#santiago pope garcia x you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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

🏷 Tags: @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @crystalchrysalis19 @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @youngr0se95 @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @wakers-bonkers @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @bb-skyrunner @silvery-luna @sebsbelova @Erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @moonnaught @cottagebunny9

#triple frontier smut #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia x you #santiago x you #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia imagine #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #1k+ club

1K notes · View notes

oscarisaacsspit · 1 year

Text

654 notes · View notes

flightlessangelwings · 11 months

Text

Not Leaving You Again

Santiago Garcia x fem!reader x Frankie Morales Word count- 4.8k Dialogue prompt- “ are you okay? “ Action prompt- [ YANK ]: seeing the receiver is in immediate danger, the sender hastily grabs them and pulls them against them, out of harm’s way Warnings-s.mut (18+ only!), bi mmf threesome, lots of pining, childhood friends to lovers, feelings, protective Santi and Frankie, assault attempt but it’s interrupted, reader is a bartender and works in a bikini bar but no physical descriptions given, reader has the nickname “Chiquita” given to her by Santi, no use of y/n Notes- Written for my Year of Protectiveness (@yearofcreation2023), and it was supposed to be posted in April so let's just ignore the fact that this one is late lol! This actually went through many changes before I settled on this version and I'm happy to have done something a little different! Also, if you’re wondering how I came up with the nickname Chiquita: I was eating a banana while brainstorming this and I thought that was a cute nickname lol! Enjoy! @flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so feel free to also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post!

“Really Pope?” Frankie sounded exasperated, “A bikini bar?”

Santiago grinned mischievously, “Yes Fish, a fucking bikini bar,” he placed a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “You’ve been moping about your breakup for too long, buddy.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, “I bet they all know you by name here, huh.”

“Actually,” Santiago let out a deep breath, “I’ve never been here before,” he couldn’t help but laugh at Frankie’s shocked face, “I was looking up places to take you to cheer you up and this place came up.”

“It’s a wonder you never heard about it before,” he let out a heavy sigh of his own, “But I appreciate this.”

“Hey… What are friends for, huh!” he playfully punched Frankie’s arm, “Now let’s get a smile on that face of yours.”

“Whatever you say, Pope.” Frankie sounded slightly annoyed, but truly he was grateful for his friend. It had been several months since his fiance left him, and he knew he had been down in the dumps about it, bringing the guys down with him. And while Santigao Garcia had a tendency of being an asshole at times, he was still his best friend and he knew he had his best interest in mind. So, Frankie indulged him.

But, when the two men entered the bar, both their breaths were taken away.

The bar was reasonably packed for the late afternoon, and every single woman who worked there was stunningly beautiful. Women in all ages, skin tones, sizes and backgrounds worked behind the bar making drinks and running to the tables to serve them. Santiago and Frankie stood in stunned silence for a moment before Santi nudged his friend.

“What did I tell you, Fish,” he sounded very pleased with himself, “Good drinks, beautiful bartenders… It’s just what you need.”

“They’re not pieces of meat, Pope,” Frankie huffed, “They’re just here to work.”

“Yes I know,” Santiago cleared his throat, “But it’s a bikini bar for a reason,” he nodded a quick hello to a waitress who sauntered by and gave him a wink, “Let’s just enjoy it.”

With another roll of his eyes, Frankie followed his friend to the bar where he ordered them both drinks. He watched as Santiago suavely flirted with the bartender, and was surprised that he actually flirted back. But then again, Santiago always had that effortless charm that made anyone swoon. Even Frankie himself found himself captivated by his friend’s hypnotic gaze at times.

“Cheers, Fish,” Santiago’s voice jolted Frankie from his thoughts, “To single life. May you find the perfect person for you.”

“Thanks,” Frankie mumbled as he cheered and took a sip. He had to admit, Santiago had a kindness and caring side to him that he kept buried under the facade. And although this wouldn’t have been his first choice of venue, he was grateful that Santiago dragged him out of his place. But, just as he was about to voice his thoughts, another voice cut in between the two of them.

“Santi?”

Stunned, the two men turned over their shoulder and were met by another captivating employee, dressed in only a bikini top and jean shorts. Santiago nearly spit out his drink as he breathed your name in a surprised tone.

“Santiago Garcia! I would know that voice anywhere!” you put down your tray to open your arms for a hug.

He exclaimed your name as he hopped off the barstool and embraced you tightly, “Dios mio it’s been… years!” he sighed as he leaned back to take in the sight of you, “You look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”

Frankie watched with a soft smile as two old friends reunited.

“It’s been too long,” you agreed as you looked him up and down, “I’ve missed you, Santi,” suddenly, you sounded sad.

Santiago cleared his throat and redirected your thoughts, “This is my good friend Francisco,” he gestured to Frankie, “Fish, this is Chiquita.”

“Pleasure. Call me Frankie,” he spoke softly as he took your hand in his. Frankie couldn’t help but notice how soft your hand was and how your face lit up when you smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” you gave him your name once more before you turned back to Santiago, “Chiquita, huh?” you asked with a laugh, “No one’s called me that in… I can’t remember how long. How have you been?”

Frankie couldn’t help but notice the flash of melancholy in your eyes when you turned back to Santiago. He listened as the two of you caught up for a minute before someone from across the way called your name.

“I’ll be right there,” you replied over your shoulder before you turned back to them, “It was nice to see you, Santi,” you breathed, “And very nice to meet you, Frankie,” you paused for a beat, “Come back again sometime. Tuesdays are usually slower… We can catch up more.”

Santiago and Frankie exchanged a glance and a smirk. “I guess this will be our Tuesday spot then,” Santiago exclaimed, “See you then, Chiquita.”

Your smile lit up your face once more, “I’ll see you then!” you said before you disappeared into the crowd and went back to work.

Tuesday came before they knew it, and just like you promised, the bar was much quieter. The waitresses all greeted Santiago and Frankie when they walked in and they almost clamored to get the chance to wait on them. Among them was even the one that Santi flirted with the last time they were in, but this time, he only had eyes for one person.

“Hey guys!” you waved from behind the bar, “Take a seat. I’ll make you my specialty. On the house!”

“Thank you, “Frankie murmured as he watched you work. When you set the drinks down, he asked the first of many burning questions on his mind, “So… What’s the story behind ‘Chiquita’ anyway?”

Santiago nearly spit out his drink in an attempt to contain his laughter, and you couldn’t help but snort as well.

“When we were kids,” he started before you could recover from your laughing spell to speak, “She dressed up as the Chiquita banana girl three years in a row. I started calling her that as a joke but it just kinda stuck.”

“Oh I would have loved to see that,” Frankie joined in your laughter.

“Actually,” you cleared your throat, “Funny story… I actually did a bikini version of that for Halloween last year!”

“You’re joking!”

“Nope,” you winked, “Too bad you missed it.”

“Damn,” Santiago cursed under his breath.

Frankie’s disappointment mirrored his friends, but he hid it better. Instead, he redirected the conversation as you wiped down the bar, “So you two have known each other for a while then?”

“Yep,” you replied, “We were friends as kids… grew up together… I hadn’t heard from you in years though…” your tone turned sad again, and suddenly Frankie regretted asking. He hated seeing you like that, even if he barely knew you.

“Hey,” Frankie tried to redirect your thoughts, “We’re all here now, so why don’t we enjoy the drinks and the company?” He lifted his drink to cheers.

“Yeah!” Santiago lifted his drink as well, “To good friends and good drinks!”

“I’ll cheers to that,” you poured yourself a water and joined them, “To good friends, old and new!”

The three of you clinked your glasses together before downing them all. With that a new friendship was born and you couldn’t help the feelings that bubbled to the surface… for both men.

Before they knew it, going to the bikini bar became a regular thing for Frankie and Santi. They were in there multiple nights a week, to the point where everyone there knew them by name. Frankie even joked that he knew that would happen eventually, which Santiago shrugged off. But, neither man could deny the growing feelings for you they both harbored, and both of them knew about the other. It went unspoken, however, and neither of them made a move on you. Instead, they just enjoyed your company and watched over you on busy nights to make sure no drunk men tried to put his hands on you.

But, there was one burning question on Frankie’s mind. And after several weeks, he couldn’t keep it to himself any longer: “What happened between you and Chiquita?”

The momentarily joy at Frankie using that nickname for you as well didn’t last, and Santiago’s face dropped, “We drifted apart,” he answered dryly as he took a sip of his drink, “It happens when people grow up.”

Frankie’s face soured, “That’s not it,” he sounded annoyed, “I see the way she looks at you sometimes. Don’t tell me you hurt her…”

“No!” Santiago snapped, “No,” he repeated in a softer tone, “It’s just…” he sighed, “Shit happens, you know? Especially with guys like us.”

Frankie’s gaze stayed pointed at Santiago, but he chose not to push it any further. Instead, he looked around the bar and caught your eye. His heart fluttered in his chest when you looked up from what you were doing and gave him a big smile. Fuck, he was down bad for you, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he didn’t want to hurt his best friend or come between you two. So, Frankie chose to keep his heart guarded and locked away. If this was the most he was going to be with you, a friend and someone to watch over, Frankie made his peace with it.

But, Santiago broke the silence between them with an unexpected confession, “We hooked up once after I got back from my first deployment,” he stated plainly, as if he fought to keep his own emotions in check, “After that, I decided it was best that she never saw me again. I’m not the kind of man that’s good for her. She deserves better than me and my shit. So,” he sighed, “I left and never called her again.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Pope,” Frankie couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice, “You really are a fucking asshole sometimes, you know that.”

“Yes, I fucking know!” Santiago snapped.

“So what stopped you?” Frankie sighed, “Normally you aren’t the ‘noble’ type.”

Santiago knew it wasn’t an insult. It was the truth. He rubbed his face in his hands, “Yeah,” he breathed, “I don’t know man. She’s just… Different.”

“Yeah…” Frankie’s voice sounded distant as he looked over at you again, “She’s something else…”

“You like her, don’t you?” Santiago asked, noticing the way Frankie looked at you.

“I… Uhh…” he stammered.

“It’s ok, man,” Santiago took a sip of his beer, “You’re a better man than I am. You’d take better care of her than I did.”

Frankie let out a heavy breath, “Thanks man,” he mumbled, “But I wouldn’t do that to you either. I see the way she looks at you.”

Neither man spoke for several long and tense moments. They sat in stillness as the bar hustled around them. For the first time in a long time, neither of them knew what to say to the other.

“Listen,” Santiago broke the silence, “Why don’t we let her decide? No hard feelings,” he sounded defeated already, which was very unlike him.

Frankie didn’t like it, but he decided to just let the topic go for now and agree, “Alright.”

“Hey,” your voice broke through their tension, “You boys alright?”

“Fine, Chiquita,” Santiago reached out for you, “Just talking.”

“It looked serious,” you glanced between them, “You sure everything’s ok?”

Frankie gave you a soft smile, “Everything’s fine.”

Neither Frankie nor Santiago spoke about that conversation again after that night. They carried on like it didn’t even happen, and surprisingly, they both were able to just spend time with you just like they did before. Their routine felt comfortable enough that it didn’t affect them, and neither man held a grudge about it. Besides, they both agreed that watching over you was more important than their childish squabble. Especially on nights like tonight.

It was crowded for a Monday night, and you barely had time to chat with your boys. If you were honest, you were almost disappointed, since you looked forward to the nights that Frankie and Santiago came in. True, it was hard for you at first to see Santi again after he ghosted you all those years ago, but when you realized that he’d grown since then and you liked the man he grew into, you forgave him. And his friend Frankie was beyond handsome and kind too.

There were nights you fantasized about Santiago. And then there were nights you fantasized about Frankie. But your favorite daydreams were when you had both men at the same time. You found yourself equally attracted to both of them, and you felt safe when you knew they were there, watching over you and chased drunk men away who threatened to get too touchy with you.

And you were especially grateful they were at the bar tonight.

Rowdy crowds of men spilled into the bar unexpectedly, and some of them made you and your coworkers nervous. You made your way over to the hightop table where Frankie and Santiago sat as often as you could.

“Busy night, Chiquita?” Santiago asked.

“It’s weird for a Monday,” you commented as you glanced between the two of them, “You guys doing alright?”

“We’re fine, sweetheart,” Frankie’s voice was velvety soft and it brought comfort to you.

Just as you were about to say something, one of the other waitresses yelped as he dropped a tray of drinks right in front of another table. “Shit,” you hissed before you turned to the guys, “Be right back. I’l going to go help her.”

They both nodded as they watched you hurry over to the new girl. She had just started two weeks ago, and she seemed very nervous. But, you were there to help her and you quickly rushed to her side and calmed her down, “Hey,” you breathed, “It’s ok. It’s just a spill. It happens.”

“Thank you,” she breathed your name as he looked at you with big pleading eyes.

From the far table, Frankie and Santiago watched as you bent over to help the other girl. And while they were captivated at the sight of you bent over while hardly wearing anything, a grumble from nearby caught their attention. One of the drunk men at the table next to where you were stumbled over with a sinister grin on his face and his hands reaching out.

Without a word, Santiago and Frankie looked at each other and knew exactly what the other was thinking.

In a flash, they rushed over to you, intercepting the drunk man before he could put his hands on you. The two men worked together in tandem; Frankie grabbed you and yanked you against him, wrapping his arms around you while Santiago pushed the drunk man away from you and the other waitress.

“Back off, asshole!” Santiago shouted at him.

You gasped as suddenly you found yourself in Frankie’s arms and Santiago’s body stood in front of you, blocking you from the threat you didn’t even know was there.

“Frankie?”

“It’s ok, baby,” he whispered to you, “We’ve got you.”

You let out a deep breath as you and Frankie watched Santiago push the drunk man once more, “Get the fuck out!”

“Hey,” the drunk man slurred, “I didn’t mean no harm… I just,” he hiccuped, “Wanted a little squeeze.” His glazed over eyes landed on you.

A shiver ran up your spine at the way he looked at you.

“Not on my watch,” Santiago growled before he punched the guy right in the face, knocking him down to the ground.

“Don’t look,” Frankie turned you around so that his body blocked your view and you were turned away from Santiago and the drunk man.

All you could hear was a scuffle and shouting as others joined in and pushed the drunk man out of the bar. All the while, Frankie whispered soft nothing to you to keep you calm. And you heard him repeat over and over again, “You’re ok, baby. We ain’t gonna let anything happen to you.”

The commotion calmed down as quickly as it started and suddenly Santiago was in front of you, “Chiquita!” he huffed as you looked up at him from Frankie’s grasp, “Are you ok?”

You looked between Santiago and Frankie, stunned at the way he rushed to your aid so fast, “I’m fine,” you breathed, “Thank you… Thank you both.”

Time was a blur for you after that, and all you were aware of was that neither Sntiago nor Frankie left your side for a moment. And one of them had his hand on you at all times, as if they were both afraid that something else would happen if they strayed too far. Vaguely, you heard them speaking with your coworkers to make sure the other girls were alright before they relayed what happened to your boss.

“Baby?” Frankie’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah?” you blinked your eyes as if you had to refocus on the present moment.

“We’re gonna take you home, alright?”

“B-but…” you stammered, unsure of if that was what you really wanted.

“Don’t worry, Chiquita,” Santi appeared on the other side of you, the two of them forming a protective barrier around you, “I talked to your boss, everything’s cool. Let us take care of you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as your hands trembled for an entirely different reason, “Ok…”

The ride home was quiet save for your directions. Frankie took his truck while Santi followed behind in your car so you wouldn’t have to worry about it later. A hundred thoughts ran through your mind as you noticed that Frankie glanced over at you as much as he could.

“Watch the road, Fish,” you teased to break the tension inside the car.

He let out a short laugh, “Yes ma’am.”

Thankfully, the drive wasn’t too much longer and Frankie and Santi pulled into your place and escorted you inside. It felt a little strange, as if they were your bodyguards, but at the same time you had never felt safer.

“Well,” you breathed as you gestured around, “This is it. This is my place.”

“It’s nice,” Frankie mumbled, trying to keep his expression level.

You stood in front of Frankie and Santiago as you fiddled your fingers. “Thank you,” you broke the silence, “By the way… Thanks for lookin’ after me back at the bar.”

Frankie’s eyes softened, “You don’t have to thank us for that, baby.”

The way Frankie called you that pet name made your heart flutter in your chest. You always liked it when he called you that, and the way he said it always made your skin tingle. You glanced between him and Santi as the fantasies you had popped into your head. Santiago hadn’t said much since you got into your place, and all he did was nod at you. Something was up with him, you just weren’t sure what, but you still felt the tension radiate off of him.

As he watched your face, Santiago couldn’t stand the tension anymore and he broke the silence with a loud voice, “Ok, I’m just going to say it,” his emotions fueled his sudden outburst, “Listen,” he used your real name for once, “I know this isn’t fair of me to ask, but it’s driving me fucking crazy. And,” he let out a heavy sigh, “I just have to know… Which one of us would you choose?”

You blinked your eyes wide as your mouth dropped open, “W-what?”

“Santiago…” Frankie hissed.

“Chiquita, you gotta know we both are fucking crazy about you,” Santiago continued, ignoring his friend, “And I know I hurt you, baby. But I just gotta know so we can move on.”

You were silent as you looked between the two men. Your heart felt like it would burst from your chest at any minute as they both looked back at you like lost puppies. Slowly, you reached out and took Frankie’s hand in yours without a word.

Santiago spat, “Thought so,” he mumbled before he stepped past you to leave.

“Wait,” you grabbed his hand with your free one and held onto both of them tightly, “I…”

“What is it?” Frankie asked in a whisper as Santi looked back at the two of you with a surprised expression on his face.

“Do I have to pick between you two?” your voice shook, “Can…” you swallowed hard, “Can’t I have you both?”

Frankie and Stai’s eyes went wide as their gazes met. Frankie himself couldn’t deny the latent attraction he had for his friend. And Santiago’s eyes went up and down Frankie’s figure as a slight smirk lit up his face.

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Santi quipped as he stepped closer towards the two of you.

“Neither would I,” Frankie grinned back as he wrapped his arms around both you and Santi.

Your face lit up as you looked between the two men, “Are we really doing this?” you asked in an excited whisper.

Santiago cupped your chin and kissed you deeply, “It looks like we fuckin’ are,” he murured before Frankie grabbed your chin and turned you toward him to give you an equally passionate kiss.

Left breathless, you just nodded towards your bedroom and the two men quickly led you down the hallway, stripping you and each other on the way. Even after the tense moments at the bar, everything melted away as the three of you shed your layers of clothing, and giggles erupted among the three of you as you made your way to your bed.

“Fuck…” Frankie breathed as he took in the sight of you and Santiago before him.

“Just as beautiful as I remember, Chiquita,” Santiago murmured as he glanced over at Frankie, “And shit man, you’re an impressive sight too,” he winked.

You couldn’t help the laugh you let out before Frankie said your name.

“How do you want us, baby?’

“Yeah, your call.”

It took no time to decide how you wanted them. Leaning over to Frankie, you gave him a light kiss, “I want you to fuck me,” you breathed before you leaned over to Santi and mirrored the kiss, “And I want you in my mouth.”

“Have you thought about this before?” Santi smirked.

“That’s my little secret,” you winked.

Both boys let out a short laugh before they got serious again. They caressed your body, memorizing every dip and curve of you as they positioned you between them. Your back stayed to Frankie as his hands reached your ass and gave it a firm squeeze. Both of them groaned when you let out a beautiful moan, and suddenly the desperation took over for all of you.

You held onto Santiago’s shoulders as you positioned yourself, parting your legs for Frankie. Immediately, he cupped your pussy and traced a finger along your clit. Your body trembled as you moaned even louder while you grabbed onto Santi’s cock and slowly pumped it.

“Shit…” Santi hissed as you wrapped your fingers around him and stroked him slowly as if you remembered every little move that drove him wild.

While you jerked off Santi, Frankie pushed two fingers inside you while he stroked himself. A string of curses from all of you echoed in the room as Frankie’s thick fingers pumped in and out of you in the same rhythm that you pumped Santi.

“Frankie,” you murmured, “I’m ready… Please fuck me.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” Frankie caressed your ass as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you and lined up his cock at your entrance.

