decided to sit behind you on the beach chair, you settling between his legs, your back against his chest, "I wish we could stay longer too. Maybe in a few months, we could ask for some time off. Come back here or go somewhere else? A romantic getaway?"

You look over your shoulder, "Romantic getaway? Who are you and what have you done to my stone cold lover?"

"I'm not stone cold," Santi says with a snort.

"You kinda are, babe. It's okay," you pat his shoulder, "I still love you."

Santi chuckles and wraps his arms around your waist, "I love you too, my beautiful rose," he kisses your neck and proceeds to rest his chin on your shoulder.

You close your eyes, relishing in the warmth of your lover, the slight breeze of the beach, the sound of waves crashing. You take in the moment. For once since this whole universe thing started, you felt truly content and at peace.

______________

You hear the sound of your name and you open your eyes. You look around and notice that you're in a jail cell.

You sit up and look at the door. A man, familiar, similar to your previous loves, but more plump, held out an envelope to you, "Your cousin wrote to you again."

You stood up, walking over to your cell door and taking the envelope from him, "Thank you, Officer," you eye his name badge, "Garcia."

His lips go into a mini pout, "I told you, Y/N, call me Richard."

You nod, "Richard."

He nods back and continues on to hand out mail to other inmates.

"Interesting," you say to yourself. It seems you're an inmate at a prison in this universe and your husband's doppleganger is an officer at said prison. Very interesting indeed.

#santiago garcia x reader #pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #marc spector x reader #marvel au #steven grant x reader

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bits-and-babs · 2 years

Note

dads best friend! santiago…. been thinking about it a lot lately..

Interdickt || Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Reader

-> Rating: 18 +

-> Word Count: 3.8k

-> Your father invites Santiago around for dinner every Thursday, but he’s far more interested in eating you.

CW/TW: Christian household, implied age gap, p in v sex, unprotected sex, voyurism.

You’re not sure when Santiago’s hungry gaze readjusted it’s sharp-shooter focus on your face rather than the plate of food you spent meticulously cooking just for him. Regardless, Santi was utterly shameless in the way he greedily observed your body despite sitting just beside your father.

“It looks delicious, Reinita.” His eyes are set firmly on you as he offers his compliments, making it obvious to you alone that it certainly wasn’t the food he wanted to take a bite of. Heat burns on your cheeks as you settle into your seat, giving a meek ‘thank you’ in return.

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia was a frequent visitor to your house, making himself at home every Thursday at your father’s request. The two had exchanged fire with the Colombian cartels when they served together in the Delta Force while maintaining peace in the Triple Frontier. That was before your father took a career ending bullet to the shoulder and Pope became a Private Military Advisor for the Colombian army.

Hoping to maintain their relationship, your father often asked Santi over on his only day off work for dinner every Thursday. He had never failed to attend, claiming that the food you made was better than anything he could make in his ‘shitty old apartment’.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t put in obscene amounts of effort in the attempt to impress your fathers handsome friend. It wasn’t unheard of for you to spend all week planning what to cook for him, his salt and pepper curls and warm, bronze irises at the front of your mind with every ingredient choice, or while flipping through the pages of your cookbook.

His name for you rings in your mind like an echo in a cavern. Reinita. Little Queen. You know he’d picked it because your father also called you the pet name. But when Santiago said it, it held so much more conviction. It wasn’t affectionate, it dripped like molasses from his lips, the roll of his ‘r’ like a rumble in his chest, the kind that left you weak at the knees and he knows it.

This wasn’t the first time Santiago’s eyes strayed from the plate, eyeing you from across the table with a hunger that food couldn’t possibly satiate, but this was the first time you found his gaze almost savage, branding your skin with a prickling heart that settled in your abdomen.

You clear your throat weakly under the intensity of his gaze, feeling it drag across your exposed skin in the sundress you wore. Columbia was scorching at this time of year, the sunshine almost oppressive. You had worn the summer dress, loose and flowy, to keep cool in the kitchen while you cooked- it wasn’t your fault that it just happened to get Santiago going as a result.

“Say grace,” your father points out, apparently needing to remind you of a lifelong tradition simply because Santiago had rattled you so much with his intense gaze. You hadn’t even realised that you’d reached for your cutlery in the state that he’d left you in!

“Ah-“ you’re quick to correct yourself, despite the soft chuckle from the opposite end of the table. Lacing your fingers, you bow your head in supplication and close your eyes to ensure that Santiago is out of sight, taking a deep breath in. “Father, You are mighty and strong to sustain our bodies. Thank You for the meal we are about to enjoy. Praise You for meeting our physical needs of hunger and thirst…”

You don’t mean to, you really don’t, but when you trail off your eyes immediately flick up to catch sight of Santiago. He’s watching you, the blacks of his pupils fervent with a sinful need and his eyelids heavy. It’s obscene, the way he looks at you, and you momentarily forget yourself, the direction of your praise obliterated.

Caught off guard, you see the way your fathers eyes open in question and you scurry to finish your acknowledgment. “We pray that we will be energized and be able to work for the glory of Your Kingdom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen!”

“Amen,” both men respond as you reach for your glass of water, desperate to just cool down for a moment. The clinking of cutlery being lifted from the tabletop sounds almost immediately, and you’re relieved to have Santiago’s attention focused on something other than you.

The two men eat in silence, comfortable with each other’s company after years of service together. You, however, find the quiet stifling, almost afraid your father will hear the rapping of your heart against the bone of your sternum.

The soft rumble of a moan sounds from across the table, jolting you from your thoughts. Santiago’s eyes are closed, lips around the fork as he hummed in praise of your cooking. Arousal lurches in your abdomen, staring as he chews slowly and settles his focus on you once more.

“Reinita,” he hums, pointing towards the food, “This is your best yet.” You had really pulled out all the stops today, settling for Vatapá. Fish, shrimp, coconut milk, manioc flour, dendê palm oil, and cashews, the tropical flavours paired with steamed rice seemed like the perfect accompaniment to the hot weather that you’d been experiencing, while also being substantial enough to fill both men's stomachs.

“Oh- You’re too kind, Santi, thank you,” you laugh weakly, shifting your own food around the plate as you watch him shake his head.

“Not at all, it’s perfect,” he promised you, his stunning smile practically knocking you breathless. Perfect. It’s all you wanted to be for him, refusing to settle for anything less. Another nervous smile and he releases you from his all consuming gaze, allowing you a moment's respite from the agonising need that had possessed you from the moment he walked through the door.

Instead, his conversation turns to your father’s attention, informing him of his latest mission against the cartels. You had always found Santi brave for his undertaking against Lorea, if a little stupid. Every hit man and his dog would be after him soon if he continued to piss off the gang leaders by picking off their coke ‘dens’. He had always promised to never allow the wolves to reach your door, but even you weren’t naive enough to think he could control them like that.

It’s your turn to ogle him shamelessly while his attention is elsewhere. His stubble has grown out, peppering his jaw with a greying five-o’clock shadow. His curls, coloured in a similar nature, are cropped short, and you long to tell him to let them grow a little- give you something to grab. His skin is tanned with a healthy, olive glow after spending hours out in the oppressive sun on raids, his khaki green cotton t-shirt aiding the overall bronzed look.

It was torturous, seeing him dressed in something even as simple as this. On any other man, a t-shirt is just that. But on Santiago, it framed his form just perfectly, like he’d purposely bought one just a little too small for him so it defined his pectorals in a way that had you practically drooling. His golden chain peeks out from underneath the material, and you can’t help but think about the way you’d always notice it decorating the silvery surgery scar at the nape of his neck-

“Reinita?” Santiago’s voice cuts through your atrociously obscene thoughts, jolting you back to reality. He’s watching you with an arched brow, one you’d imagine him wearing before he pulled you across his lap, lifted your flowery dress skirts and spanked you.