You and Santi shared a look before you felt the tip of Frankie’s cock push past your entrance. Your mouth dropped open and you let out the most tantalizing moan either man had ever heard.

“Fuck,” Santi cursed as he watched you lower yourself onto your hands and knees.

As Frankie slowly pushed into you, you took Santi’s cock in your mouth, flicking the tip with your tongue a few times before you wrapped your lips around it and took him completely inside.

“Ay Dios…” Santi groaned as he felt your warmness around him.

“Fuck,” Frankie moaned as he buried himself completely inside you, “Fuck baby you feel so good.”

All you could do was moan around Santi’s cock as you felt yourself stuffed at both ends. Your mind swam in pleasure as Frankie reeled back and thrust forward again, and already you saw stars. Santi kept his hands on your shoulders to support you as Frankie held you hips and pounded into you faster. Unable to hold himself back, he rocked into you over and over again, already addicted to the feeling of your wet pussy around him.

Santiago looked up from where you gagged on his cock to meet Frankie’s eyes, and he felt a fresh wave of need pulse through him when he saw the look on his face. A shiver ran up his spine as Santi watched Frankie fuck you. Between the way his cock disappeared inside you over and over again paired with the carnal look on his face, Santi felt his climax build quickly.

“Fuck,” Santi growled as he grabbed your head and yanked you off his cock.

You let out a loud cry as drool dripped down your lips, “Santi? What?”

“I want to hear you, Chiquita,” Santi growled before he kissed you deeply, “Let us hear how beautiful you sound while Frankie fucks that pretty pussy of yours.”

“Oh fuck!” you screamed as the new angle drove Frankie’s cock deeper inside you, hitting your sweet spot with precision.

Santi’s arms wrapped around you and held you tightly, and you felt Frankie’s grip around both of you as well. Your wind swam in pleasure as Frankie pounded into you faster and all you could do was rest your head on Santi’s shoulder as he held you.

As you felt your own climax build, you grabbed Santi’s cock and pumped it in time with Frankie’s thrusts. You heard him hiss your name as both men growled and groaned on either side of you.

“Fuck… Frankie… I’m gonna cum…”

All Frankie could do was moan your name, his own climax right behind yours. He tightened his grip on your hips as he pounded into you with fervor until you let out a louder scream as you fell apart. Your body trembled in their arms as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you as you came on Frankie’s cock.

Your orgasm triggered Frankie’s and he looked into Santi’s eyes for a moment before he too let out a loud groan and came deep inside you.

Santi felt awe-stuck as he watched both of you hit your peeks. You both looked so beautiful, so sexy, that he almost forgot about his own pleasure for a moment. But, when Frankie’s hand covered your on his cock, Santi let out a gasp as the two of you pumped him together until he too came hard, spilling himself on your body.

Exhausted and spent, the three of you all collapsed down onto your bed, Frankie slipping out of you as you did so. For several moments, you, Frankie and Santi all just laid together in a tangle of limbs as you all caught your breaths. Your arms and legs laid out over your boys, and even as your heart pounded in your chest, you could also feel the same in both of them.

“That…” you broke the comfortable silence with a heavy breath, “What fucking amazing.”

Santi laughed, “Fuck yeah it was.”

“Perfect,” Frankie sighed as he shifted to make you all more comfortable. He gathered you in his arms and pulled you to lay on his chest before he reached out and grabbed Santi’s arm.

Santiago looked at him, confused as to what to do for a moment, before he settled down and let you rest in between them. His eyes trailed across your bodies as he couldn’t help but wonder how different things would have been had he not left the last time he slept with you. Would the two of you become a couple? Would you eventually have invited Frankie into your bed? Your relationship?

But more importantly, would Santi repeat his actions again?

“Hey Santi?” your voice broke him out of his thoughts as you looked over your shoulder, “You’re not gonna leave again? Are you?”

Santi’s eyes went wide as he glanced between you and Frankie, who gave him a stern look. After a beat, he softened, “No, baby,” he caressed your face and kissed you before he looked at Frankie, “I’m not leaving either of you,” his voice was soft as he leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Frankie’s lips as well.

Frankie smiled into the kiss before he leaned down and gave you one as well, “I ain’t leaving either, baby.”

Your skin tingled and warmed as you nuzzled yourself in between the two pairs of strong arms, “Good,” you murmured as you rest your head down, “Good.”

339 notes · View notes

pimosworld · 11 months

Text

Por la mañana (2)

Santiago Garcia x f!reader

Summary-A drunken love confession leads to a fun morning for you and Santi

CW-Explicit smut, 18+ MDNI,mentions of alcohol consumption,light angst,Fluff,Kissing, cursing, unprotected piv, oral sex female receiving,fingering,piv cream pie,soft dom Santi

WC-2.7k

A/N- We’re finally getting to the smut. This is part 2 of Santi and readers confession. Please read part 1 if you haven’t already. I will attach a link below.

Not beta read

Part 1

***

You’re certain you’ve never been this hungover in your life. Your head has its own heartbeat and your mouth is dry as the Sahara. The only comfort you have at the moment is the silk sheets on your legs and the musk smell on the pillow. You don’t own silk sheets.

You pull the covers from over your head to brave the sunlight but soon realize it’s barely morning. You glance over at the nightstand and notice your phone and purse sitting neatly next to some water and what you can only assume is ibuprofen. 7:05 am, Okay just take the meds and drink some water.You can sleep for a few more hours and then try and figure out why you’re in Santi’s bed and not your own.

***

Santi lies on the couch staring at the ceiling fan as if it’s going to be the answer to all his problems.He knows he should probably try and get some sleep but how can he? You idiot,you told her you loved her in the most unromantic way possible.

Would you even remember? If you didn’t that would be fine, he could deal with staying best friends. He could not however deal with your rejection of his confession. How could he ruin this dynamic of your friendship? Was Frankie full of it when he said you had a crush on him? His mind is swimming with the thoughts of what if.

Santi grabs his phone not caring what time it is,he has to talk to someone. He sends a text and lays his phone face down on his chest.

I fucked up

He crosses his arms behind his head and refocuses his thoughts on the ceiling fan once again when a ping sounds from his phone.

Fish 🐈🐠: Its 2 am care to elaborate

I told her I love her

Santi watches the text bubble appear and disappear.

Incoming call Fish🐈🐠. Santi groans and answers his phone.

“I’m sorry pope I had to call you know I hate texting…so what did she say?”

“It’s fine hermaño.” Santi sighs on the other end. “I told her let’s talk about it in the morning, I didn’t want her to make a decision drunk.”

“Okay so what’s the issue? She told me she has strong feelings for you and she’s been waiting for you to ask her out for a while now.”

“Exactly, I didn’t ask her out. I made out with her and told her I loved her and she may not even remember.”

“Listen…if she doesn’t remember then just start fresh tomorrow and ask her on a date…if she does remember I say you take her lead. There’s no use freaking out now.

Santi thinks for a moment, there’s no reason not to trust Frankie and he knows he’s right.

“Thanks hermaño, I’ll try and get some sleep and let you know how it goes tomorrow.”

“You’re welcome and I think you mean today.”

End call

***

I love you

“If you want this with me…tell me in the morning.” He releases his grip around your waist and exits the room.

You sit upright in Santi’s bed and try to control your breathing. That wasn’t a dream, that actually happened. Your pounding headache has now been replaced by your pounding heart. What if he didn’t mean it? You know he had less to drink than you but not much.

You glance at your phone to see it’s now 9:30 am. Should you say something to him or let him take the lead? You can hear rustling in the kitchen and the smell of coffee and bacon. Okay so he’s awake. Just get dressed and go from there. You pull back the covers and begin the search for your clothes when something catches your eye. Your His Metallica shirt sits neatly folded on the edge of the bed. I thought he said it was dirty,did he wash it this morning?

It would be rude not to wear it when he obviously set it out for you. You change out of the army shirt and quickly replace it with the other. It’s soft and still a little warm, it smells uniquely of him and the cheap laundry detergent he insists on using. You reach for your jeans but decide to be bold and forgo them. He didn’t set out pants.

You step into the attached bathroom to freshen up and optimistically use his mouth wash. You glance at yourself in the mirror. You don’t look half bad for a hangover and it doesn’t matter anyways, it’s now or never.

As you make your way into the kitchen you notice Santi at the stove-fully dressed,his too tight blue jeans and dark gray tee stretched over his broad shoulders. You’re suddenly not feeling as confident. You begin to step out of the kitchen to retrieve pants but he senses your presence.

“Good morning cariño, how are you feeling?”shit

He’s still facing the stove so you make your way to the stools behind the kitchen island. “I’m feeling a lot better…thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always.”

He pours you a cup of coffee and puts cream and one sugar just how you like. He hands you the mug and your fingers brush his, causing your heart rate to spike. If you don’t tell him now, you never will.

He turns around and you stand from the stool moving slowly around the island. Before he can turn around you slide your arms around his waist to keep him in place.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” His voice is laced with concern as he begins to turn in your arms but you tighten your grip and bury your face between his shoulder blades.

“Just let me talk and then I’ll let you turn around.” Your voice is muffled in his shirt and his giggles reverberate through your body. His amusement at this is oddly calming. You raise your head slightly and take a deep breath.

“I love you too.”

His breath hitches slightly and his hands holding your arms squeeze you as he attempts to ground himself.

“I’ve wanted this with you for so long and I hope you meant what you said last night.” He slowly untangles your hands from his waist and kisses each palm.

“I meant every word.” He spins around and can’t help the smirk on his face as he finally notices your lack of pants. His fingertips brush the bottom of your shirt and slowly skate along your hips- he pauses just as he did last night and you panic briefly. You hope he’s not having second thoughts again.

He leans in close to your lips but not close enough to touch. “Can I have my shirt back?” He says with one eyebrow raised. You remove his hands from the shirt and raise it completely over your head discarding it somewhere to your right. His jaw goes slack at the sight of your naked body-you we’re feeling very confident and decided on wearing only the shirt.

He’s on you in a moment grabbing your waist with his calloused hands and pulling you flush against his chest. He kisses you like a man starved and you can feel his hard cock straining through his jeans.

“We should take this to the bedroom.” He pants out as you both try to catch your breath. You grab his hand and start to lead him down the hallway to his bedroom and his compliance makes you weak in the knees. You move as if you’ve done this dance before. He drops your hand briefly to begin discarding his clothes among the hallway. You hear the clang of his belt and the sound has the arousal building between your legs.

When you enter his room you sense a change from the night before. There’s no more apprehension.

“Lay back on the bed.” There’s no question in his tone anymore-only commands. You scoot back on the bed getting comfortable against the pillows. He slips out of his jeans and then removes his boxers. Your mouth waters at the sight of his thick cock already leaking precum. He crawls up the bed and lays down on his stomach, placing both your legs on his shoulder. You’re too turned on to feel self conscious as this gorgeous man smiles up at you from between your legs. He places a kiss on both thighs as he rubs soothing curl legs on your hips.

“I’m going to take my time okay?” Before you have the chance to decide if you should answer he silences you with a long slow drag of his tongue along your slit. You let out a whimper and he laughs. Did he just laugh?

“You’re going to make this too easy cariño.” Is he teasing you now? You don’t have time to think as he circles your clit with his tongue and your whimpers have turned to moans. He grips your thighs and pushes his tongue into your entrance and you can’t help but buck your hips at the sensation. He gently eases your hips back down with his left hand and slowly brings his right to your wet folds. He slowly eases in one finger and you bite your lip to suppress your moans.

“Look at me.” You don’t remember closing your eyes but you blink at him. “I want to hear all those pretty little sounds that I’ve dreamed about.”

He adds a second finger as he finds that bundle of nerves and begins to fuck you slowly.

“Oh fuck…Santi.” Your chest heaves and you can feel your slick dripping down to the sheets below.

He begins rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb and your first orgasm slams into you, you’ve gone into subspace not aware of the tears streaming down your face or the cry of his name over and over.

“Shh… it’s okay I’ve got you.” He begins trailing kisses up your body as you try and ride out your high. He hovers above you and stares down at you with your slick coating his chin. You cup his face and pull him flush with your body as your lips move against his in a slow passionate kiss. The intimacy is too much and not enough at the same time.

You reach your hand between your bodies and begin to stroke his hard cock pressed against your abdomen. He drops his head to your shoulder and groans, tightening his grip on your waist. He’s panting and rutting into your hand as precum coats your abdomen. You bite down on his earlobe and drag your teeth down his pulse point and he lets out a choked sound.

“Wait..wait.” He pants out. You halt your movements and you feel him pulsing in your hand. “I need to feel you, I don’t want to come like this.”

“Santi, look at me.” He raises his head from your shoulder, his sweat soaked curls on his forehead and pupils blown wide with lust. “Fuck me please.”

He opens his mouth in a slight oh when you begin to rub his head along your slick soaked folds. His eyes are still on you when he slowly pushes in just the tip and drags it back out. Your eyes begin to roll as he mutters curses under his breath. He rocks his hips over and over until he’s seated at the hilt.

You’ve never felt so full and safe at the same time. You tighten your legs around his waist and wrap your arms around his neck. “Santi please move.”

He wraps his arms under your back and grips your shoulders as he sets a bruising pace. The sounds of your moans fill the room as he hits a spot deep inside. He can feel your pussy flutter around his cock as he snaps his hips into you.

“Tell me how it feels.” He rasps into your ear not slowing his pace.

“It…fuck…it feels so good.” You punctuate each word with his thrusts unable to form a thought.

“I knew you’d be a good girl for me.” You clench down on the praise and he lets out a growl in your ear. He raises up to look down at your slick building at the base of his cock as he stretches you on his girth. He pushes your legs into your chest with his hands on the back of your knees as he churns his hips forward.His pace slows as he places his thumb on your clit rubbing quick circles causing your back to arch off the bed.

“Santi…please.” Your begging has him on the edge, your pleas and whimpers are music to his ears.

“I know baby, I’m right here.” He leans close as his thrusts grow shallow. “I’m close…where can I?”

“Come inside me please.” You're begging again and he definitely won’t make it.

“Be a good girl and come with me.” He kisses you slowly as he swallows your cries. You clench down on him as your climax washes over you in waves. He bites down on your lip and comes with a strangled sound shooting hot white ropes of cum into your quivering channel.

He collapses into you trying to brace some of his weight but you pull him down flush with your chest. The heaviness of his body grounding you.

“Fuck…that was.”

“Amazing.” You both pant in unison.

He pulls out of you with a hiss and you can feel your combined slick dripping out of you. “I’ll be right back cariño.” He stands and enters the attached bathroom and you hear the water running. He returns with a warm washcloth to clean you up. You would feel vulnerable at this moment if it wasn’t Santiago Garcia, the man you’ve been in love with for years.

He throws the cloth near his hamper not caring if he missed, and climbs into bed behind you pulling your back into his chest. The feeling is so domestic it makes you want to cry.

“I was supposed to ask you on a date first” He mutters into your hair. You can't help the giggles that erupt into laughter. He breathes a sigh of relief, he would give anything to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

“I know this is out of order but can I take you on a date tonight?” The tone in his voice suggests that he’s afraid you might say no.

“I would love to, although you’ll need to take me home at some point to get some proper clothes.” He pulls you onto his chest in one motion causing you to yelp.

“No…I think I’ll make you wear that Metallica shirt you love so much.” You slap his chest playfully and he grabs your ass pulling you down on his growing bulge. He kisses you deep and nips your bottom lip as you pull away slowly.

“We need to get out of bed before we end up here all day.” Before he can protest his phone pings from the floor in his jeans.

“Let’s try and have breakfast and then maybe we can finish this conversation.” You say as you slide off him. He grabs your hand before you’re off the bed.

“I love you.” The words would knock you off your feet if you weren’t sitting. You kiss his palm and place it on the bed. “I love you too.”

The shirt you want to wear is in the kitchen so you sway your hips as you leave for dramatic effect suddenly feeling at home in this space.

Santi lays there for a moment in a trance not having felt this happy in a long time. His phone pings again and he swears this better be an emergency.

🐈🐠:Congratulations

🐈🐠: Sounds like things went well 😚

🐈🐠: Your big ass but dialed me at some point.

What did you hear?

🐈🐠: Not much,just an I love you too

Santi releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

🐈🐠: 🍆💦 Have fun today

Oh sure you didn’t hear much

I thought you didn’t know how to use emojis?

🐈🐠: Benny taught me 😋

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

Tagging a few people who commented or reblogged part 1

@simpforbritgents @sunakochansama43 @brekkershadowsinger @thewatcher98

@itspdameronthings @amysuemc @djarinsimp @kingtwhiddleston

#triple frontier x fem reader #santiago x reader #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia smut #Santiago Garcia x Francisco morales #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #santiago pope garcia x you #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier x reader

294 notes · View notes

softlyspector · 2 years

Text

Then and Now

Summary: The boys want a second pass at that fucking money. They need your help. The only problem is that you and Santiago aren't talking, not anymore, not since everything went so sideways.

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Reader

Word Count: ~15.5k

Warnings: angst, pining, canon level violence, lots and lots of cursing, PTSD and assorted metal health issues, smut (p in v), best friend Benny Miller (yeah it needs a warning), reader has a nickname (Blue) in the same way the others do (Pope, Fish, etc.) sparingly used

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please forgive anything that is militarily inaccurate/inaccurate to the ravine location, I changed some things to fit the story better. I am so very aware I'm basically writing in what is probably a dead fandom for a meh movie. That doesn't matter to me, what matters is all that Oscar Isaac ass and the fact that this is genuinely my favorite movie at the moment. That, and when @velvetofyourheart asks for something, I can't really say no.

Tanya, thank you so much for your wonderful idea and always encouraging my aquarius god-complex. This is your fic, you own it. This is your Santi, never let anyone tell you any differently. I love you. Happy very belated birthday.

Now

Fog is still rolling over your front yard when Benny Miller’s familiar jeep swings into your driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

You sit down your cup of coffee, the many rings lining your fingers clinking against the ceramic, and huff out a breath at his audacity, showing up at your place so early in the day.

The morning is muggy but cool, condensation beading along the porch railing where your feet are propped up, booted feet crossed at the ankle.

The jeep’s headlights go out and the driver’s side door pops open. Benny smiles at you when he climbs out, giving you a big, exaggerated wave before he lopes over, all sweetheart golden retriever energy.

Benny is big feelings and big gestures in a body that would never be enough to trap it all inside, that could never cage all that wild energy.

“Well, fuck,” you say when he climbs the porch stairs. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

You haven’t seen him in a couple weeks.

Benny, who you used to see daily.

But not anymore, not since he came home beat to hell and looking like a lost dog. Not since he told you everything that happened in Colombia.

Not since he told you how Tom died, how everything they did was so fucked.

Wouldn’ta happened if you were there. You keep our heads on straight. He had told you that day, crying like you were kids again on your back deck in the setting sun.

Benny laughs and leans against the banister, a brown folder held in one hand. You eye the folder as you flick open the pack of cigarettes in your lap, knocking out a smoke and lighter. “Whatever it is,” you nod at his hand, “The answer is no.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” Ben says innocently. “And you know they say those things will kill you.”

“Fuck you, Miller, this is my one indulgence,” you say amicably as you light up, blowing smoke away from him.

Coffee and a cigarette on your front porch each morning before work, before driving half an hour into town to serve bitchy local teens still half coked out of their minds from the night before and surly truck drivers just passing through town - that was your indulgence, that was all you could allow yourself, all you could afford most days.

Benny reaches up to pull off his ball cap, runs a hand through his hair and replaces the hat backwards, before he sighs. “We’re going back for that money. We need you there. Can’t do it without you, obviously. First time you aren’t with us and everything goes to hell.”

You scoff, taking a long drag on your cigarette, holding in the nicotine for a long moment before you exhale through your nose, “You’ve gotta be kidding, Benny.”

“Not a chance,” Benny says, weirdly serious, “Not with this. Someone else is gonna find it and then what?”

“Suppose it goes to the next drug lord in line,” you raise a brow at him. “Y’all are really going back for that money? That got Tom killed? Didn’t you fuck it up enough already? Leave it lie, it's cursed.”

Benny winces and straightens, moving to drop heavily onto the wooden porch swing hanging from the ceiling. It creaks beneath him as he leans back and sighs, sounding more exhausted than you’ve ever known him to be.