“Mhm- I’m sorry, what was the question again?” You ask, voice a little airy and breathless. You hated the way you couldn’t contain your composure like Santi, could always feel your fathers watchful eyes. Consistently wondering whether he would realise that you so desperately wanted to straddle the lap of his best friend, the person he took a bullet for.

“I said that your father had mentioned a barbecue in a few weeks time, when I have some extra leave,” he mused, noting your nervousness, “That way I’d be able to help you out with the cooking.”

Oh.

It was as though your body had been set alight like barbecue coals, the feast already having started. You could imagine it now, Santiago stood over the grill with his shirt off in the face of the flames. His chain would glint in the sunlight, and he would unhook a tea towel from the waistband of his cargos to wipe the sweat that had gathered on his forehead and chest.

“Ah- It sounds like a wonderful idea!” You return quickly, noting the silence you had accidentally answered his proposition with. “I would love to try your food.”

“I bet you would,” he smirks, lips pulling up to show a hint of his perfect white teeth. He waits until you notice the suggestion in his tone, observes your face for recognition of his secret proposition before follow quickly up with; “It must be difficult to put the effort in on your own every week.”

Nodding weakly, you clear your throat. In a desperate attempt to escape from the scrutiny of your father and the intensity of Santiago’s relentless teasing, you pick your almost full plate off the table and begin to clear up as your father finishes his meal.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he points out, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“I’m not hungry, I’ll have it for lunch tomorrow,” you assert, reaching across to collect Santiago’s empty plate, who in turn attempts to keep it out of reach.

“I can wash my own,” he says, trying to help you but inevitably making your predicament worse.

“That’s not necessary,” you attempt to force his hand and surprisingly, despite your lack of conviction, he extends the plate to you. Laying his plate on top of the others, the soft clink of the plate being stacked is much like a school bell, dismissing you from the table and allowing you to breathe as you scurry into the kitchen and out of the metaphorical frying pan.

The moment you turn the faucet, the sound of the running water eases you into a routine you’re beyond familiar with that brings you a sense of ease. It went the same way every single Thursday. Santi would come over, you would present the meal, then he and your father would drink whiskey in the living room while you washed up. This was custom, ordinary.

The sound of Metallica playing on the radio in the living room spills into the kitchen as the sink fills. The heavy electric guitar screams from the speakers, even all the way down the hall. Santiago’s music choices never seemed to fit with an evening dinner theme, but your father never had any issue in blowing his own eardrums out to entertain his guest.

Filling up the sink with hot water, you squirt in some dish soap. It’s a simple scent of lemon, but the warmth of the running water coats the room in the citrus as foam begins to cover the surface. It smells like home.

Working through each of the plates, you scrape leftovers into the bin before soaking the dishes in the warm water. When satisfied they had soaked long enough, you scrub the plates, running them under the faucet to wash off the remaining suds before leaving them on the draining board to dry.

Perhaps it’s odd, but you find the repetitive action relaxing. Able to focus on each step of the process, it allows your overactive mind to rest for a moment, to block the ever-constant thoughts of Santiago Garcia at bay while you work to get through the mountain of dishes. That is, until you feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

“Fuck, look at you…”

Your body jolts violently, shocked by his sudden appearance and the skim of his lips against the curve of your neck. The scratch of his beard against your shoulder makes you dizzy.

“Santiago! You scared me!” You gasp breathlessly, the air having been knocked from your lungs at such a fright. His chest is pressed to your back, fingers working their way onto your hips and giving them a gentle squeeze. If the shock left you breathless, his hungry touch was slowly suffocating you.

“I can’t take it any longer,” he groans softly, fingers digging into your hip bones as he peppers the side of your neck with open-mouthed kisses, his desperation apparent in the way he clings to you. “I have to fuck you.”

The words, murmured into the skin that coats your jugular, make your blood run hot. He wants you. Wants you just as badly as you need him. His hands skin up your waistline slowly, squeezing at the flesh there as he continued to kiss and suck at your neck. You should be telling him not to do that, fearing your father might notice any blemishes his affections left behind, but it felt so good to finally have his lips on you.

“Santi-“ you gasp as he splays his palm across the span of your shoulder blades, pushing you firmly against the kitchen counter. The water that had splashed from the faucet onto the counter had gone cold, soaking through the thin fabric of your summer dress and soaking the material in dark splotches that cool your skin against his fiery affection.

You breathe unevenly, nerves building in your stomach as you feel his booted foot kick your ankles apart. Despite his forward nature, Santi’s hands are gentle across your body, his lips pressing gentle kisses against your shoulder as he presses his body against yours. “I’m sorry Reinita. We have to be quick.”

You nod quickly, understanding exactly what he means. The door is wide open, the heavy beat of the Metallica album playing loudly and bouncing off the corridor walls. Your father could wander in at any moment and see Santiago, his best friend of decades, taking his little girl across his own kitchen counter.

Santiago’s hips are pressed into your ass, and you can feel his erection pressing urgently against the curve of your ass. He can’t help himself, choking out when he grinds into you, tightening his grip on your waist in a desperate attempt to hold himself together. He sounds utterly destroyed, the idea of having you at last eating him alive like all those nights you’d lay in bed, too hot for the comforter as you imagined his hands wandering around your body. At some point it has stopped being an imagination, and formed into some kind of prayer, begging to feel that sensation just once.

Cool air hits the backs of your thighs when Santi hikes up the skirt of your dress towards your waist. You fumble to move your arms behind you and grab the hem to hold it in place, not wanting it to get in the way and waste precious seconds. Santiago hums, either in appreciation of your help or your pretty lace underwear, smoothing his palms over the globes of your ass. You can feel his calloused fingertips, weathered from years of serving his country and pulling triggers.

“Good Girl,” he murmurs, hand slipping between your thighs. A whimper sounds from the back of your throat as his fingers sweep over the wet patch in the lace, working to find your clit beneath the fabric. It doesn’t take him long, his fingertip nudging it blindly. It causes your knees to buckle, a moan slipping past your open mouth, jaw having dropped at the sensation.

“Sh sh, you need to be quiet,” he reminds you, chest arching over your back as you head his belt clink. Your mind is on a delay, one hand already reaching across the kitchen counter to grab a dishcloth. It’s damp in one corner, but sufficiently dry enough to use as something to bite down on- to muffle the moans he’d no doubt draw from you.

You have barely any time to establish your makeshift gag before Santiago is pushing your panties aside and releasing a groan of his own, the sound disturbed by him apparently biting down on his knuckle. “Fuck, look at you Reinita. You’re soaked. Did I do that to you? Hmm? Did thinking of me fucking you on your dining table make you this wet?”

The notch of his dick against your entrance has you gasping for breath, nodding in wordless agreement. You can’t even process words right now, let alone speak them with your rudimentary muzzle. Santi grits out a weak moan as he slips inside your pussy. You’re so wet, strung out from his needy gaze all night, that he manages to drive home with little to no resistance, the two of you letting out a shared sigh as he pushes his hips flush against yours.

“Mhmm… Fuck,” Santi holds your waist in a vice like grip, seemingly using you as an anchor not to cum straight away. It takes him a second to move, your walls fluttering around him as they attempt to adjust to his size. When he finds the strength to begin slipping out of you, the sound that rumbles in his chest is almost carnal. “Look at you creaming all over my cock. You- Hgnn, fuck-“

A ragged breath leaves him, suddenly beginning to piston his hips into you with an intensity that feels as though he’s jumped from 0 to 100. It’s ruthless, expelling all the air from your lungs through your gritted teeth into the rough material of the tea towel. It’s utterly debilitating, the way he holds your body down against the cool kitchen counter and fucks into you with a brutal pace.