“Redfly wouldn’t want that money falling into the wrong hands.”

“Yeah he’d want it in his hands,” you snap, feeling only slightly guilty about talking ill of the dead. “Or did you forget what happened down there?”

Benny doesn’t say anything for a moment, cornflower blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, he won’t be there this time.”

“So why go back? Pope’s greed eating at him again? You know you guys don’t have to do everything he says.” When Benny doesn’t say anything, you glance over at him, watch the way he sighs lightly and the circles beneath his eyes seem to deepen in real time. “Hey, I’m sorry, Ben. That was cruel of me.”

You stub out your near finished cigarette and grab your cup of coffee, crossing the porch to slide down next to him and knock your cup into his leg. “You look like you could use this.”

He takes the mug from you, drawing a long swig of coffee before he hands it back to you.

He eyes your hands, taps one finger against yours. “You still wear Santi’s ring.”

Santi’s ring.

It wasn’t an engagement ring, no, you’d have to be in a relationship for that to have happened. He’d picked it up at a flea market somewhere, polished it up himself and presented it to you like it meant nothing.

I know how much you like rings, he had said simply, nodding at the many rings that lined your fingers.

You never take it off.

You sigh and lean back, your shoulder brushing Ben’s as you both stare up at the cobwebbed ceiling. “Just because he hates me, doesn’t mean I feel the same way about him.”

He doesn’t comment on that and the silence stretches between you for a long time.

Ben eventually says your name and you roll your head toward him to meet his eyes. You can tell he’s thinking exactly the same thing you are - that you both look exhausted. You’ve known Benny since forever and reading him is like looking at a jumbotron at a Marlins game - so fucking obvious it was painful sometimes.

“You really wanna keep doing this forever? Stay in this shithole town and do nothing? Serve the fuck ups at that diner?” Benny pumps you, poking your sore spots. He knows you hate being trapped, hates the stupid town you live in. “Treated like shit? Making no money? No thanks for the sacrifices you made?”

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Pope. Save it, Ben.”

“Maybe he’s right about some things. Listen, we paid our dues to Tom’s family. We went through hell and everything is still the fucking same. Maybe we deserve that money.” When you don’t respond immediately, he continues, “Think about it. Hard part is already done. Money’s already stolen, we just gotta go pick it up.”

“Actually got a plan this time though?” You ask, knocking your knee into Ben’s. “Shit went so sideways last time.”

He looks away from you, bangs a fist against his thigh and stands, pacing around your porch as you watch, the Florida heat finally starting to creep in for the day. “It’s gotta be easy. In and out.”

“Aren’t Lorea’s men still in the area? Or whoever’s running the place now? Didn’t half the fucking town see your faces?”

“Who says we need to go into that town at all?”

“Ah. So there is no plan.”

“There is,” he nods at the folder he’d left on the swing next to you. “Santiago’s got something started.”

Santi.

An image flashes through your mind, of him standing on this very same porch, the roar of thunder and rain in your ears as a midnight storm passed through, the din of it so loud as Santiago stood there and hollered at you.

“You really won’t do this with us?” His voice had been harsh, a lingering accusation on his tongue. “When one of us bleeds out and you aren’t there, that’s going to be on you.”

You had recoiled, felt that sting like a slap. “Fuck you, Pope.” And you saw him flinch at the use of that name. You never called him that, you always called him by his true name. “Don’t blame your greed on me. Don’t pretend this is about anything else than that money. Lorea is a sideshow at best to you.”

“And don’t you fucking pretend like this life is enough for you! Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t do anything to get out of this fucking town!”

His hair had been damp, sticking to his forehead, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I already did, Santiago. We’ve all been to hell and back already.” You had shaken your head, “And this is my line. I’m not fucking up those communities anymore than they already are.”

Santi’s face hadn’t changed, but his eyes had burned hotter, scorching into you. You’d touched a nerve and you knew it. “You’re a coward. I’m not even asking you to take fire. Not like before. Something happens to one of us, don’t bother coming to the fucking funeral. You’re leaving us a man down and without med support.”

“So that’s all you want me to do, huh? Come with you and play nurse? Fuck off, I’m the best shot of any of you.”

“Yeah and shit at everything else. There’s a reason we stuck you out as the sniper. Keeps you away from anything important. But now you’re leaving us without cover.”

And that, that fucking stung, you’d recoiled from him and said quietly. “Fine. I was useless all those years. My answer is still no.”

And without another glance at you, he’d walked off your porch and out of your life.

Only when Benny showed up after Tom was already in the grave did you find out what happened.

Now, you shake your head and glance at the folder, you can see the edges of a few documents poking out. “Did he send you?”

“No. No one knows I’m here. Except Will.” Of course, anything Benny knew, Benny had already shared three times over with his older brother.

“I think you’ve forgotten, Ben. Pope hates me. It’s all my fault shit went sideways for y’all.” You swallow, “According to him anyways. I left you without cover.”

It’s what you know Santi would say to you, if he’d talk to you again.

“You know he didn’t mean any of that shit. He was just pissed he wasn’t getting his way,” Benny says, still pacing the porch, floorboards creaking with every long stride. “He was just pissed he couldn’t get all of Delta back together. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

But as much as you miss Tom, as much as you had mourned him, you can’t help thinking about how much worse it would have been if it had been Benny or Will.

Or Santi.

Fuck, Santiago could have died, and that would have been on you.

A member of your family had died and you hadn’t been there, you hadn’t even been allowed to mourn.

You roll your eyes now and pick up the folder, sliding the edge of your nail beneath the thick cardstock.

But the pain in your heart lingers as you think about the anger in Santi’s eyes that day. The knowledge now that your absence might have caused a rift in the team, that Tom’s reckless play for more money than any of them could handle and Will’s wounded side slowing them down might be your fault for throwing off team dynamics.

“I get why you couldn’t do it then. But now? No one has to get hurt now. Someone worse finds that money, then what happens?”

You’d grown up with the Millers, met Santiago when you went with Benny into the army and eventually got recruited to Delta.

It had been the only way to make it out of your small town, with no money for college and no scholarship opportunities despite your grades, you’d felt it was your only chance. And going with Benny to the recruitment center to follow Will, who’d left a few years before, hadn’t seemed so bad.

You had stuck by Benny and to your surprise, or maybe to no one’s surprise, both of you were good at it. Good at shooting and killing and clawing bloody tracks into the ground beneath your feet. Good at ruining and destroying, good at being disciplined and regimented and hard. Good at following orders and being better than everyone else.

You and Benny were to become the babies of Delta Force, the younger pair that always seemed to lag a bit behind the other four more mature and experienced guys. If it weren’t for Will, you might not have been placed in the same unit. But Will had been adamant about recommending both of you, about placing both of you with Delta.

And the superiors had gotten tired of fighting with him.

Benny and Will were the brothers you never had, the family you always wanted.

Santiago and Frankie and Tom only pulled you in tighter, only made you cling on harder, gave you something solid to hang onto.

Santiago. God, Santiago.

You wanted him the moment you saw him, with that curling hair that grayed as the years wore on, with those crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled that deepened every year, with the way that he stared at you like you held the secrets of the universe, with a gaze so feverish and consuming it was hard not to be pulled into his orbit, right to the center of his world.

Santiago pulled a little too hard, loved a little bit too intensely. You’d known the second he showed up at your place that stormy night that whatever he had to say to you was about to break you, that he was about to rip the thread that he had wound around his fingers since the second you met him right out of your heart.

Something about Santi was so magnetic, so intense, you couldn’t look away, pull away, if you wanted.

He annoyed you to no end, shielded you from nothing despite your awards and metals for excellency in the field, despite your being on a fucking special ops team, and one of the only women to do so no less. He and Tom had taken one look at your record the day you were reassigned to them, and advocated for your shooting skills, that you worked best at a distance, and had taken you under his wing.

You wanted to slap him and you loved him and he was so complicated that you wanted to cry just thinking about it.

Santiago was also lonely, lonely in the same way you were.

You could be in a room full of people, surrounded by those you loved, and still feel separate, apart, alone.

Santi was the same - and so you drifted together.

You were something undefined for years and maybe that was the problem.

There was a tension neither of you dared address when you were in the service together, not when things were so terribly dangerous at all times, not when feelings could get everyone killed, could have the team that was like a family pulled apart by superiors.

When your time was up and as your honorable discharge along with the rest of Delta approached, things got more real, too real. Santiago was always there at your periphery, like a wraith you couldn’t ignore.

He was the nucleus of your world, the center of your universe, and you wanted to hate him for it.

“You and Miller gonna shack up after all this, hermosa?” He’d asked one of those last few nights together, at a base canteen.

You’d looked up from the beer you were nursing. “Which one?” You tried to joke, but it didn’t land, and the tension between you thickened until you felt you might choke on it.

You had never wanted to kiss someone so bad, Santi tilting his head toward yours until he was all you could see, everything else blotted out, until the smell of his aftershave threatened to drown you or resurrect you.

“C’mon Blue. Ben seems keen on it,” he notes.

“Benny’s got more than he can handle as it is.”

You don’t know why you hadn’t just denied it, you knew there was something between you and Santiago, that he bred feelings in you that you didn’t know what to do with. But it felt too close to the truth, like something too close to your heart. So you didn’t correct yourself, and gave a hollow laugh, like it was all a joke.

It was only when you got home and things got restless and bad that it happened. Will attacked some guy in a grocery store, you had to bail Benny out of jail for bar fights twice. Frankie and Tom disappeared into their families.

And Santi…when you called, he came.

He came and he held you while you cried and wondered where everything had gone wrong. You’d escaped the town, gone farther and faster than you ever thought you would, and yet here you were back again, with a broken heart and a broken soul, and friends and brothers you couldn’t help, a listlessness settling between your bones that you didn’t know how to name.

You were still so young, and had seen and done so much, and had nothing to show for it. You had seen and done things you could never come back from.

And then, you were back in the same town, with the same people, and no prospects.

You’d had half a mind to join Benny in his bar fights, just to feel something, just to make the ache inside your bones go away. But then Will would have had to bail you both out and neither of you wanted that.

The loss of your routine, your regimented military life, sent you and the Millers spiraling for a while.

But you and Benny tended to follow Will, and when he pulled his head out of his ass, so did the two of you - group counseling, hobbies, jobs, - things that gave you meaning and routine, that kept you from spiraling into the worst kind of crisis.

Compartmentalizing became key.

But you never really figured out how to compartmentalize Santi, never knew where to slot him in your mind.

He’d been there for you, the violence and reintegration into civilian life hadn’t seemed to phase him, and maybe that was because he’d never returned to it - working with independent contractors and security services abroad, right back into the fray.

He came and went, but he always came back to you.

When you called, he came.

He had come with groceries or take out, stayed with you for a weekend. He’d refuse to let you back away from the violent feelings inside you, fucking them right out of you sometimes, letting you use him or him use you, depending on the mood.

You were something close to a relationship, but not quite.

Things got better with Santi around, with doing group therapy at the VA, your job at the diner, and taking up boxing as a hobby. Poker nights started up, bar nights, going to Benny’s fights together when he started MMA.

And when Santi was in town - even better.

You watch Benny pace around your porch now, and flip open the file. “I’ll take a look, Benny,” you say gently. “You’re gonna wear a hole through my floor.”

You couldn’t lose all of that, you can’t let your family do something so stupid without you again.

“Think about it, sweetheart,” he says, suddenly dropping next to you on the swing again, causing it to jolt and rattle your teeth. “You could do something so good with that money. Someone else finds it first, it's just gonna have more blood spilled on it.”

You laugh, “Fuck you, Benny.”

“And be set for fuckin’ life,” he says. “C’mon, what’s not to like?”

“Pope won’t like it.”

“Fuck Pope. He’ll get over it. We all miss you.”

You miss them too, and you can’t let them go alone again.

Then

The third time you break down after you’re stateside, you call Santi, because he’s your life line, your hook into reality, your tether to the Earth.

Santi always comes when you call, he always knows exactly what you need.

The first two times you called, he came with takeout, with a movie, and sat with you on your couch for two days straight because you had so much fear built up inside you, you couldn’t move.

Going into the military wasn’t the hard part, you found, it was coming home.

The third time, he finds you in the bedroom of the apartment you rented as soon as you were back in town.

“Hey,” he crouches down across from your place on the floor, curled between your nightstand and the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I can do this, Santi,” you mutter, feeling like your lungs are collapsing, like you can’t breathe. “Fuck, I don’t think I can. Everything - God, it's so loud, but it's too quiet. Everyone is just going around like everything is fucking normal - like - like - ”

Like you hadn’t killed and bled and fought and cursed and -

Santi nods, “I remember my first time on leave was like that. Just sat in my fucking bedroom for two weeks straight because I didn’t know how to be anymore.”

Your frantic eyes seek his out, his intense gaze that was heavy enough to feel like a weighted blanket against you, soothing the ache inside you a little, before he holds his arms out to you.

You crawl across the carpet to fit yourself into his lap when he falls to his ass with a groan. You breathe hard and fast, his scent like catnip to you, fingers tangling hard into his shirt.

“Thought you were gonna hole up with Ben.”

“Fuck you, Santiago. You know Ben is like my brother,” you grit out, pulling so hard on his shirt that you think it might rip in your fingers. You tuck your head under his chin, feel the slow slide of his touch up your side, listen to the steady beat of his heart.

His touch is warm, it grounds you, makes you feel so very safe.

His comment about Benny reminds you of something, of something you should have told him that night weeks ago at the canteen.

“Maybe I shouldn’t say it now, but Santi I -,”

Before you can continue, he presses a finger under your chin, to tip your head up. He doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, just stares at you - just pins you down with that unwavering stare, brown eyes like chips of amber.

“I know,” he says simply, so gentle and cocksure as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “I know, hermosa. Me too.”

You suck in a breath but whatever you’re about to say, dies on your lips. Santiago presses a hand to the back of your neck, holds you firm and doesn’t let you look away, his eyes flicking down your face. “Tell me you want me, baby. I’ll give it to you. Help you shut out the world.”

You’re so drunk on his gaze, at the way he holds you hard and soft and tight and fucking perfect - that you don’t hesitate when you say, “Please, Santi, I want you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears you.

One strong hand cups beneath your chin, fingers tight against your skin as Santiago kisses you for the first time.

It’s not a gentle kiss.

It’s like breathing in smoke, like choking down hot coal, but you revel in the pain, you take pleasure in the way he fights to consume you, in the way his strong jaw juts forward in a harsh pass of his lips against yours.

He’s rough with you, that first time, because he knows it's what you need, that you can handle it, that you’ve had worse.

But you’ve never had better, will never have better again.

Santiago kisses you like a man possessed, he bites you, he tears his fingers into your flesh, down into the marrow of your bones. He pushes you down into the carpet and doesn’t waste time with helping you out of your clothes.

He shoves his hand down the front of your cotton shorts without preamble, his fingers expert in seeking out your wet heat. His mouth stays on yours as you tug at his hair, pull and pull until he hisses and shoves a finger inside you.

You forget about the world, about how you don’t recognize your town and recognize it all too well - how the ordered madness you were used to sustaining you was gone.

The pain you feel is subsumed by Santiago’s heavy presence, the way he pulls back from you but hardly lets you breathe - his fingers in your mouth, the taste of yourself in your mouth, his hand insistent on the back of your neck.

You claw at his back, raking your nails over him as he licks into your mouth, holding your head still with a hand on your neck, beneath your jaw. He pinches your nipple through your shirt so hard it stings but all you can do is arch up into him.

Santi pulls back from you, a whine you can’t control rattling out of your throat.

“Fuuuck,” he groans into your skin, “Fuck. Fuck.”

He pulls back and yanks on your shorts, “Off.”

You scramble to remove your hands from him, to push your shorts down your legs until they get caught up on your ankles.

Santi doesn’t bother with undressing, just yanks down the zipper of his jeans until he can free himself. He sits back with a groan, knees protesting, so he can yank your shorts off your ankles before he slots himself back over you, his dick slipping against you.

The heat of him clears your mind, the anxiety and the thoughts you couldn’t stop from consuming you before, washing away until your mind is pleasantly empty, a blank white space that only Santiago can fill.

The town doesn’t exist, the past doesn’t exist, none of the things you’d done exists, you are purified, you are only the tips of your toes and the edges of your fingers, one long nerve ending.

His mouth is back on yours and you curl your hands back into his hair again, groaning into his mouth when he roughly yanks up the hem of your shirt to your armpits, large calloused hand palming your tits roughly, his mouth skating down your throat to your chest, until he can pull one stiff nipple between his teeth and tug.

You can only moan, fisting your hand into his hair to jerk his lips back to yours.

“Santi,” you murmur against his mouth. “Santi.”

“That’s it, hermosa. Say my name,” he breathes into your skin as he notches his cock at your entrance. “Say my name,” he demands when you don’t immediately answer.

“Santiago,” you whimper, pathetically needy, the air punched out of your lungs when his hips snap forward. He’s fully seated within you in one hard push, your thighs burning, the stretch of him so painful you cry out. “Don’t,” you hold onto his arms, force him to stay where he is when he starts to pull back. “Fuck, don’t, feels so good.”

Santiago doesn’t need anymore encouragement, hips drawing back just far enough to slam into you again, pushing you up the carpet.

He sets a brutal pace, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, the burn easing and the pleasure settling in.

Santiago whispers to you in Spanish and even though you speak the language well enough, you can’t make yourself understand what he’s saying.

The heat builds inside you until you feel like you might scream, until you feel like your body might give out on you.

But Santi always knows what you need, always knows you.

And so he slows the pace of his hips, dips his mouth to your neck and presses a finger through your folds, tracing circles around your clit until you come with an earth shattering force.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering against the sweat slick skin of your throat, the only thing real in the whole world to you in that moment him. “Look at you, fucking soaked my cock, baby. So perfect.” And then he’s whispering in Spanish again, something about so fucking perfect, all mine. You’re fucking mine.

You don’t let Santiago pull away from you, the hot weight of him against you drowning out every horrifying thought in your head. You feel him seeping out of you, feel the grip of his fingers against the fleshy part of your hip, tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck.

He doesn’t move, doesn't try to, and stays buried inside you. Santiago whispers sweet as sugar words right into your hairline until he’s hard again, and then he fucks you so softly - you’re sure its what love should feel like.

And so, for a while after you come home, that’s all your life is, fighting and fucking and hating the world for chewing you up and spitting you out, and not being strong enough to fucking take it.

The fucking is by far the best part.

You feel best when Santiago is with you, when his cock is buried so deep inside you it’s the only thing you can think about - when you’re cockdumb and sex drunk.

That’s when things feel normal again.

That’s when your brain finally shuts the fuck up.

But then Will pulls it together, starts getting real help, and inevitably you and Benny follow suit.

It doesn’t stop you and Santi from fucking like rabbits, but it makes it softer, it lets you round out the edges of your heart against his.

The thing between you stays undefined, but it comes somewhere close to ownership. Santi is yours and you are his, though it’s never said out loud.

He dances with you around your kitchen, spars with you in your backyard when you put a down payment on your house, cooks you breakfast, and asks for input on his consulting jobs.

Santi tries to get you to come with him, back to those places you’d left behind, back to the fight, back to the guns and blood and drugs.

But you can’t do it, at least not yet.

For a moment in time, you are content, content with that small town, your little job.

Will starts giving speeches to recruits, Benny starts MMA, Frankie gets married, Tom spends more time with his daughter.

You and Santiago - your worlds revolve around each other, when he’s in town and when he isn’t, how quickly he can drive from the airport to your house, how he catches you in the front yard in his arms and spins you around.

Sometimes, you don’t even make it inside.

You have no neighbors for several miles, and the front porch steps were a good a place as any to fuck.

Unfortunately that’s the same day that Will decides to swing by with your new boxing gloves you’d asked him to get you. Will gets a full view of Santi’s ass, but he never pulls out, never stops fucking you.

“He’s seen worse,” he laughs into your ear, nipping at your skin as heat pools embarrassment around your bones, the man who was like your brother doing a one-eighty to hightail it back down the road. “Don’t worry about him, cariño.”

It’s then as he laughs and kisses you, kisses away the annoyed groan, that you realize that you love him, really love him.

And that you’d probably never love anyone else.

Now

“Hey, there she is!” You hear Will announce as soon as you slam the door of your truck shut, parked against the curb outside Santi’s place.

“Hey Blue,” Frankie calls when you approach the group sitting around a picnic table, a canopy of emerald green shielding them from the sun and prying eyes. A cooler of beer popped open, burgers on the grill.

You smile and accept the hug Frankie offers you, moving quickly to Will and then Benny, despite seeing the Millers often enough, now that you and Ben were back to seeing each other daily.

Santi can’t even be bothered enough to turn from the grill. He says nothing and a fissure of pain cracks open your chest, your heart bleeding all over again, just like that.

“How’re you Frankie? How’s the baby?” You slide into the open space next to him on the bench, accepting the beer he reaches down into the cooler at his side to hand you.

Will automatically starts constructing a burger for you, disregarding the onions and adding extra pickles and an extra slice of cheese, without you having to ask.

It makes your heart hurt to be with them. These were the people you’d been through so much with, who knew so many little things about you.

No onions, extra pickles, extra cheese.

You feel the absence of Tom suddenly, like a hole in the middle of your little family.

Santi’s disregard does nothing to help the feeling.

“Good,” Frankie says. “They’re okay.”

“That’s great-,”

“So,” Benny interrupts, ever tackless, “We gonna talk about this thing or not?”

“Jesus, Ben,” Will says. “Let her settle in.”

Benny raises his brows and looks at you, “You settled?”

“I’m good,” you nod, “Always.”

“There ya go, girl’s all settled up. Let’s talk.”

Santiago joins you at the table then, plate of freshly grilled burgers deposited in the center of the table.

Will passes you the burger he’d assembled for you.

Silence descends, awkward and piercing for a long moment as you look around at them. Pope holds your gaze when you meet his eyes, and for the first time in years, you can’t read the look in them.

You glance away, back at Frankie who you haven’t seen since forever and Will who you infrequently saw these days. “I missed y’all,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

The heckling that immediately follows breaks the ice surrounding the group of you, Frankie cooing sarcastically at you as Will laughs and Benny breaks open a bag of chips that you know he won’t share with anyone else.

“Fuck you guys,” you say without venom.

“We missed you too, kid,” Will says, Frankie throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, sister,” Frankie intones, “When are you finally gonna come meet my kid?”

You take a sip of your beer, “As soon as you invite me, Fish.”

“So you take invitations now?” Santiago’s voice cuts through the chatter, his eyes are still glued to your face when you look back at him, the coolness in his voice matching the ice in his eyes.

Something in your chest crumbles and you can’t make yourself keep his gaze this time.

You glance away.

“Pope,” Will warns, a threat lurking in his voice. “You wanna start us off?”

Santiago finally looks away from you, his jaw clenching, before he rattles off the strategy he’d devised - a one day plot to get the money.

You sit and listen without looking at him, thinking of all the ways this plan can go sideways. Again.

Thinking of all the ways you could lose another one of your boys, how the group might not survive losing another member.

You hear the others take up threads, concerns - namely how you would get the money out of the ravine, how it could be transported without notice to the beach. They would hire the same boat as the last time, to transport the money off the coast and out of the country, to the same bank setting up the off-shore shell accounts.

“Can you approach the ravine from any other way than through that town?” You ask.

“Not unless we’re goin’ over the fuckin’ Andes again,” Benny answers you. “And I’m out if that’s the plan.”

“No,” Santi confirms, “Through the town is the only way.”

You consider quietly, biting into your burger as Will details the town’s layout, where you could expect areas that would probably cause issues for you.

“And weapons?” You inquire. “We need to be armed.”

“There’s a shipping freight -,” Santi offers.

“Oh, fuck, you’re not seriously considering arms trafficking on top of everything else, are you? That’s so fucking tracable.”

“You got a problem you can fucking go,” Santi bites back at you. “We don’t have the benefit of time to go scrambling for arms sourced in-country.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and consider for a moment wondering if you should offer or if Pope would just bite your head off again. “No,” you say quietly. “I think I might be able to help there. Contact that might be able to make a drop for us. Something locally sourced.”

Will is nodding, smiles at you, “So no arms trafficking. That’s something.”

Santi reluctantly nods, shoulders loosening.

You might be at odds at the moment, but he does trust you with things like this, knows you would never suggest something that might put the team at a real risk. “I’ll reach out and let you know when it's confirmed.”

Pope saws a hand over his chin and nods, and you recognize that gleam in his eyes, that intensity that said he was starting to believe in this plan, he was starting to see the fruits of this labor.

It's akin to the way he used to look at you, when he would make promises to you that he eventually broke.

The rest of the conversation passes you by, rappelling gear and fuel and rations and passports and how to move the money once it was out of the ravine - but you can’t stop looking at Santi.

He’s always been beautiful, since you first met him all those years ago, when you and Benny had just passed the ASVAB and were then recommended to join Delta by Will.

Anything to keep the siblings together.

He’d been beautiful then with wild dark curls and brown skin darkened by sun exposure, solid and sure and steady.

But now, with the pepper of gray in his hair and the darkness in his eyes, the kindness that he showed every stranger, the slightly startled way he always laughed, his creaky knees - well, he’d only gotten more beautiful.

Age suited him well.

The conversation closes - with you assigned to the arms issue and Will sorting out local transport, if the money was even possible to retrieve.

Benny pokes you in the side as he helps Frankie ball up the used paper plates and gather empty beer bottles, and tilts his head toward where Santi stands fiddling with the grill.

You roll your eyes and shove him back but take the hint and stand.

Santi doesn’t turn when you stop next to him, watching as he meticulously cleans the grill.

“We gonna hate each other forever?” You ask, stepping close to him, his shoulders going stiff beneath his t-shirt.

“I don’t hate you,” he mutters, glancing up but not quite meeting your eyes as he drops the scrub brush in his hand, folding his arms over his chest.

“No? Sure seems like it,” you muse. “Didn’t even invite me to Redfly’s funeral.”

Santi says your name, a sigh that makes your stomach curdle. “We didn’t want you implicated. Everything had went so fuckin’ bad and you knew way more than I should have told you.”

You nod, like it makes you feel any better. “Yeah, I get it.” You almost don’t ask, but you can’t help the question that slips out, “And after that? Why didn’t you come home after that?”

Santiago finally looks at you, his intense gaze locking onto yours and you freeze, pinned down by that heaviness, that stare that is so soft and piercing. The ice in his eyes has curiously melted down into a warm brown, his brows tugging together. “I’d done enough damage.”

And he leaves it at that.

Santiago always comes when you call, and you call him for the first time since he left your porch that last night before things went to hell.

Benny’s already at your place, parked on the couch in front of the TV with a beer in his hand and a bag of cheetos spilling onto the worn fabric.

“Hey Benny boy,” you hear Santiago say when he comes in the back door. “Our girl around?”

Our girl - something all the guys used to teasingly say, something that had annoyed you to no end because you just wanted to be, be a part of the team and the family. It was only after a year being with Delta that you’d realized that was exactly what it meant. That you belonged.

“Blue’s in the kitchen,” you hear Benny say through a mouthful of what you’re sure is toxic orange cheeto dust drifting down onto your couch.

Santi laughs and his footsteps sound on the linoleum, tracking closer to you. “Hey,” he says. “Benny’s fucking up your couch.”

“Yeah nothing new there,” you say, turning from the counter where you’ve just finished rolling out premade pizza dough onto a tray. “It’s a Friday tradition at this point. Beer and fucking up the couch with crumbs.”

Santi stands in the doorway, gazing around with a stricken expression for a moment, and you wonder if it's jarring for him - to be back in this house with you, after spending so much time in it and then leaving it abruptly behind.

You’d quit each other cold turkey, and the separation had not been easy for you. Especially not when traces of Pope lived all through the house, not when he’d fucked you in every room, made you laugh in every room, carried you from the couch to bed, cooked meals together, danced together.

But when Santi meets your eyes, his gaze goes intense, assessing, like he’ll never know everything about you. But sometimes, like now, that ferociousness also feels like it's concealing something, hiding something.

“You had an update?” He prompts, leaning against the door jam with his arms crossed, ball cap shading his eyes as he scuffs a booted toe against the floor.

“Yeah, thought I probably shouldn’t be sharing over the phone,” you wipe your hands on a dishtowel and try not to feel his gaze lingering on you from beneath the bill of his hat. You turn to the fridge and dig out the pizza sauce you’d made earlier in the week with the tomatoes that Santi had once planted in your backyard, various cheeses, and the toppings Benny had brought over.

He had a bizarre palate that you didn’t try to understand - so one side would be Benny and the other just cheese.

“My contact got back to me. He can make the drop. But only to me,” you hip check the silverware drawer closed after grabbing a spoon and turn back to the pizza, spooning sauce onto the dough.

“I’m thinking this,” you continue, “I go into the town alone, do the weapons pick-up, get the transport Will is arranging, meet y’all down the coast and we go around and up into the mountains. I know it's a way longer route but it's probably worth it for you guys not to go through the town. In the meantime, you guys just have to sit tight in that cove's cave.” You nod at a folded map at the end of the counter. “If we can get enough fuel arranged, there’s a way around that I mapped out. Roads shouldn’t be too much trouble this time of year.”

He doesn’t move to pick up the map.

You finish with the sauce and start sprinkling cheese, feeling Santi lurch away from the doorway and approach you slowly, until he’s beside you and every muscle in your body is tense and hot. “Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“It’s a good plan,” you say, tearing some fresh mozzarella. “Keeps you boys outta the town. Gets us weapons that were sourced in-country, fuel, and a ride.”

“And puts you right in the firing line. You’d haveta land and be without weapons until the drop. What if your contact doesn’t show?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m the only face that won’t be recognized.”

Santi rolls his eyes, “They’ll know you’re a foreigner and that might be enough.”

“I’ll be careful.”

You can feel Santiago’s irritation building. “Why are you so gung-ho to do this now? You’ve always been shit at infiltration. There’s a reason you’re the sniper.”

Since one of you died! You want to shout.

“Fuck off, Pope,” you say instead as he takes his hat off and tosses it down, leaning his forearms onto the counter next to you before ducking his head and running his hands through his hair. “You know why I didn’t want to do it the first time around. And now -,”

And now you were terrified that if you didn’t go, another member of your family would come home in a bodybag.

And you wouldn’t even get to go to the funeral.

And this time it could be Santi or Benny or -

You clench your eyes shut, the heat of Santiago next to you too much suddenly. You suck in a sharp breath and try to get the panic bubbling up under control.

“Hey -,”

His voice is too soft, too close.

“Whatever,” you cut him off. “What-fucking-ever, Pope. I’m shit. I was never valuable to Delta. I get it, okay? But this is your best shot. Unless you wanna go coordinate shipping arms into some backwater town through cartel territory.”

Santiago stares at you, his gaze wide and shocked, so unlike the hard stare he usually sported. His mouth softens a fraction but you turn away, adding the gross shit Benny wanted onto his side of the pizza.

“Yes or no?” you ask. “This is it. This is how we do it.”

“One of us stays with you. We split two-three.” You open your mouth to retort when he continues, his voice strangely quiet. “I understand you have to go to the drop by yourself, everything else doesn’t haveta be. You need someone watching your six.”

You heave a sigh, picking up the pan with the finished pizza to stick in the oven. “Jesus, what the hell does that kid eat?” Santi asks, noting the toppings.

“Shit,” you answer, snapping the oven door closed. “Who?”

“Frankie. He can make up for your shit Spanish.”

You quickly catalog another thing you’re deficient in, swallowing thickly.

“Fine.”

Santi nods and keeps staring at you, staring at you standing in the middle of your kitchen with your arms crossed.

And you feel the sudden urge to cry, to break down and scream.

Your breath is heavy in your chest, and the weight of Santi’s eyes on you doesn’t help.

“We should talk about it,” he says.

You shake your head, grab a beer from the fridge and walk out of the kitchen, down the hall and past the living room where Benny was invested in a baseball game, and out onto your back deck.

Santiago follows you, snapping the screen door closed after him. “C’mon.”

“No. You left it the way it is. We don’t need to talk about it,” you knock the bottle cap off the beer with one well placed smack against the edge of the deck railing.

But you can’t find it in yourself to drink it and so you set it aside.

Santi’s jaw clenches and he runs an agitated hand through his hair, pacing a line back and forth before he stops and cups a hand over his chin. “Don’t be stubborn about this, Blue.”

“Fuck off, Pope.”

He rolls his eyes and approaches you, stepping right into your space, crowding you against the banister, bracketing his arms around you, palms against the railing behind you. He tilts his head over yours, his nose nearly touching yours. “I missed you. I wanted to come back. I didn’t know how.”

You scoff. “It was easy. You could have walked through the door.” You grit your teeth, “Would you have even told me Tom died? Or would I have seen it on fucking Facebook from his widow months later?”

Santi flinches at your accusation but doesn’t back down, his eyes still boring into your, his voice quiet. “Yes. You’re our family. You know one of us would have, if Ben hadn’t.”

“Right,” you say disbelievingly. “It hurt the most that I didn’t hear from you. Did I ever really mean anything to you? Or was I just a liability to the team? Another whore to get you through the night?”

“What?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Santiago. You never came home. And I know you were fucking people when you were out of town. I always knew.”

His eyes are so dark they read black in the fading evening sunshine. “Is that what you think? That I was sitting around here playing house with you for fun?”

Your belly lurches. “Get away from me,” you snap, shoving at his shoulder. “I don’t need you to call me stupid in my own house. I got it, Santi. I wasn’t good enough for the team and I wasn’t good enough for you. I get it.”

He makes a noise of frustration and doesn’t move. “Stop being so fucking hardheaded.”

“Okay,” you sniff. “Go ahead then. What do you want to say? About that night, about why you never came home? About what you said to me?”

Santi gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to just give into him, “I - I -,” he flounders.

“Yeah,” you duck under his arm, snatch up your beer, and head back inside, “That’s what I thought.”

“You never went out there to see her? Fuuuck man, no wonder she’s pissed,” Benny says, offloading their tac bags into the sand of the cove from the dinghy, the walls of the cave-like outcropping reflecting in the shallow water.

Will moves the bags further up the sand and doesn’t say anything.

And Santiago - he doesn’t know what to fucking say about any of it.

Going back to that house, back to you, after everything he’d said to you, after he’d implied that any injuries they got would be your fault, after he told you that you were a weight to their team even though it was the farthest thing from the truth.

He didn’t know how to go back to you.

He didn��t know how to make things right, and so one month had turned into two had turned into six.

“She never said anything?” Santi asks Benny, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

“Not like we sit around talking about you, man. I wasn’t out there all that much for a while. Going through my own shit,” Benny says, jumping out of the boat to work on tying it down.

Santi thinks about Benny going out to your place, dumping all his shit on you and leaving. Of Will and Frankie visiting infrequently, because they were, as Benny so eloquently put it - going through their own shit in the aftermath of that mission.

All of them wrongly assuming that Santi had been to see you, that he was still seeing you.

All of them thinking that you were okay because Santi was always with you.

Fuck.

No wonder you felt abandoned. No wonder you believed him when he’d said -

He can’t think about that right now.

You must have felt like you lost all of them for a while.

“Check-in with Fish and Blue,” he snarls at Benny instead. “I want an update. They landed yesterday and should already be on their way here.”

Benny glances at Will but neither of them say anything as he fiddles with the comms.

Santiago makes a point of not looking at either of them, pointlessly cataloging the shit they did bring with them, mainly rappelling equipment, rations, and protective gear.

The comm in his ear statics and then Benny’s voice is reaching out for a status report.

Your voice comes back after only a few minutes. “Hey Ben,” you say, your voice clear but with a rift in it, a thick line of tension. “Heading your way. Should be there around 1900 hours. Sit tight.”

“Roger. Sitting tight.”

Santiago opens his own line. “Report,” he barks out, not satisfied with the way you sound, that slight crack in the edge of your voice.

“Cargo en route, Pope,” is the only response he receives.

“Roger, Blue,” he says. “Any trouble?”

There’s a long silence before you respond. “Minor incident. Intercepted in vehicle retrieval. One dead. No witnesses. Minimal injuries.”

“Injury report.”

“Fuck, Pope,” Will mutters, “They’ll be here in a couple hours. Leave it.”

“Fish is fine,” you say and Santiago’s heart seizes because that means - “I was grazed. Minimal impact. Over and out, see you soon Delta one.”

Your line clicks out, the static retreating.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

“C’mon, Pope,” Will says, “Quit thinking with your dick. We’ve all been shot. She was only grazed. They’re fine and heading to us.” He sits back on the sand, Benny following suit.

He knows.

Fuck, he knows.

He tucks the information away - compartmentalizes it and hopes like hell it works.

You and Fish show up exactly when you say you will, radioing out to them when you were a couple klicks away.

Santiago and Will head up to help you hide the truck you arrive in, grab the duffle bags full of weapons.

The cache you’ve been provided with is well stocked and Will whistles when he sees it. “Fuck, Blue, you’ve got one hell of a contact.”

You smile tightly at him, limping around the front of the truck.

Santiago’s breath catches when he sees you.

It’s hell to see you looking like that again. Although you’re in jeans - the rest of the getup is similar enough to the fatigues you used to sport that it makes his chest tighten. Your hair is tucked back, a backward ball cap on your head, and he recognizes it as one of his, one he must have left at your place. Sunglasses are hitched up above your brow.

You have a strip of cloth tied around your upper thigh, and Frankie has one concerned hand under your elbow.

Santiago never wanted to see you like this again, never wanted to have to think about you being shot at again.

You ignore his stare and say to Frankie, “C’mere and help me calculate this fuel shit. We need to be sure it's more than enough to get us there and back with room for detours.”

Frankie opens the back door and lets you rummage around in another bag before turning back with a scrap of paper and pen.

When Santi just stands there staring at you, you turn and tilt your head. “Gonna help Ironhead with that shit, Pope?”

He flinches, can’t help himself when he hears you call him that, it takes him back to your porch, to the words he can never take back.

Santiago doesn’t say anything, catches Frankie roll his eyes as Santi turns and grabs a couple bags to drag down to the cove.

A few minutes later you and Fish make your way to the cave. “-wish we had a bit more but that should do.”

“It’ll be fine,” Fish assures you, sounding a lot less concerned than you.

“Uh huh,” you say, dropping next to Benny on the sand to take the canteen he offers you.

Will turns to look at you, his eyes flicking over the bandage on your leg. “What happened?”

“Exactly what I said. Some guy caught us grabbing the truck. He shot first, Fish took ‘im out.”

All cold practicality, Will answers, “Clean it properly.”

Fish laughs and raises a brow at you and Santi knows he had already told you to do it.

You roll your eyes and glance at Benny with an exasperated huff of breath.

Before, when you served together, Santiago would have read that look all wrong, would have seen something more than what it was. Now, he sees it for what it is - two younger siblings exasperated by their older brother.

You and Ben have been attached at the hip since the third grade, and have done nearly everything in your life together. You were best friends and nothing more than that. In fact the idea probably repulsed both of you.

He wonders what it was like for you then, when Benny suddenly wasn’t around anymore after the failed Colombia mission.

Santi hooks one of the hand guns into the holster on his hip, grabs a first aid kit, and crosses to you. “I got it.”

He holds out a hand and you hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand and letting him haul you up. He leads you a little way from the group while they continue sorting the weapons out, nodding for you to lean back into the edge of the beached boat.

“Shit,” Santiago mutters when he crouches down and peels the makeshift bandage off of your thigh. “This is more than a graze, you got ate, mi vida.”

“Only a little. No bullet in me.”

He shakes his head and briskly cleans the wound, dresses it with a proper bandage and a wrapping of gauze around your thigh. He slides his knuckles down to your knee and glances up at you. “Fuck, Blue, please. Be careful.”

“You think I got shot on purpose?” You ask, amused rather than pissed for once, as he stands.

He licks his lips and plants his hands on his hips, not able to keep his eyes off you.

Fuck were you pretty.

Even in fatigues and sweating from the humidity, you were so fucking beautiful.

And then he notices the rings on your fingers, notices the ring that he gave you years ago now, and his mouth goes dry, his heart pumps like it’s trying to break the cage of his ribs.

“‘Course not. Just saying. Be careful.”