Each bruising thrust has you gasping for breath, the citrus smell of the washing up liquid so strong you can almost taste it. It’s even worse when Santi rests his palm over your shoulder, using his strength to push you back onto his cock so it hits you even deeper, filling you completely each time his hips snap into yours. You’re sobbing weakly, tears welling in your eyes as he rips pleasure through your core.

“Shit- I need y-you to be qui-et, Princesa,” he grits through his teeth, his mouth much closer to your ear as he leans over you again. You can hear his exertion, every growl and gasp as you flutter around him. Mumbling a muffled ‘sorry’, you sob out again as he presses up against something utterly devastating inside you. It has your knees failing beneath you, and Santi is quick to have to hold you up.

“That it?” He pants softly, focusing intently on that one spot inside you that has you drooling around your temporary gag. You nod quickly, the pitch of your moans heightening to somewhat of a whine. You never thought you’d be thanking Metallica for their ear splitting music, but here you were.

“Good Girl,” he whispers, feeling your spine go rigid as you battle with your oncoming orgasm. “Oh that’s it, isn’t it Sweetheart? That’s where you need it. Come on.”

You whimper, nails digging fruitlessly into the kitchen counter as you slur around the material stuffed in your mouth that you’re going to cum. Santi seems to already know, his hand slipping around your body and rubbing tight little circles around your clit that cause pleasure to spark through your abdomen, everything pulling up tight.

“Come on baby,” Santi urges, and it’s the last thing you hear. The screeching music down the hall fades out almost instantly, the orgasm ripping through your body so suddenly that the world blurs in your vision. Every muscle in your body threatens to snap, a silent cry of bliss caught in your throat as Santi forces you to take his cock at that same pace, bearing down on you at a speed that has white spots appearing like stars in your line of sight.

It takes you a minute to realise you’re repeating something in your cries, the words muffled and distant to your own ears. Pleading and desperate as he continues to thrust into you with quiet groans of his own.

Santi, Santi, Santi-

“Oh fuck,” you hear him groan, his thrusts faltering as he grasps desperately at your hips. “Oh fuck, I’m gunna cum- Hah- Can I-“ He doesn’t even finish his sentence before you’re ripping the cloth from your mouth, telling him yes yes yes.

You didn’t need to tell him twice, Santi’s hips slowing as his body jolts with pleasure. You feel him pulse inside you, cumming with thick spurts and hear the grunts and groans of satisfaction as he slows his pace down to a stop,

Panting heavily, Santi leaves his cock inside you as he attempts to gather himself, and with your legs too shaky to place all your weight onto, you keep your upper body leant across the kitchen counter. Eventually, the exhausted breaths turns to a fit of giggles, the two of you realising the risk you both took.

“You okay?” He murmurs softly into your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple as he slowly eases his cock out of you. You nod, leaning into his kiss before slowly standing up. Looking over your shoulder at him, Santi is rearranging himself, zipping up his jeans and rebuckling his belt.

He helps you smooth down your skirt to look presentable, his hands passing over your sore hips gently. You can’t help but smile as you look up at him, take in his pretty tan and his long lashes. He’s intoxicating, has a far stronger aftertaste to any wine you could have served on the table this evening.

“Can we do this again?” You whisper to him, hoping it doesn’t appear as though you’re begging him. But you are. You are begging him. You’d get right down on your knees on this kitchen floor, his cum sliding down the inside of your thighs as you plead with him to see you like this again. To touch you like this again.

Santiago looks at you as if you’re crazy, and your heart sinks for a second thinking he was about to turn you away, now that he’d got what he wanted from you. But he smiles softly. “Of course we can. I have that barbecue to man next week, remember?”

You smile so wide that it hurts.

It’s then that the two of you hear a shout from the corridor, your father leaning out of the living room door to look into the kitchen and causing you both to jump. “Pope, you’re missing all the best songs!”

He laughs loudly, turning to your father with a grin. Throwing you a wink, Santi calls back. “Coming!”

END

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