“Okay,” you agree. “When should we head out? Frankie -,” you call and the other man glances over at the two of you. “We thought 0400 hours, right?”

“Right,” he confirms quietly, “Early enough that we’ve got a bit of light but it's still dark,” he agrees.

“There ya go, Pope,” you say.

He doesn’t look away from you, can’t quite manage it. “You’ve got my hat.”

“My hat now,” you snip. “Left it in my house.”

“You ever gonna forgive me?” He doesn’t know why he asks, it's not like he deserves it.

“Dunno, Santi,” you say. “You ever gonna apologize?”

He clenches his jaw and walks away from you, announcing, “We’re out at 0400 hours. Sharp.”

The sun is only really starting to blaze alive when you park the truck at the edge of a canyon. “We gotta walk from here, y’all,” you say, slapping the map down between Will and Santiago in the front seat.

“Hooah,” Benny intones, popping open his door so you can slide out behind him.

When the truck is hidden in the foliage and you’re all geared up, you say, “So, I was thinking, I can split with you guys here, follow the ridgeline up so I can see farther-,”

“We aren’t splitting up again,” Santi says, lowering protective glasses over his eyes. “You’ll be able to see plenty in either direction from the ravine.”

“Are you sure-,”

“Yes,” he grits his teeth. “We’re wasting time, let's go.”

So you wrap the strap of your rifle around your neck and go.

You don’t talk as you move through the canyon and through the mountainside, up the steep rocky crags, Santiago at the head with a GPS and the coordinates.

Finding the correct ravine is surprisingly easy, and you peer over the side to see a mountain of snow at the bottom. “Looks like you guys will be digging.”

“Wonderful,” Frankie says. “You wanna trade? I’ll man the horizon.”

You smirk, “Nah, I’m good here.” You screw a silencer onto the end of your rifle and walk away, scouting for a position where you could easily see in all directions to cover them while they worked.

“Not too far,” Pope says into the comms and you don’t bother to turn, waving a hand above your head to show you heard.

You settle down, between two rocks, adjusting the scope on your rifle to make sure you have a clear view.

“Blue, check-in,” Frankie’s voice comes over the comm. “Pope can’t see you and has his panties in a twist.”

You chuckle and respond, “That’s the idea. Present and accounted for. How’s it going, boys?”

“Benny and Santi rappelling down now.”

You don’t respond, focusing instead on your task, wondering how long it would take them to get all of it out of the ravine, if they would have to dig it out of the snow, if it was even still there, how long it would take to haul out to the truck.

Two hours pass in which the horizon in all directions is clear, and which the boys stay silent in your ear.

And then - “Fuck yeah! Money’s still here baby!” Benny nearly deafens you and the others. A long string of curses and hyena-like laughter follows.

“Shut the fuck up, Ben! Jesus,” Will mutters. “Just get it the fuck up here.”

“Keep your head on straight,” you say into your comm. “We’re not taking more than we can handle, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Santi says. “Of course.”

“I’m serious. I will leave you here, Pope.”

“I’ll leave him here,” Frankie adds.

The rest of the day passes by slowly, and without incident. Occasional comments come through but nothing that warranted a response until near sundown, “Come on back, Blue,” Will says.

“Done already?”

“For tonight.”

When you approach the camp, duffle bags are strewn around.

Many more than you expected.

“Jesus, you sure this isn’t all of it?” You assess the amount of bags. “Think we might have to be okay with this.” You shoulder your M16, “We should start moving it to the truck now.”

The guys glance at each other. “C’mon,” you whine, annoyed with them. “Y’all really gonna let money go to your head again?”

“You don’t want any?”

“Any is more than none, which is what I have now,” you say. “And no, Ben, I don’t need a Ferrari.”

They all glance at each other, then, “One more run tonight and then we’re done. We’ll move the cash in the morning, and be on the boat by the afternoon.”

You roll your eyes, “Fine, whatever.”

Benny hoots and goes about getting strapped into the harness again, Will following suit.

“That was kind of you,” Frankie says, coming to stand next to you with arms folded across his chest. “We coulda used your level head last time.”

You feel your heart sink, surprised Fish would say anything about it to you. “Yeah,” you say softly, watching Santi help Ben and Will start down the cliffside. “I know it's my fault that it went down the way it did. I’m sorry.”

Fish is silent for a few minutes as you watch the boys, before he suddenly turns to you, “Wait, what? Your fault?”

You press your lips together, Will and Benny finally disappearing as the last light faded from the sky. “Threw off the team. Wasn’t here to-,”

“Hold on. We’re grown fucking men and you had the choice to say no. No one’s holdin’ that against you.”

You don’t answer, watching Santi, the broad line of his shoulders, the firm set of him as he keeps an eye on the ropes.

“Not everyone thinks that.”

“What, Pope?” When you don’t answer he continues, shaking his head. “God, if I know anything about Santiago it's that he’s upside down, head over heels, makes him look stupid, in love with you. And he has been since you and that fucker Ben rolled up to Delta like you already belonged.”

You swallow, not sure what to say, your throat dry as you rub your hands together and then stuff them under your armpits to keep them warm in the cooling air. “Oh yeah? Helluva way of showin’ it. He said I was fuckin’ useless. Called me a coward. Said anything that happened to y’all was my fault. And then Tom died. And you all were never around anymore, not even Benny.”

“Shit, honey,” he says softly. “We thought Santi was still going out there to see you every chance his dumbass got.” He pauses and then looks over at you, shifting to cradle his weapon in his arms. “As for that other shit, Pope says some shit when he gets mad, and no one gets under his skin better than you. You know nothing that happened down here was your fault. It was our fault, our choices.”

You bite the side of your cheek. “Thanks, Fish.”

“You can call it stupid if you want. It was.”

“It was stupid and you’re all greedy bastards,” you say, knocking a shoulder into his.

He smiles, “Yeah. But it might just work out this time.”

The night passes easily.

You don’t start a fire, and the guys are curiously silent about the prospect though you know it's smarter not to start one and draw attention to your position.

Benny takes the first watch and you end up sandwiched between Frankie and Santiago.

It takes all your willpower not to curl into him, the smell of him exactly as you remember, the heat of him, the press of him against you.

Right when you’re about to fall asleep, you feel Santi’s fingers curl through yours and squeeze gently, his lips at your ear. “I’m so fucking sorry, mi vida.”

The next morning, at first light, with most of the cash already transported to the truck, you spot movement on the ridgeline, and when you lift your scope to your eye and see bodies traveling down the rocky mountainside.

You call out a warning just as the first shot slams into the ground several feet from you.

You duck for cover before coming up on a knee to squeeze your own trigger, the silencer muffling the sound of the shot.

Santi turns and watches a distant body fall to the ground, as he too falls behind one of the many boulders.

“Hey, hey, what the fuck are we shooting at?” Ben yells at you as you grab him and yank him down beside you.

“We gotta go,” you spit out over the comms as Benny lifts his body away from yours to take a couple shots of his own, clearly felling his targets by the look on his face, “Looks like somebody patrols this area now. Probably because of you fuckers.”

“Frankie, Will, stay where you are,” Santiago says over the comms.

“What’s going on?” Will snarls back.

“Fuck just -,”

You pop off another shot, using hand signals to tell Santi to start moving his ass toward the treeline. He’s closer to your exit route than you and Ben. “They’re all down the fucking mountain - we’re about to be cut off. We need to go,” you say into the comms. “Grab that shit and let's go,” you say to Benny, pointing to the last duffle bag at your feet before gripping his tac vest as you start moving forward together against the rocks as fast as you dare.

You look ahead and note that Santiago isn’t moving, instead standing his ground and shooting back at the ridgeline, covering the two of you.

It’s a stupid fucking move. There were too many of them, too many shots for it to make a difference. But he’s clearly waiting for the two of you, the babies of Delta, to make it back to him before he moves off. The rest of them had always been overprotective of you and Ben though none of them would ever admit it. They know you’re both more than capable but that didn’t stop them from double and triple asking if you were sure you wanted to do something, or making it a priority to intervene when one of you were in trouble, especially Will when it came to you and Benny.

And while you hadn’t been here before, you know.

This is where Tom died. This is where they lost everything.

Santiago doesn’t like to lose.

“Fuck!” You can hear him shout, directing Benny to stop with a raised fist, moving back toward you instead away from you.

They’re close enough now that you can hear shouts, and you meet nearer to the trees, all three of you pressed behind a rock.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Benny is screaming, the noise muffled in your ear, your concentration fastened back on the moving targets, the bodies, the people. You take a steadying breath and line up your shots. “You’re going to get us fucking killed!” Benny continues. “What the fuck, man! We had it!”

You always were the best shot of Delta, and the people closest to you fall.

You can’t tell if they’re dead.

The clip is empty and you take a moment to reload, slamming the cartridge into place with more force than necessary.

“You really must think me fucking useless if you think I can’t move six feet without you!” You shout at Santiago, who grabs the two of you and shoves you ahead of him, crouched down low. “You fucker!”

“Fuck! It’s not about that-,” he starts, but you ignore him moving quickly over unsteady ground.

You and Benny are younger than the rest of the team by years, and it shows now, Santi panting as you run and cuss without a hitch in your breath. Ben cursing in front of you the whole way.

“You stupid fucker,” you snarl again, Benny echoing your sentiment as you pause again, bullets richoching around you.

Santi pants as he leans back against the rock for a moment, letting you rage against him, fear eating your heart because he had just ran at you. He had ran back to you for no fucking reason and now he might die with you and Benny. You raise yourself up to shoot back again, Benny taking shots to the right.

“They’re closing in, we need to move,” Benny says, radioing over the comms to warn Frankie and Will to have the truck ready and waiting.

You and Santi are silent, taking coordinated shots.

“Fuck! Why are there so many of them?” You grit your teeth, the recoil of the gun against you starting to bruise.

“They knew we lost that money, they’ve been waiting for someone to come poking around for it so they could get it,” Santi says, his breathing even again. “Probably set up patrols here after we came though.”

You glance over at him to ask why he hadn’t shared that thought before this moment, and feel your heart stop. Up the rockside and to the left, there at the edge of the rocks, a kid stands with a gun sighted up on Santiago.

“Santi,” you whisper, voice hoarse. And then so loud, you hurt you own ears, “Santi!”

He starts to turn but you reach over and grab him by the back of his neck, jerking him down, and using the leverage to haul yourself up above him. The kid shoots at the same time you do.

Your bullet lodges between his eyes, but the shot that would have split Santago’s skull in two, lodges deep into the fleshy part of you between your shoulder and your clavicle. You wobble and then crash back between Santi and Ben, not entirely sure what just happened.

You look down at yourself, where the bullet perfectly caught right at the edge of your skewed tac vest, just above your heart

Panic surges up through you suddenly and your vision clouds as you grit your teeth against the pain.

Santi grips your jaw hard, those dark fathomless eyes boring into you, shouting something at you.

But you can’t get enough breath into your lungs to feel like you can respond. “Fuck,” you whisper, touching the blood on your hoodie. One of Santi’s old hoodies, you hadn’t realized until now. “I think I’m hit,” you say as Santi slaps your hand away from the wound.

Blood gushes out of the hole in waves. “Blue, look at me,” Santi says, a sudden pressure on the wound making you bite down a howl. His hands are covered in red. Blood, it must be your blood. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Okay, Pope,” you whisper, the edge of your vision fading, “Fuck I think it hit my heart.”

You don’t hear his answer, the last thing you know is Santi and Ben leaning over you, dead panic on their faces but you can’t quite figure out why.

Carrying you to the truck, your eyes unfocused and glossy, feels a lot like carrying Tom’s corpse home.

Santiago doesn’t scare easy, but cradling your head in his lap while Ben cries his eyes out and snarls at Will to drive faster, scares him.

Frankie’s worried eyes turning back to assess you, scares him.

Will’s stoic silence, scares him.

But nothing comes close to the fear he feels at the prospect of having to carry home your corpse.

And suddenly that money, everything in the world, nothing matters to him but you - and it’ll be his fault if you die now.

He leans down over you, presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. There’s blood caked on your neck, crusting along the edge of your sweatshirt. Your ball cap and protective glasses are on the floor of the truck at his feet, stained a crimson that his brain can’t make sense of.

The graze of the bullet against your thigh was god’s warning to turn back, and he hadn’t heeded it.

Ruthless.

He’s always been ruthless.

And now maybe that ruthlessness really would get you killed.

He can’t really make himself understand it, why you would jump up like that and pull him out of the way.

“Santi,” you murmur, your breath sweet against his skin, your bloody fingers scrubbing against the stubble on his cheek. “Santi,” you whisper against his skin, the copper smell of you making him sick, makes him want to fucking vomit.

“Hold on, cariño,” he says gently. “We’re gonna get you home safe and sound.” But your skin is ashen, your lips chapped already and he knows there isn’t a chance in hell of you making it to the States alive without them addressing the mess that is your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he snarls when your eyes flutter closed again, your body going limp as you pass out. “Benny, grab that med pack. We’re gonna have to sew her up before she loses any more blood. She’s not gonna make it if we don’t.”

Pope rips back the straps of your tac vest, rips your sweatshirt open as Benny goes cool with determination, grounded and levelheaded even as tears slip down his nose. There’s no exit wound and so Benny passes over the supplies Santi needs to dig the bullet out of your shoulder.

He stuffs cloth in your mouth when you lurch and give a blood curdling scream, forceps squelching deep in the wound until he can finally rip the metal out of your shoulder.

He forces you to keep it in your mouth so you don’t break your teeth, bite your fucking tongue off, when they dump peroxide over the wound.

Benny holds you still after he hands Santiago the threaded needle, closes his eyes and takes a breath, before he unsteadily and messily sews your shoulder closed.

By the time he’s done with you, you’re so still he might as well have killed you himself.

Then

“Hey, killer,” Santiago says when you thrust open the front screen door with a toe.

“Hey yourself, old man,” you snipe at him, “Wanna help me out a little?”

Santi finishes wiping his hands on a dishtowel and moves to hold the door open for you.

You’re wearing ratty gym clothes, boxing gloves spilling out of your duffle bag, a couple of grocery bags fisted in your other hand.

Santiago gently takes the groceries from you and dumps them on the kitchen table as you wave out at Benny’s retreating jeep.

Ben obnoxiously lays on the horn all the way down the road, but it makes you laugh and so he doesn’t roll his eyes too hard at it.

“You weren’t here when I got in last night,” Santiago says when you beeline into the kitchen and dump your bag on the floor.

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else because you kiss him, your palms against his cheeks, the line of your body against his. When you pull away you smirk at him and peer at the breakfast he has started on your stove.

“Don’t you have your own house to go to?”

“My own house isn’t where you are.”

You laugh, bell bright, but he knows you think he’s just fucking with you. “You stay at Ben’s?”

“He lost last night and was pouting about it,” you say, unloading the grocery bags. “Me and Will stayed with him. Re-watched Predator for the millionth time. Knew we’d end up at the gym in the morning together anyways.”

Santi tucks his arms around you and drags you back against his chest, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck and then the shell of your ear. “Left me high and dry here, honey.”

“Oh, I’m sure you managed to entertain yourself, Santi.” You turn your head and bump your forehead against his temple. “You’ve got a hand don’t you?”

He scoffs, “That’s fuckin’ cruel. Expecting pussy and getting a hand.”

You turn in his grip and wind your arms around his neck, smiling and stretching against him like a cat. “Lemme shower and this pussy is all yours, babe.”

“Shower, breakfast, then pussy,” he says. “I know you didn’t eat this morning.”

You roll your eyes, “Hurts my feelings when you ignore me like this Santiago.”

“The last thing in the world I’m doing is ignoring you,” he says, cupping his hands under your ass to lift you onto the counter.

You settle back against the cabinets and he slots himself between your legs, running his hands up your thighs, beneath the fabric of your gym shorts. “You’re so pretty. Have I ever told you that?”

A grin splits your face, one he’s glad to see, one that had taken a year of counseling and fucking and boxing and bar nights to coax back out of you. “Sure,” you say.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Santiago licks his lips, takes your hands in his, the dozens of rings that line your fingers grazing his.

It was one of the things you’d started wearing to feel more like yourself again, to recapture your identity outside the military, outside Delta.

He traces the rings carefully for a moment when your voice reaches out to him again, your hand touching his jaw. “Santi?” you ask.

“I brought something back for you,” he says, squeezing your knee gently. “Stay here.”

He looks up and meets your eyes, searching the gaze he knows so well, and still coming back empty, still confused about what it all means to you, what he means to you. “Okay,” you say, “What is it?”

Instead of answering, he ducks out of the kitchen to rifle through his own bag that he left in the front hall the night before.

When he returns to you, you have one heel up on the counter, a cup filled with coffee at your side, picking bits of food out of the pan on the stove.

He knocks your heel down, jolting you, “Feet on the counter? Really?”

“It’s my fucking counter, Garcia,” you snap at him, but you smile when you say it.

“Fucking counter, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I mean I have fucked you there enough times, haven’t I?” He asks, watching you roll your eyes, tracking your every movement, unable to glance away from you.

You lift that same foot and shove at his shoulder as you sip your coffee. “Fuck off.”

Santi catches your foot, presses a kiss to your ankle and lets it drop again so he can slot himself between your legs again, holding up the ring he has pinched between two fingers in his other hand.

Your eyes lock onto the gold, lips parting. “Found it at a market in Bogotá. Polished it up on the way back. Thought you’d like it for your collection.”

Gingerly, as though the ring is made of smoke and not metal, you reach out to take it from him. “It’s beautiful,” you say, examining the stones embedded in the gold.

Santi takes it back from you, and examines your hands, the many, many rings that stack on your fingers. “Which finger you want it on, mi vida?”

You wiggle your right ring finger and he slips it into place. It's a perfect fit.

He looks up at you, he means to tell you in that moment, that there’s no one else, that there’s only you, that this thing between you is solid and real and he wants no one else, ever. That you’re his and he’s yours.

That you are his girl.

But the words die on his lips as soon as he looks at you, and then you’re sliding off the counter and kissing him so hard, he feels like he might bruise.

“Why don’t you shower with me and we can kill two birds with one stone?” You ask. “I get clean and you get pussy.”

He holds you so tight he feels you exhale a sharp breath, tilting his head over yours, brows pulled together as he watches you, watches the widening of your eyes.

“All for a ring?” he undercuts his own fucking plan, his own feelings.

“It’s a pretty ring.”

Now

They have to leave you in the hotel they check into, to meet with the bank, to deposit their fucking money.

Fifty million and it feels like nothing.

Benny and Will wait with you while he and Fish go to the bank first, and then switch places.

You’re awake when they get back and Santi wants to cry. Fish pretends there’s something he forgot in the lobby and leaves.

Santi pulls up a chair next to you and takes your hand. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He murmurs.

“Was thinking I didn’t want your brains all over me,” you say, weak fingers tightening on his. “You did a shit job stitching me up, by the way. But I think it saved my life.”

Santi says your name quietly, picking up your hand, your skin clammy against his. “Well our combat medic was out.”

He closes his eyes, gritting his jaw, trying to wash away the image of your prone body on two different boats, carrying you with Benny away from the line of fire like you were already gone from the world.

“Why?” He asks again. “Fuck, why would you do that?”

You grip his hand weakly, “Because. Because you - probably the same reason you ran toward me instead of away. Because I knew you were about to die and couldn’t let that happen.”

“And what if you fucking died, huh?”

“Guess I’d be dead then.”

He winces but doesn’t let you look away from him.

You swallow, “Help me sit up? I want some water.”

Santi hurries to help you sit up, listening to the way you groan tightly before he fetches a bottle of water for you and unscrews the cap.

Your hand shakes when you lift the bottle to your lips, and he has to cup the bottom of it to hold it steady for you.

When you’ve drunk your fill, you handle the bottle back and yank down the strap of your sports bra to look at the gauze webbed around your shoulder, the blood that slowly begins to stain through because of your movement.

You sigh and then fiddle with your rings, his ring on your finger, where it's never moved since he placed it there. “Santi,” you murmur. “I know we never said it - but I love you. That’s why it hurt so goddamn bad when you left. It just confirmed that it really never mattered to you. And this - this stupid fucking money - I know how you get. I couldn’t believe - couldn’t believe you just dropped me like that. I told myself you didn’t mean it. That we’re both mean sons of bitches when we’re pissed but then you never came home.”

You take a long stuttering breath, and his heart feels like it's stopped beating, like god has a boot on his chest. “I never woulda done that to you. You left it up to Benny to tell me what the fuck happened. I didn’t just lose you, I lost all of you. You know what that’s like? To have your best friend, who you’ve never been apart from for more than a couple days, just drop you? To have - to have you - for better or worse, the man I fucking love - abandon me?”

Is this what it takes to get him to spill his guts to you?

Having you half dead in his arms, your eyes lined with circles, your skin tone off by several shades, telling him things he already fucking knows?

He cups your cheeks in his palms gently, swipes away the tears that fall. Santiago hasn’t seen you like this in years, since you finally started coming back to yourself.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers. “Fuck, mi vida, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Santi curls his arms around you, shifts you on the bed until he can lie down with you, the pressure off of your injured shoulder as you turn on your side to fit yourself against him.

“I can never take back those things I said to you. But you have to know - I didn’t mean a single word of it. Nothing that happened on that mission was your fault. Not a fucking thing. As soon as things went sideways the first time, the only thing I could think was thank god she’s safe at home.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and you feel more tears leak down your cheeks. “You are the best shot we have - proved that a couple times over yesterday, I think. You were never just a medic, you know that. You’ve beaten me in hand to hand more than enough times, all the rest of those fuckers too. You’re the best of us, honey. I was just so goddamn scared you’d never forgive me for the things I was about to do - you had it right about Lorea and the money and my motivation.”

You feel the movement of his throat against you, arms tightening by a fraction, before he says, voice hoarse, “And I’ve always loved you. Always. I never knew how to say it. You’ve been my only girl for so fucking long.”

You shove his shoulder gently and feel him stiffen but you only bring his forehead to yours, peering into those eyes that were always so intense, that missed nothing, and read you like a book.

You scrub a hand over his stubbled cheek, the pull of the hair against your hand soothing. “You know I love you, Santiago.”

“I love you,” he answers sincerely. “Sorry it took so goddamn long.”

You pull him down into a kiss, your shoulder aching, a biting pain that lances across your chest. “Me too,” you murmur, gingerly unbuttoning his jeans, careful of the very messy stitches in your shoulder. You hiss through your teeth and Santi stops your hand.

“No, your shoulder-,”

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. You just have to be careful with me. You just have to be gentle.” You peer up at him, into those brown eyes that feel so like home to you, like the warmth of a summer forest. You touch the hinge of his jaw, “Just be gentle with me.”

Santi’s eyes clench closed and then he’s nodding and kissing your forehead, all resolve gone. You thought the strings of your heart had been wrapped around his fingers all these years. You never imagined that you held his too.

He pulls away from you to undress, since you won’t be able to do it for him in your state, and you use the opportunity to push your shorts and underwear off with your good arm.

And then he’s back, naked against you, one arm under your neck to support your head, the other curving around your knee to hitch over his hip, pressing so close to you. You feel the ridges of his cock against your pussy, already wet.

“Just like this,” he murmurs to you, never breaking his eyes from yours, his gaze just as steady and intense as it always has been, but now there’s a thread of vulnerability that makes you duck your head to press a kiss over his heart. Your good hand against his cheek, the other carefully skimming along his abdomen, the thick muscle and padding he carries.

You both watch as he slides into you, watch your bodies join slowly, the stretch of him so fucking good and heavy.

Your breath leaves you in a gust and Santi pauses, more gentle with you than he’s ever been. “Fuck. You have to tell me if I’m hurting you. Okay?”

You meet his gaze, rolling your hips against his, “Santi.”

He moves then, meeting the slow thrust of you. “Yeah, baby, tell me what you need.”

Instead of biting something out at him like you usually would, you cup both hands against his cheeks as he tightens his arm around your waist, bringing you that much closer.

Santi leans his forehead against yours, and neither of you shut your eyes. You can’t, you have to know he’s there and real and everything that he’s said the last few minutes is true.

He’d always been better at doing than saying and now is no different - his gaze unwavering, making love to you so softly you feel a tear bead and slip down your nose.

Santiago swipes it away with his thumb as he shifts the arm beneath your neck so he can cup the back of your skull, fingers digging through your hair.

The pleasure in your belly builds slowly, but that almost feels secondary to the other things you’re feeling - like you finally belonged, like you were no longer adrift, like you finally found your home.

You press your hand flat over his sternum and feel the thrumming of his heart against your hand.

“It beats for you,” he says, closing his eyes briefly to press his nose into your hair.

You almost want to laugh, at how corny it is, if you didn’t know for certain that he’s never said anything more sincerely.

Sweat beads along his salt and pepper curls, the smell of him like his cologne and cheap hotel soap and sweat.

You move your hips more frantically, Santiago matching you thrust for push, when you bury your nose in his neck and inhale sharply.

“I’m close,” you murmur. “Please, Santi.”

“Look at me, baby,” he says. “Lemme see those pretty eyes when you come for me.”

You meet his eyes, trace the long sweep of his lashes with your gaze when the pressure in your belly snaps and you cry out.

Santiago captures your lips, swallowing down your moan, as he presses a hand to the back of your neck, fingers slowly sliding down your spine. His thrusts become sloppy and slow and his brow is furrowed.

When you whisper, “Come for me, Santi,” he exhales sharply into your mouth and comes inside you, hips slowly stuttering to a stop. “I love you.”

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, if I don’t love you more than I deserve to.” He tugs you close, careful of your shoulder which aches more than you’re willing to admit in that moment.

But you’ve been shot before, and it's not as bad as it could be.

“Yeah,” you coo. “But I want it anyway. I want all your fucked up love.”

Santi laughs and it sounds like a sob, and you curl your fingers through his hair tugging lightly. “I meant to - the day I gave you the ring. I meant to clarify that day that we - ,”

“Mhm,” you hum against him. “Is that what this ring means? You claimed me?”

“Means we belong to each other.”

You nod, “Move in when we get back.”

“I’m gonna put in a pool in your backyard, that deck is begging for one. Gotta have somewhere to keep the boys entertained when I need to fuck you.”

You laugh and then wince at the movement in your shoulder. “Backyard is all yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Just then someone knocks at the door. “We have the contract for you to sign if you’re done fucking,” Frankie calls, loud enough that the whole hall probably hears.

You groan but Santi just keeps gazing at you, lips pouted, “And a dog. We gotta get a dog. And a new couch, I’m done sitting on Ben’s cheeto dust.”

“Anything. As long as you’re there.”

His breath catches and he looks like he can’t quite breathe. “Yeah,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “As long as you’re there.”

Your heart beats so hard, you think it's trying to break free from your chest to join with his.

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x you #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #oscar isaac

2K notes · View notes

justafandomgvrl · 4 months

Text

Noisy Neighbours

Santiago Garcia x Reader

Word count - 350 ish

Smut. Minors do not interact.

You whimper as Santiago drags his tongue between your glistening folds, his stubble shining with your slick. Your hips arch off the bed towards him and he growls, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you in place.

“Santi, just fuck me already.” You whine impatiently. He looks up at you with a smug smile, loving how frustrated you get when he makes you wait. “I swear to god, fuck me or I’ll finish myself off.” You growl. He tsks, lightly swatting the inside of your thigh.

“Patience is a virtue, hermosa.” He reminds you before he delves back in, sucking on your clit until you cry out. He releases you, moving up your body and slamming his lips against yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him closer to you and he chuckles against your lips. One hand wraps loosely around your neck and his other hand snakes between your bodies, guiding his cock towards your throbbing core. He pushes inside, just slightly, just enough that the head is situated snugly.

“What are you waiting for?” You huff and he arches an eyebrow. You wet your lips before giving in. “Please fuck me, need to feel you stretching me out, need you to put a baby in me, please, Santi.” You whisper and he grins, pushing the rest of the way in. and you almost scream at the feeling of finally being full after hours of teasing.

The next morning there’s a note under your door. You wince as you squat down to pick it up and your cheeks burn as you skim what it says.

It’s great that you guys are trying for a kid, but can you maybe keep it down next time? It’s pretty distracting when we’re trying to sleep.

Santiago snatches the note from your hands and laughs, grabbing a magnet and putting it up on the fridge like it’s a source of pride for him. You smack his arm lightly but don’t take it down.

#mj’s christmas list #santiago pope garcia x you #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac #drabble

117 notes · View notes

avastrasposts · 8 months

Text

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 28**

Sorry for the slight delay in this chapter, it's a bit of a "travel" chapter and although I had a couple of scenes I wanted to add, the rest of the chapter just didn't flow. But here it is, finally!

Series Master List

Chapter 29 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 6.9k

The weather outside the school is a crisp, early fall day, and as you all make your way towards the interstate heading north you relish being away from the city again. The route chosen takes you away from suburban areas as much as possible so for hours you walk through green fields and patches of forest where the leaves have started changing color. It’s like a picturesque fall hike, except all seven of you are armed, guns ready, and walking with your heads on swivels.

Pope’s taken the lead, Joel behind him, not willing to let Pope be all in command. Frankie and you follow Joel, and Tommy brings up the rear behind Will and Benny. By midday you’ve covered a lot of ground and take a break by a small lake. You gratefully sink down onto the ground with your back against a log. The ache in your shoulder is a dull throb and you’re trying to get by without any more painkillers.

“Just take the damn pills, cariño,” Frankie says when you shake your head.

“We don’t have that many left, what if we need them for something more serious?” you object and he raises his eyebrows.

“You can be all brave and stoic when we’re inside a QZ, out here I need you to be as good as you can be with that shoulder.” He holds the pills out again, along with his canteen and you accept them.

“ ‘Stoic’, big word there, Frankie’,” you tease him as he watches you swallow the pills.

“The Gladiator film,” he says, grinning, “Marcus Aurelius was a stoic philosopher.”

“How do you even remember that?” you ask incredulously and Frankie gives you a crooked smile as he sits down next to you.

“I’ve watched that film like thirty times.”

“Director’s cut with commentary,” Benny chips in, grinning as he sits down on the other side of you. “He was obsessed!”

“How did I not know about this obsession?” you ask, laughing as Frankie reaches across and slaps Benny’s cap off.

“It’s a masterpiece, and the Academy agrees with me because it got an Oscar for Best Film and-,” Frankie says.

“No it didn’t, Erin Brockowich won the Oscar for Best Film that year,” Benny interrupts, “I remember Julia Roberts on stage.”

“Erin Brockowich didn’t win an Oscar for Best Film!” Frankie protest, “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“No, you’re out of your mind if you think Gladiator beat Erin Brockowich, that film was awesome!”

“It was alright, but it did not win an fucking Oscar for Best Film!” Frankie throws his hands up, “I can’t fucking believe you, Benny, you’re delusional!”

“Russel Crowe won an Oscar for Best Actor, I’ll give you that, he was awesome. ‘What we fight in life, dies in eternity!’ “ Benny quotes in his best Russel Crowe impersonation.

“Jesus, Benny, that’s not even the quote!” Frankie sighs with a roll of his eyes as you chuckle.

“If we had a smartphone with an internet connection, I’d solve this straight away,” you say, giving Frankie a calming pat on his thigh. “But you’ll just have to hope we find a library with an encyclopedia.”

“I’m telling you, Erin Brockowich won an Oscar for Best Film, Frankie!” Benny says and Frankie mumbles something undoubtedly rude in Spanish and pushes himself up.

“I’m gonna get some lunch, I’ll get you a bowl too, cariño.” With a scowl at Benny he stalks off and you can’t help but smile at the mundane argument between the two men. Benny leans over and chuckles.

“I totally know Gladiator won the Oscar for Best FIlm, but I just love winding him up.”

“Benjamin Miller, you are a nuisance!” you laugh as Benny grins and digs into his own lunch.

You continue on after lunch, until darkness starts to settle. You find a farmstead on the outskirts of a small town and once it’s cleared you all settle down for the night. You’re excused from the watch rosta again and sleep through the night while the guys take turns standing guard. You wake up early again, Frankie had the second to last watch and he’s sleeping soundly, his arm thrown over your waist. He stirs as you shift under him, mumbling in his sleep, and you press a kiss to his forehead, making his lips curl in a drowsy smile.

“Go back to sleep, Frankie,” you whisper, and as you pull on your boots, you hear his soft snores start back up.

Joel has the last watch tonight and you find him pacing the yard in front of the farm house, turning as you step through the door.

“Morning,” you say, sitting down on the porch steps as he turns back towards the yard.

“Mornin’ “

“Quiet night?” you ask, looking out over the field beyond the farmstead as Joel turns and paces back across the yard again.

“No one came near us but a few groups of infected moving south in the distance,” he replies, turning and coming back towards you again. He stops and looks down at you, his brow furrowed, looking like he has something on his mind. You wait, looking up at him as his jaw ticks.

“Frankie’s girl,” he says eventually, “Tommy told me. I’m sorry.” His voice is gruff, his eyes not meeting yours, instead scanning the sides of the building.

“Thanks,” you say, “Tommy told me about Sarah, I’m really sorry too, Lucía loved her.”

“Yeah.” He stands still for a beat before he turns and paces back across the yard, stopping at the last building and looking out over the fields.

You remain on the porch, watching his rigid posture, but he doesn’t turn and come back and eventually you hear people moving inside the house and you get up to help with breakfast, leaving him to his vigil.

You made good time yesterday, Pope shows you on the map how far you’ve come.

“We should make it to the Boston QZ before nightfall, but it’ll be slower going today since we’re moving through populated areas,” he says, his finger tracing a line across the map.

“More people, more infected,” you sigh, accepting your backpack from Frankie as he comes over.

“Yeah, we need to be on our toes today,” Pope agrees, “But, there’s seven of us, I’d think twice before I mess with an armed group that large.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, Pope,” Will says, scanning the map next to you, “Let’s head out.”

Pope was right about it being slower going. Only a few miles from the farmstead the suburbs begin, a massive sprawl all around the greater Boston area. The six men quickly fall into a familiar pattern of tactical advancement, you stay close to Frankie, as two men move forwards, covered by the other four, repeating as you move through the neighborhoods. Eventually you leave the suburbs behind and move into Boston, heading towards North End where the QZ is supposed to be located.

As you’re moving across a large street, you and Frankie in front, you suddenly hear a desperate call for help. Frankie immediately holds up his hand to halt the others, Joel moving up next to you. The call is coming from a side street just up ahead and carefully the three of you move forward, the other four covering your backs. As you clear the corner, guns raised, you see the source of the noise, a young boy is trapped underneath a dumpster, his leg jammed and he’s crying out as he pulls on it. Next to him is a teenage girl, trying to shift the heavy dumpster off his leg. The boy cries out as he sees you, his face twisted in pain.

“Please, help!” the girl calls, “my brother’s stuck!” She puts her shoulder against the dumpster and tries to shift it again. You holster your gun and start jogging towards the pair.

“Cariñio, wait!” Frankie calls as he sees you move, following you with his hand out to pull you back.

“Stop!” Joel bellows and yanks Frankie to the side so that they both tumble to the ground behind a car, you look back at them as you step forward and your leg catches on a wire. You barely have time to register your mistake and then a loud explosion knocks you sideways, showering you with dust and debris, you cry out as you land on your injured shoulder. Your vision is filled with dust, your gasping to catch your breath and your ears are ringing, somehow you register the loud noise of gunshots and then Frankie is on you, pulling you backwards across the ground behind a van. His face is swimming in front of yours as you try to focus on what he’s saying, he’s patting you down, lifting your shirt to and checking your abdomen. You shake your head, trying to clear the fog, and slowly Frankie’s voice comes back to you.

“Cariño! Are you hurt? Tell me where it hurts?” He’s kneeling in front of you, his hands on your shoulders, trying to make you focus on him. A corner of your mind registers that the gun fire has stopped and you try to feel if you’re hurting anywhere.

“Only my shoulder,” you croak finally, “I landed on it.” You shake your head again and blink and Frankie swims into view, clearer now. “I think I’m ok, my ears are ringing but nothing is broken.”

“Get her up, we need to move,” Joel barks from somewhere to your right, loud enough to cut through the ringing, and Frankie moves around, putting his arm around your waist and helping you up. You’re dizzy but it fades quickly as you take a few steps towards the street, your legs are a bit shaky but nothing hurts. You glance over at the boy and the girl and see them lying lifeless against the dumpster, multiple bullet wounds leaking blood onto the ground.

“Let’s move!” Pope yells and Frankie pulls you along, as Will comes up on your other side to check if you need support.

“I think I’m good, Will, thanks,” you say, your legs feeling steadier with each step.

“Ok, good,” he replies, glancing over his shoulder at the site of the explosion, his gun raised. “I think you got really lucky, that bomb was made wrong. Lots of noise, very little blast, amateur work.” He catches your eyes and gives you a serious look, “You got really lucky.” You drop your gaze, you know you fucked up, he doesn’t have to say it.

You all move quickly through the next few blocks and shouts go up behind you, prompting Pope to hastily consult the map before making a sharp turn. “Down here, we’ll lose any pursuers in the alleys,” he says and you all jog along as quickly as possible while still checking every street corner. Eventually you come out on a big highway, following it north and slowing down to a walk again.

You walk next to Frankie, he keeps glancing over at you but you keep your eyes on the ground or forward on Joel’s back. You put everyone in danger, especially Frankie, by being thoughtless and trusting. Guilt and shame crawls up your limbs and makes your cheeks burn as you remember how both Frankie and Joel yelled at you. You can’t bring yourself to look at Frankie, his concerned eyes, you know he’ll smooth it over, make it out as if it was a mistake anyone could’ve made. But you know that’s not true, the others saw the trap instantly, you just saw two children who needed help and rushed in without thinking.

“I’m sorry, Frankie,” you finally mumble when you can’t take it anymore. And just like you thought, Frankie immediately takes hold of your hand and strokes soothing little circles onto your skin.

“Don’t worry about it, cariño, you made a mistake, the important thing is you’re not hurt.”

You hear Joel growl in front of you and Frankie looks up at him as Joel throws a scowl over his shoulder at you, “You could’ve gotten us all killed, being so fucking trusting, fucking stupid.”

You feel your cheeks heat up again and you bite your lip, dropping your eyes to your boots as you continue walking. But Frankie tightens his hold on your hand as he glowers at Joel’s back.

“Shut the fuck up, Joel,” he snarls, “she made a mistake and I should’ve been more alert, should’ve seen it first.”

“Well, that’s just the fucking problem isn’t it?!” Joel snaps, stopping and spinning around to face Frankie and you. “You’re so fucking wrapped around her that you don’t pay attention to anything. Could have fucking clickers tearing the rest of us to pieces but you’d only see her. She’s a fucking liability.”

You see Frankie opens his mouth to yell at Joel but Will’s firm hand comes down on his shoulder.

“Ok, that’s enough,” he says, his voice determined and signaling ‘end of fucking discussion’. “We need to keep moving, we’re almost at the QZ. This is not the time or the place.”

Without a word Joel turns on his heel and marches off, overtaking Pope who’s looking at Frankie with his eyebrows raised. Frankie snaps his mouth shut, his teeth grinding together as he starts walking again. He’s still got a hold of your hand but as you walk you pull away from it, taking out your gun as your eyes scan the broken city around you. Joel words sting, there’s a truth to them, Frankie’s said so himself back in Arlington when you asked to help with the smuggling. ‘I wouldn’t be able to focus on what we’re doing if I know you’re out there too’. He only let you join in the operation when you pleaded with him. And now you’d proven how right he’d been, you made a mistake and his focus had been on you, not the potential danger. You grip your gun tighter, keeping your eyes on the horizon as you swallow down the lump in your throat and keep walking, trying to ignore Joel’s furious form in front and Frankie’s worried looks on your left.

Downtown Boston is a mess, a wrecked no man’s land of broken buildings and water filled craters. It’s slow going with many detours and uneasy sprints across streets as you follow the broken signs towards the QZ. You stay behind Frankie, your gun out, pointed down towards the ground, stopping when he stops, running when he runs, making yourself small and invisible, avoiding Frankie’s eyes, and Joel’s scowls.

The QZ gate finally comes into view as the sun sinks behind the broken skyline. You make one final detour on Pope’s suggestion, all of you hiding your rifles and some of your handguns inside a building just out of sight of the gate.

“Better to stash them here than to let FEDRA take them,” Pope says, marking the building on his map as you hide your gun and holster at the bottom of your backpack.

You get to the gate, get scanned and taken to a processing center. Since it’s getting late you’re shown to a temporary housing facility, bunk beds set up in the hall of a community center, and given a thin stew for dinner. After the meager meal you get ready for bed, gratefully pulling off your boots and sinking down on Frankie’s bunk bed, you’ve been assigned the one on top. He puts his arm around you and pulls you in to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Relax now, cariño,” he mumbles, “we got here in one piece.”

“I’m really sorry about today, Joel’s right,” you whisper, guilt welling up inside you again, “I made a huge mistake that could’ve gotten us killed.”

Frankie sighs and lets his hand caress your hair as he pulls you in closer, “You made a mistake because you’re you, you’re not a soldier. And I love that,” he adds when he hears you inhale to interrupt. “You’re not a soldier and you shouldn’t have to be, I should keep you safe and I wasn’t paying enough attention today.”

“Frankie, if you blame yourself for me getting myself blown up today, I’m going to slap you,” you protest and you hear him sigh.

“But it’s true, I promised to keep you safe, both to you and to myself, and I failed.”

You pull yourself from his grip so that you can sit up straight and look at him, “You do not get to blame yourself for that and you can’t keep me safe at all times, that’s impossible.”

“I know, but when I’m right there, right next to you, I should keep you safe, I should’ve seen that fucking trap the second we turned the corner, I need to keep you safe,” his voice shifts, an edge to it you haven’t heard in a few years.

“Frankie…” you say, taking his hand as you open your mouth to argue, to pull him back from where he’s heading, but he interrupts, cutting you off.

“I need to keep you safe, you know that,” his eyes are pleading with you, “you know it’s all I have, you’re all I have. If I can’t keep you safe then…then,” he shrugs, shaking his head, “then nothing. I’m nothing. After Lucía…” he trails off, and you cup his face in your hands and lean against his forehead. “You know how close I came to leaving you because I couldn’t keep you safe,” he mumbles, “I have to keep you safe, I have to protect you.”

“I know Frankie, I know,” you stroke his cheeks with your thumbs but you don’t try to argue with him, you don’t try to convince him, you just try to calm him down. “I promise I’ll be more careful too. And we’re safe now, Frankie, we’re both safe.”

“I just wanna keep you safe, hermosa,” he mumbles, putting his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side and you lean your head on his shoulder again. “I just need to keep you safe.”

You take his other hand and tangle your fingers with his, rubbing your thumb over the bullseye tattoo and you sit in silence while the rest of the room quietens down, people settling down to sleep. Your own eyes are getting heavy and you stifle a yawn.

“I hope we can stay here now,” you mumble as he caresses your hair, his fingertips gently scraping against your scalps.

“Yeah, I hope so, Boston seems good so far,” he looks down at you as you slip further down his shoulder. “Hermosa, don’t fall asleep sitting up, c’mon, get into bed.” He smiles as he nudges you to sit upright again and starts peeling your jacket off. You nod and pull off your hoodie too before climbing up into the top bunk. Frankie stands up and tucks you into your sleeping bag and cups your cheek, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss.

“Sleep well, cariño, sweet dreams.” He chuckles softly as your eyes close before he’s even finished speaking, pressing his lips to your forehead and settling down in the bottom bunk.

FEDRA in Boston seems to have the procedure of admitting people down to an efficient art form. It only takes a few hours the next day for you all to be assigned housing, ration cards and told to report to the assignment officer in two days time. The Boston QZ is located in the city’s North End, narrow streets lined by centuries old red brick buildings and surrounded on three sides by water. You’ve all been assigned apartments in the same building, Pope, Will and Benny in one apartment, Joel and Tommy in another and Frankie and you in a small one bedroom place on the top floor overlooking Old North Church.

Frankie pulls you into his chest the second the door closes behind you. You’ve just managed to drop your bag on the floor when his arms circle around you and the cool tip of his nose presses against your neck. You hear him inhale deeply, probably smelling almost a week’s worth of dirt and sweat on your skin and you shift under him, feeling the need for a shower.

“I stink Frankie,” you giggle as he holds you tighter when you squirm under him.

“I don’t fucking care, I let you shower last time I had you alone,” he growls, “you smell great to me, you’re my favourite smell in the world.”

“Not aviation fuel?” you tease him and he chuckles into your hair. “Close second, hermosa.”

He’s walking you backwards into the new apartment, guiding you into a room that turns out to be the kitchen and with a firm grip on your waist, he lifts you up onto one of the counters.

“Look at this, perfect height and everything,” he grins as he pushes your legs apart, making room for himself between them and pulling you closer. You’ve still got your boots on, and your jacket, and you’re giggling as he starts tugging at the sleeves as he buries his face against the crook of your neck, placing wet kisses on your salty skin. When he uses his teeth, nipping that spot just under your ear, your giggles turn into a gasp and he bites harder, making you moan so that he can feel the sound come from your throat. You fight with your sleeves, finally freeing yourself and throwing your jacket on the floor and tangling your hands in Frankie’s soft curls, pushing off his cap and pulling his lips up to yours. The back of your head thumps against the cupboard behind you when he meets your kiss, his tongue greedily licking into your open mouth and pushing you back. When his hands roam under your t-shirt and caress along your sides, up your back, his fingers feel hot on your skin, making you shiver with pleasure and you tilt your head back with a soft moan. Frankie lets his mouth leave yours and instead sucks a mark into your neck, the soft tip of his tongue coming out to taste the goosebumps his scraping teeth leaves behind.

He pulls away enough to pull the t-shirt over your head and you reach out to tug off his shirt too, to be honest, it stinks, as does yours, they both end up on the floor. His skin is still tanned and golden from the day you spent on the boat, his freckles sprinkled over his shoulders and chest and before he claims your skin again, you lean forward and smooth your hands over the wide expanse of his shoulders. Frankie’s hands are stroking your back, up into your hair, letting his nails scrape along your scalp as you pull him closer and trail wet kisses between his freckles. His skin tastes like salt and dust, the unwashed cotton of his t-shirt leaving its own scent, but underneath you can still smell him. You can feel his throat hum when your lips move up over his Adam's apple and into his scruffy beard, nosing against the sweet bare patches that never fill in.

“Do I stink, cariño,” he says and you can hear the smile in his voice and you nod, letting your lips wander down along his throat again, your hands slipping down over his chest.

“You taste like salt and smell like sweat,” you murmur into his skin, enjoying the warmth that’s radiating from him, the stillness in the apartment and the calm that comes from being safe and having time. And you take your time, Frankie standing still between your legs, his hands in your hair, letting your fingertips map out a path between his freckles that you follow with your mouth. Tasting him slowly, your tongue slipping over his skin, the pebbles on his throat, the hollow just at the base. You test the give of his flesh, biting lightly like you always do, until he hums with pleasure, egging you on to bite down harder. Your mouth finds a soft spot, just beneath his collar bone, and your tongue caresses it. When the pads of your fingers drag across his dark nipples as your teeth graze his skin, biting down, he hums again, a hushed moan at the back of his throat. The sound, his soft little whine, sends a shiver down your spine, making you grip your legs around his narrow hips, heat pooling in your core and you let your fingers slip down his soft belly until you find the coarse trail of dark hair that leads down under his jeans.

He lets you undo his belt and buttons, the zipper coming down as you cup your hand over the bulge in his tight boxers.

“Cariño,” he groans, your fingers tracing the outline of his hard cock as his breath stutters, “fuck, that feels good…” he drops into the crook of your neck, his mouth breathing hot air over your skin as you continue to tease him through the warm cotton. His hands have been kneading your hips through the denim of your jeans but now he moves them onto your thighs, stroking his thumbs up along the inside towards your core and up to your belt, tugging at it. He makes quick work of it even when he has to stop and groan as your fingers become more firm around him. You lift your hips and he pushes your jeans down your legs, cursing as they catch on your boots.

“Take them off, Frankie,” you say, palming his heavy length again, pulling a deep growl from him as he bites down on your shoulder, making you whine and squeeze him in response.

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling away and crouching down to untie your laces, quickly pulling each boot off, letting your jeans fall on the floor before he kicks off his own boots and jeans.

“Counter or bed?” he asks, pulling your legs around his waist again, his hard length pushed up against your wet folds.

“We’re not gonna last long enough to get to the bed,” you say and he grins, seeking out your mouth as he feels your fingers wrap around his cock and give it a few firm strokes, letting the precum coat the blunt head.

“Probably not, I’m-” Frankie’s reply gets stuck in his throat as he groans, his hips thrusting into your hand of their own accord. “Fuck, that feels good, hermosa,” he gasps, his cock twitching in your grip.

Guiding him right you look down between your bodies to watch as he pushes in, the stretch making you clench hard around him. He growls, a low rumbling in his throat, his fingers digging into your hips, the slick heat coating his aching hard cock and he feels your pussy pulse around him as you tangle your hands in his hair and pull his mouth to yours. When he starts to move his hips hips he has to squeeze his eyes shut, he wants to fuck you hard, built up tension making his body want to chase release too fast. But you’re just as greedy, he can feel it, your heels digging into his ass, pulling him closer with every thrust of his hips. Your lips slip from his and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, clinging to his shoulders as he slams deep. Every time he bottoms out he grinds against your aching clit, the wiry curls at the base of him slipping across it, making you gasp out hot air over his chest.

“Frankie…” you moan, “harder…please…I’m so clo..ose,” the last syllable comes out as a whine as he plants his feet firm on the kitchen floor, his hands grabbing handfuls of flesh and slamming into your, pushing you up against the cupboard with a panted groan.

“Fuck, so good…” Frankie pants, “feels so good, I won’t…”

He has to bite his lip to stop himself from coming, pistoning into you and listening to your whimpering as he hits the right spot. Your nails dig into his back, your teeth scrape across his shoulder as you seize up and cry out, your high hitting you as he grinds deep into your tight heat. The spasm of your cunt around his aching cock, deep inside you, pushes him over the edge. With a growl he pulls you in even tighter, pushing your hips onto his cock, emptying deep inside as he shivers under the onslaught.

You tilt your head back, breathing heavily as your body relaxes around him. He drops his head forward and your arms come up and cradle him against your chest, pressing kisses to the top of his head as stillness falls over you both, the only sound your breathing, as you slowly calm down.

Later, after showers with soap and shampoo, he carries you to the bedroom and places you naked on the bed and kneels by your thighs. If the first time together after a week traveling was rushed and chasing relief, now it’s slow and calm. A soft bed again, a door to close and lock, no one nearby and no need to stand guard. Frankie does what he loves best, he pushes your legs open with his calloused hands and makes himself at home between them, making you whimper his name while his cock aches under him. As your body arches up and you cry out, he pins you down, buries his tongue inside you, and begs you to let him make you come again and again.

When you finally fall asleep, the sheets are already ruined, your thighs covered in your release and his seed, Frankie’s sweat damp curls a messy halo around his head, the taste of you on his tongue. With your face nestled in the crook of his neck, your head resting on his arm, he pulls the covers over you both and holds you close with his arms circled around you. When you hook your leg over his, he feels like he should simply stay here always, never leave this bed again. Your nose against his throat, warm breath slipping over his chest, your soft waist under his arms and he feels your body rise and fall in a steady rhythm.

He has to keep you safe.

“I talked to Joel yesterday,” Will says one evening, a few weeks after you’ve all arrived in Boston. “He’s been looking into trading around the QZ, talked to some of the people selling stuff to see who’s moving what.”

Frankie and you have joined Will, Benny and Pope in their apartment, continuing your routine of sharing dinners. Tonight it’s your turn to cook and Frankie’s helping you chop up the vegetables while you try to season the rice with what little is available.

“I invited him and Tommy over tonight, after dinner, to see what they have to say, seems Joel’s keen to get into smuggling, they used to do it in the Austin QZ.” Will says, putting down bowls on the kitchen table and knocking Benny’s feet off it at the same time, “Get your stinky, fucking socks off the table, Benjamin.”

“Do you know why they left Austin?” you ask, turning to Will, who’s scowling at his younger brother.

“Tommy got friendly with a group of people who were convinced things were better up north and wanted to join them. Joel said he tagged along to keep an eye on Tommy,” Will replies and Benny nods. “Seems they had a pretty rough journey,” he says, “they lost most of the group, stopped in some QZ:s along the way, moved on when FEDRA got too oppressive or the smuggling got too dangerous.”

“So everyone in the group died until it was only them left?” you ask, seems like you guy got off easy in your journey if that’s how bad it’d been for Joel and Tommy..

“No, they left a few behind in Pittsburgh,” Will says, “Tommy said two of the guys found partners there, one of them had a kid, another one was fed up with running, wanted to take down FEDRA there. Thanks, man.” he sits down at the table and accepts a glass of whiskey from Pope. “I think Tommy wanted to do the same but Joel thought it was a bad idea and got Tommy to leave. They were heading to New York but ran into some trouble and decided it’d be safer to go further north.”

“What kind of trouble?” Pope asks, “New York seems to be the logical choice if you’re leaving Pittsburgh.”

“I didn’t ask,” Will says, shaking his head, “seemed to be a sore point with Joel so I didn’t push it.”

You put the pot of stew on the table and everyone sits down, “So the plan is to start up the way we did in New York?” you ask, “And maybe avoid pissing off any local gangs?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Will nods with a crooked grin, “Joel seemed to have some ideas so maybe he’s heard something about what’s going on.”

Joel does have plenty of ideas you realize when he and Tommy turn up an hour later. Tommy’s been asking around and there’s a couple of people to approach if you’re looking for something not available with ration cards. But Joel’s been more direct, he’s found a route to get outside and tested it, venturing far outside the wall and picking up the rifles and ammo you left out there. He’s also made a connection with the man who runs the private radio in the QZ and figured out which FEDRA soldiers have what weaknesses and who can be exploited for those weaknesses.

“How’d you find out all that,” Will asks as Pope and Frankie exchange a worried glance.

“Asked the right people in the right way,” Joel grunts, stretching out his long legs as he leans back on the couch.

“What do you mean, ‘the right way’?”

Joel eyes Will for a few seconds before he responds, “I ask and make sure they know they need to tell the truth;” he says, his tone curt and crossing his arms over his chest, his face closed off, it’s like watching a shutter come down the way he clenches his jaw tight. There’s a menacing tone to his voice that makes you shudder when he says it and by the way Frankie tilts his head and shoots a quick glance at Pope, you know you’re not the only one who picked up on it.

“Joel, you know I’ve been smuggling for years,” Will says, “We’ve got to be more subtle or FEDRA’s gonna catch on and we haven’t got any protection in place yet.”

“That’s what I’m getting us,” Joel says, “protection. And, speaking of protection,” he looks over at Frankie, he’s sitting next to you as usual, with his arm over your shoulder, “you two can’t go on runs together, you don’t prioritize right when she’s with you and it puts the rest of us in danger.”

“Joel,” Benny interjects, he can see Frankie’s hackles rising, “we came all the way from Arlington and it was never an issue, Fish’s got everyones’ back.”

“She nearly got us killed yesterday,” Joel growls, “because he wasn’t paying attention to covering us, only her. No offense, darlin’,” he says, looking over at you and you’ve never felt less like someone’s ‘darlin’ with the way he’s looking at you, “I’m sure you can handle yourself, but I ain’t working with you and Frankie together when it’s plain as daylight who his first priority is.” Joel shifts his look over to Frankie before he lands on Will, “He’d try to save her even if it was hopeless, he’s too focused on her.”

“Well, I guess that’s us out then, Will,” Frankie growls just as low as Joel in response, “because I’m not letting her go out on a run without me.”

“She’s a good shot and a great look out, Joel,” Pope interjects, looking at you and giving you a small smile, “I’d work with her any day. And Fish, I trust him with my life,” Pope looks over at Joel again, “we need both of them.”

“Like I said,” Joel is standing up, getting ready to leave, “I’m sure she can handle herself and I know Frankie’s as skilled as any of you guys, but I don’t trust them together, she makes him unfocused and I ain’t risking my life for it.”

Frankie opens his mouth to snarl something, but Will’s quick nod at him makes him snap his mouth shut while Tommy stands up and joins Joel at the door.

“Thanks for the whiskey, see y'all tomorrow,” he says, giving a wave as Joel disappears out the door and he follows, an uncomfortable silence falling over the room when they’re gone. You’re chewing on the inside of your cheek, your eyes on your hands and you feel Frankie’s fingers flex around your shoulder. He inhales and opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off.

“I’ll just stay behind, you need Frankie more than me,” you say to the room, “and you need Joel more than me.”

“Cariño, fuck him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Frankie says, squeezing you under his arm but you shake your head.

“He’s got a point, who would you save first, him or me?” You’re looking at Frankie and you can see in his eyes that he knows full well you’d be the first one he’d save, and you’d do the same for him. You hadn’t seen it until Joel put his finger on it, but your bond puts everyone else in danger.

“It’s never been an issue, hermana,” Santi says from his corner of the couch, “we’re not in the army anymore, different rules apply and we adapt around it. Will would save Benny first if he had to choose.”

“But Frankie doesn’t even want me going on smuggling runs,” you say, “I had to twist his arm to let me come,” Frankie’s eyes are pained when he meets yours, “You would rather I stayed behind and be safe.”

He sighs, running his hand over his neck, “Yeah, I would, you know I hate the thought of you getting hurt, or worse.”

“So I won’t go anymore,” you shrug, pretending it doesn’t bother you, and stand up, getting ready to leave, “If I’m with you on a run your focus will be on me, and I know you won’t let me go with someone else. It’s just better if I don’t go at all.” You know Frankie isn’t fighting you on this because it’s what he wants, he’s trying to hide it but you see relief in his eyes as he gets up to join you. The other men remain silent, Benny opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it, closing it again as he stands up. He surprises you with one of his signature bear hugs instead.

“I’d have you on my team any day,” he mutters close to your ear as his arms crush you to his chest, “fuck Joel.” His support makes you smile and you give him an extra squeeze before letting go.

You’re subdued when you get back to your own apartment and Frankie hovers in the living room as you go to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You know him well enough after all these years to know what he’s doing, and when he comes in and leans on the door frame, watching your evening routine, you know he’s getting ready to speak after sorting the words in his head.

“Cariño,” he begins, his hand shooting up and rubbing across his neck, “I can’t pretend like I won’t be calmer if you’re here, safe, instead of out dealing with FEDRA patrols, raiders and infected and all the other shit. Joel’s right, when we’re out there, I’m always focused on you, and I’m always worried about you, in a way I never was when it was just me and the guys on missions in the army or doing runs with Pope in Arlington.” He’s gripping the door frame, grinding his fingers into the wood as he speaks, his eyes seeking yours in the mirror as you continue to brush your teeth. When you look at him he takes a tentative step towards you, his hand coming out and resting on the small of your back, as if he wants to circle your waist and pull you close, but he’s not sure how you’ll react yet. “I know you wanna come with me too, I know you worried about me when I went out with Pope, but it’ll be different now, I’ll be with Will and Ben too, we’ll be able to handle anything, it won’t be as dangerous as before.”

You spit the toothpaste out and rinse your mouth before meeting his eyes in the mirror, “I hate it,” you say, giving your head a small shake, “the idea of you being out there, in danger, I fucking hate it.”

“I know,” Frankie says softly, his arm coming all the way around your waist and you lean into him.

“If you don’t come back, I’m coming after you, you know that right?” you whisper into his chest.

“I’ll come back, I promise I’ll always come back.” He’s turning you so that he’s got you pressed against him, his arms around you and holding you tight as he drops his head against the top of yours.

“You can’t promise that, Frankie.”

“Watch me,” he mumbles, “Just fucking watch me.”

Chapter 29

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

104 notes · View notes

starstruckunknown-princess · 17 days

Text

Yarrow - Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Reader

Yarrow (Achillea) - Meaning: Cure for a broken heart, healing

Summary: After a humiliating trip and fall when you find your boyfriend cheating, you call Santi for a ride home.

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Reader

Word Count: 1205

Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, language, reader has a broken wrist in a cast but is otherwise not described, bit of a clueless/hopelessly in love situation, snuggling

Day 8! My word count is creeping up and up the last few days...not sure what that's about. I'm also sick and really tired so forgive any errors.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are appreciated! <3

“So…you gonna tell me what happened?” Santi asked, pulling the car out of the ER parking lot after picking you up. It was late, and raining, and you’d been there for hours so you were beyond ready to get home. At least the pain in your arm was dulled by the meds.

Your head rested heavily against the window of his pickup. The painkillers were making your eyelids droop, and the situation was embarrassing enough without reliving it. However, you figured you owed Santiago an explanation since he schlepped all the way to the hospital at this hour to give you a ride because the stupid doctor wouldn’t let you drive home all doped up.

“I caught Alex cheating on me. Tripped down the stairs while I was running out. Caught myself on my wrist.” You said, giving him a noncommittal wave with your cast-covered forearm. “I shrieked so loud that they both ran out to help me. Then, turns out the chick he was banging is a nurse and said I should get checked out for a concussion too. She drove me.”

“Ouch,” Santi replied. Whether to the actual injuries or to the fact that you had screamed so shrilly as you fell that Alex and his booty call had run half-naked out of his apartment to check on you.

“She’s actually nice,” you admitted, keeping your eyes focused on the passing scenery. “Pretty, too. No wonder he was fucking her on the side.”

Santi’s warm hand landed on your denim-clad knee, “Hey, don’t do that. Any guy who would cheat on you is a fucking idiot who doesn’t know what he has.”

Your head lolled on your neck as you turned your attention to your friend. While he was stopped at the light, his dark eyes staring at you betrayed his sincerity. You weren’t sure if it was the meds or how tired you were or what, but you stared right back, taking in how handsome he looked in the light of the street lamps. All dark eyes and heavy brow, the firm line of his plush lips, the stubble along his sharp jaw.

“Thank you,” you whispered into the space between you. “For coming to get me.”

“Anytime, you know that. I’m sorry this happened to you, querida. You deserve someone so much better than that jackass,” he said as the light turned green and he pulled into the intersection.

You shifted in your seat, “He didn’t seem like a jackass until tonight.”

Santi was quiet for a moment, then said, “I could tell. When we met him last month, we all figured out he was a jackass.”

You snapped your head towards him so quickly your vision went fuzzy for a split second, “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Santi shrugged, “Will said it was a bad idea for your guy friends to get involved.”

“Well next time you think someone I’m dating is a jackass, get involved.” Your tone was flat as you rested your head against the window again, relishing the cool glass against your skin. Letting your eyes drift closed, you listened to the soft click-click-click of the windshield wipers and the rain pattering the truck. You couldn’t summon the energy to be angry at Santi and the guys for not warning you about Alex right now, exhaustion dragging you down, down towards sleep.

From the driver’s seat, Santi could feel how tired you were and figured it would be better to let you drift off. He could see the bruising on your arms from your fall and looked at the neon pink cast encasing your left forearm, unable to stop his jaw from clenching and his fingers from flexing on the steering wheel.

That night he and the guys had met Alex he’d wanted to pull you aside and tell you, but Will intercepted him before he got the chance. Ever the perceptive one, Will had caught on to Santi’s growing feelings for you and gave him an ultimatum — if he did approach you tonight, he needed to tell you about his feelings or let you be happy with this guy. And you had looked happy, Alex was attentive enough, and seemed to like you back.

But now you were half-asleep against his passenger door, injured and in pain after finding that asshole cheating on you.

Who in their right mind would cheat on you? Wonderful, funny, intelligent, beautiful, generous you. Santi had half a mind to confront your ex, pummel him into the ground, and dump him off in the Everglades naked and disoriented. Instead, he turned down your quiet street and pulled into your driveway, putting his truck in park and turning off the engine — none of which woke you so he put a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, “Querida, we’re home.”

You awoke to Santi’s face near to yours. The truck was parked in your driveway, rain lightly pelting the window.

“Right, thanks again Santi,” you said through a yawn, reaching to open the door but Santi stopped you.

“Let me make it up to you?” Santi asked, dark eyes full of hope as he looked at you.

You shook your head lightly, confused and still sleepy, “What do you mean?”

“For not telling you Alex was an ass,” he explained, brushing some of your hair away from your face which made your heart stutter. “Let me take care of you. Please?”

Your breath caught in your throat at his proximity — when had he moved? Or had you moved toward him? Either way, you both leaned over the center console and were getting closer by the second. All you could do was nod.

You didn’t miss the smile that broke on Santi’s face as he closed the distance between your mouths, his lips pressing against yours in a gentle but firm kiss. Sparks exploded behind your eyelids, but before you could deepen the kiss Santi pulled back. You chased his lips but his steady hands on your shoulders held you back.

“As much as I want to continue, you’re about to fall asleep sitting up. We should get you into bed.” He stroked your cheek with a featherlight touch, making you shiver. As awake as his kiss made you feel, you knew he was right.

He exited the truck and rounded the front to open your door, helping you down and guiding you into the house with gentle touches to your lower back, arms, shoulders. When you got to your bedroom he helped you change into pajamas, his gaze and touches (unfortunately) remaining respectful.

He pulled your covers back and held your hand while you slipped down into them, making sure you were settled before asking if you needed any more meds or water.

“No, I’m fine for now. C’mere,” you said, lids falling closed once more. You heard his light chuckle and he rounded the bed, the rustle of his t-shirt coming off and the clink of his belt as he shucked off his pants preceded the other side of your bed dipping under his weight. He took the Big Spoon position and your last thought before falling asleep was how easy, how natural, how right his arms felt around you.

#writing challenge #fanfiction #triple frontier fic #santi garcia x reader #santi garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x you #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia x reader #in bloom #fluff #hurt/comfort

50 notes · View notes

melodygatesauthor · 1 year

Text

Preciously Plump - The One-shot

Santiago "Pope" Garcia X f!plussize!Reader

Requested by Anon

Takes place within the headcanon “Preciously Plump”. This is an expansion on that fic. - Reader is a little self conscious.

Summary: After a nice dinner date, you go back to Santi's place for the evening. He treats you to dessert.

Tags/Warnings: NSFW, topics of feeling uncomfortable in own skin, plus coded reader, p in v creampie, reader is on bc, oral sex f receiving - Just a little addition, writing this fic hit a little close to home while writing it (particularly in the beginning) so if you're sensitive about self-conscious topics in fics please read at own risk.

Word Count: 1.5k

You’d invited Santiago back to your place after a few dates. He was sitting at the foot of your bed, legs spread while he looked at you. You had just come out of the bathroom where you’d gone to freshen up.

“Let me see you sweetheart.” He said softly, crossing his arms and watching you intently.

You gulped, feeling the anxiety creeping in. You knew that this moment would happen at some point, getting naked in front of Santi. He seemed to like how you looked, but it was always different in clothing versus being completely nude. What if he thought the cellulite around your legs was disgusting, or what about the fact that your tummy hung down a little too far for your liking?

“What’s wrong?” He dropped his arms at his sides and stood from the bed. He walked up to you and cupped your cheek in one hand and put his other hand against your hip, “cariño, I’m not going to pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I promise, I’m more than excited to see what you’ve been keeping wrapped up in those pretty clothes you wear…if you feel like showing me.”

“What if you don’t like it?” You asked, looking away from his face.

He brought his hand to your chin and turned you to look him in the eye. He kissed you deeply, breathing heavily and grinding himself against you. You pulled him in close, entangling your fingers in his hair.

“Not a chance.” He reached his hand down and squeezed one of your ass cheeks roughly.

He latched his lips over your neck and started kissing his way down your chest, in between your breasts and then kneeling down in front of you. You looked down at him quizzically, not sure what his next move would be, but he lifted up your shirt and started kissing your tummy softly. He tugged at the waist of your pants and started to pull them down around your thighs.

“Santi…” You said breathlessly.

He looked up at you with those beautiful brown eyes you’d stared at over dinner. You didn’t stop him, and even helped him get them off by pulling your ankles through each leg as he took your pants off. He stood back up, bringing your face in for more tender kisses while walking you backward to the bed. The backs of your knees hit the mattress and you fell back. He was on his knees again at the foot of the bed when you looked up at him. His face was in line with your mound.

“Put your legs up on my shoulders.” He ordered, patting his right arm.

“But Sant, honestly, I’m not-”

“Come on, you’re not as heavy as you think you are, hermosa, I promise you that.” He winked, picking one of your legs up and putting it over his right shoulder.

You complied and put the other over his left, still feeling unsure if he was just being polite, or if he actually liked the way you looked. He ran his finger over your panties, brushing across your clit and soaking them through with your arousal. You whined, gripping the sheets on either side.

“Is that all for me cariño?” He gently tapped the space between your legs with his fingertips, making a wet slapping sound when he did.

“S-sorry, guess I’m just excited.”

“Good.” You heard him shuffling around in his pockets. “Don’t move.”

You obeyed, not sure what he was doing down there, but you felt something cold and metal. Then you heard a snapping tear followed by the cool air hit your soaking wet folds.

“Did you just…cut my underwear?” You asked, brow furrowed.

“I’ll buy you a new pair.” He didn’t wait for your response before covering your cunt with his mouth.

Even if you’d wanted to protest, still feeling a bit self conscious, you were rendered speechless by the flicking of his tongue over your sensitive clit. You whined, bucking your hips upward to feel him even more. He put one hand over your stomach to hold you down while keeping the other squeezing your hip.

“Santi…” You gasped as he kept going, your body was trembling under his oral assault.

“Never tasted anything so good, cariño.” He said softly before going back for more.

He was making the wettest and sloppiest noises with his mouth, just trying to taste every last drop that came out of you. He brought the hand from your hip around and slid a finger deep into your cunt, feeling the soft walls as they fluttered under his tongue. You reached down and took a fistful of his hair between your fingers.

Santi moaned, and despite your reservations, you relaxed. He seemed to be enjoying himself, so you should too. As soon as you relaxed, everything felt that much better. Another thick finger of his slid in to meet the first. You let out a gasp, grabbing the sheets tighter with your free hand.

Santiago moved faster, drawing harsher and more desperate whimpers from your lips. You kept your hand on his head, pushing him down over your mound and feeling your core light up. His movements slowed and became more intentional, just at the right time to hit your walls in a way that sparked your climax.

“Santi I’m gonna, oh I’m…” You couldn’t even utter the words before you were a gasping mess against the mattress.

You couldn’t believe how good his mouth felt, but nothing compared to his cock. He stood up and pulled his pants down around his thighs. He let your right leg drop over the edge of the mattress while holding the other up against his chest. You heard wet sounds as he glided the tip of his shaft along the opening of your cunt. You bit your lip and arched your hips in a desperate motion.

“Mm, so needy, I like it.” Santi said in a dark tone before sliding himself into you and filling you to the hilt.

You both let out a moan into the room, but you didn’t have long to recover before he was slapping his hips against you with fervor. He wasn’t kidding when he said he loved your body. One hand was gripping the plump flesh of your hip, while the other was holding on to your leg that still rested along his torso. He turned his head and kissed your calf.

“Mm,” you groaned.

Everything became a symphony of sounds coming from his sweet lips. He reached his large hand forward to brush over your stomach, squeezing and reveling in the feeling of your body.

“Your skin is so soft sweetheart, love the way it feels.” He commented, fucking into you faster.

Not as good as your cock feels, you thought, unable to speak coherently. Your eyes clamped shut while you felt your body tingling from his continued thrusting through your heated core.

“Come on, hermosa, look at me, wanna see your face when you come on my dick.” He squeezed your leg closer to his body for leverage to move faster.

You opened your eyes and met with his. He licked his lips and then bit down on the bottom one while he grunted and thrusted harder. He exhaled sharply.

“You’re so tight sweetheart, I can feel it squeezing, not gonna last…” He leaned over, your leg slid off his shoulder and onto the bed.

He pulled you closer while he started kissing you hungrily. His forehead pressed against yours and his speed increased beyond what you’d ever felt. He turned into a grunting groaning mess while he chased his climax. He pressed his lips to your ear.

“Are you going to come for me, my pretty bebita? I wanna feel you squeeze my cock sweetheart.” His thrusts came to a halt and you felt a searing warmth flood your walls.

You felt that same wave of immeasurable pleasure from before, but this time stronger as it coursed through your body and into the space between your legs. Your cunt gushed over his girth, squeezing it just as he’d asked you to. He brought his lips to yours, feeding on the moans that escaped you.

“That feel good, baby? Yeah, listen to you, so pretty sweetheart.”

As you both came down from your high, he stepped back and pulled out of you. You heard his cum dripping out onto the floor. He went to the bathroom and came back with a towel. After cleaning you up, he reached out a hand and helped you off the bed.

When he pulled you up, he leaned in and brushed against your lips for a gentle kiss.

“Will you stay the night with me, Santi?” You asked, pleading as desperately as you could with your eyes.

He smiled, eyes wrinkling on the sides, “of course hermosa, wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to do this again in the morning.”

AO3 Link

Santiago "Pope" Garcia Masterlist

Triple Frontier Masterlist

TAGLIST (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @lia275, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @in-between-the-cafes, @kingtwhiddleston, @romanarose, @grumpyahjumma, @360iris

#santiago garcia triple frontier #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #santi x reader #santiago garcia fic #santiago garcia smut #santi garcia smut #triple frontier smut #santiago pope garcia x you #santiago pope garcia smut #sant x you #santiago garcia headcanon #triple frontier headcanon #triple frontier fanfiction

241 notes · View notes

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. 💖

🌟 Masterlist 🌟 fic-aversary masterlist 🌟

i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x you #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #santiago garcia smut #santiago pope garcia smut #my fic #fic-aversary celebration

252 notes · View notes

the-little-ewok · 2 years

Note

“ yeah, you're in love with me. “ with Santi pretty please??? 🥺🥺🥺 also if you’d do one of your fluffy smut ones? But I’m gonna leave that up to you 💖

Shut up and kiss me Santiago "Pope" Garcia X F!Reader Rating : E / 18+ Wordcount : 7k Warnings: Mentions of casual sex/FWB, Language, Angst, Fluff, Smut, PIV, unprotected sex, Oral f- receiving, fingering, edging, lil bit of hair pulling, feral Santi comes with his own warning. (Idk if I should warn this but he does refer to the reader as a brat a few times…affectionately), generally pretty soft. Summary: Santiago is your friend, your best friend. Your best friend that you are in love with. Which is exactly why you shouldn't be entertaining the idea of sleeping with him…

A/N: I am so sorry for how long it took me to write this! Also it's way longer than intended. I am however not sorry about that.

Un-beta'd because chaos is life.

Gif banner made by the lovely Salome-C

*******

It had started as something of a joke, that you and Santiago hadn't been laid in months and maybe you should deal with that together. You'd both laughed it off but after a few drinks, somewhere along the line, the joke had turned into a discussion, which turned into a reality.

"I mean we could?" Santiago had shrugged, watching the boys from the booth in which you'd both hidden, neither of you particularly wanting to be associated with the dance off that seemed to be happening.

"Yeah, I mean, it's just sex right? People do this all the time," you had nodded, sipping your drink in distraction and contemplating how much of a terrible idea it might be to have sex with the man you're hopelessly in love with, who is not hopelessly in love with you.

"Absolutely! Just sex. No strings attached. Just friends taking care of friends, right?" He had confirmed seriously, his hand already dropping to your thigh, fingers cautiously caressing your leg.

"Yeah, just friends taking care of friends," You'd breathed unsteadily as his fingers crept higher.

After that it was a short goodbye to the boys and a longer drunken walk to his apartment.

Which is exactly where you find yourself now, pressed against his front door, his mouth hot on yours, the taste of whisky on his tongue as he kisses you and fumbles opening the lock.

You tumble through the door, laughing against his mouth as you trip and stumble, desperate hands pushing jackets off shoulders, uncaring where they fall.

His tongue is hot and slick in your mouth, distractingly wiping away all questions and rational thoughts about the fact you should not be doing this. But any hesitation you might have had slipped away about three drinks ago, and the heat coursing through your veins has already burned out any thoughts of stopping.

When he presses you against the wall, too impatient to make it to the couch, you can't help but moan into his mouth, feeling his arousal pressing into your thigh through his jeans. His lips move down across your neck, peppering kisses and bites to the sensitive flesh.

You groan, tilting your head back to allow him better access.

"Pope," you give a soft pleasured sigh, bringing a hand up to tangle in his hair and hold his mouth to your flesh.

"Use my name, please," he rasps between kisses.

"Santiago," you whisper softly. This isn't how it should be — It's too intimate, too close to your heart, but you can't stop it. His name tumbles from your lips so easily despite that it's so foreign on your tongue. Rarely used, a secret kept hidden away.

He groans, pressing himself hard against you as his lips capture yours in another messy kiss.

Dragging you away from the wall he walks you backwards to the couch, breaking your kiss only to let you throw yourself down on it, before his mouth is back on yours. He presses you backwards into the soft cushions, pinning you with his body as his hands push up your dress, fingers gliding over exposed flesh of your thighs.

Questions and alarm bells suddenly trigger in your mind as his fingers creep across your hips. Are you really going to do this? It won't be enough. You know it won't be enough. Yet you're still here, pressed into the couch by his weight, your tongue lapping against his.

It won't ever be enough, but it's all you can have.

"Santi," you whimper against his lips, pressing your hips up against his. He groans, grinding down against your clothed core, making your own moan gasp up through your throat. You meet his gaze as he lifts his head to watch you, his eyes dark and predatory, before something flickers behind them, as though he sees you suddenly, as though he had forgotten who you were.

His whole body language changes in an instant, he stiffens, holding his body up away from yours, his jaw clenched, eyes shining with a sudden fear.

"Santi? You ok?"

"I..I… I'm sorry I can't do this," he mumbles, shaking his head as he climbs off you. It takes a few seconds for you to process his words and you stare at him blankly for a moment as he sits at the edge of the couch, dropping his head into his hands. Shuffling to sit up you reach for him, confused hurt piercing your chest when he pulls away from the brush of your fingers against his shoulder.

"Hey, talk to me. What just happened?" You hate the fact your voice sounds so lost, so small, so scared. You don't understand his sudden change. You don't understand what you've done and your desperate for him to explain.

"I just— fuck." He gets to his feet, running a hand through his greying curls as he turns away from you, pacing across the room.

"Did I do something?"

"No. No. I'm sorry, I just can't do this. Not with you," he sighs and then slams his hands on the wall with a growl.

"Oh. Okay."

He must hear the hurt in your voice because he lets out a sigh and shakes his head, barely giving a glance in your direction, as though he can't even look at you anymore.

"I didn't mean...I mean… it's not you. You're beautiful, you're perfect. You're just you. And I'm me, and I just...can't."

You'd dreamt once or twice of him saying words so similar to you. Whispering against your skin how perfect he thinks you are, how beautiful. But never like this, never with confusion and heartache.

"Yeah, I get it," you nod, swallowing hard and still trying to make sense of his jumbled broken explanations combined with the fact he still won't even look at you. That hurts worse than any of his words.

"It's never...it's just…" he starts and trails off before he shakes his head. "I can't do this with you," He repeats quietly, his back to you, running his hands down his face as you try and process what he's saying. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

Pain splinters up through your chest, a deep wound to your heart. He was asking you to leave, after all this.

Getting to your feet you straighten your clothes and brush a shaking hand through your hair, "I'll walk myself, it's ok."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you back here. This was a terrible idea. You're my friend." He finally turns to face you, his expression hard to place. He looks sad, disappointed, lost. You want to reach for him and pull him into your arms, to help him through whatever has suddenly happened, but he feels so far away now that you can't make the move. Suddenly an ocean has appeared between you, and neither of you seem sure of how to cross it.

"I'm so sorry for this," he mumbles again softly.

You shake your head and give him what you hope comes off as a reassuring smile, desperate to rescue whatever tatters of your friendship are left.

"No, it's not your fault. We're friends and we shouldn't be putting that at risk just to get off. I get it and it's totally fine," you shrug with a wave of your hand, swallowing down the crushing disappointment. "We are way too drunk to make rational decisions right?"

You aren't drunk, not really, not anymore. You'd sobered up pretty quickly, and you know Santiago well enough to know the alcohol in his system isn't to blame either. At some point you both wanted this, just because you wanted each other. But the regret in his eyes sears straight through you. Whatever was there between you, he'd burned to ashes now.

"Let me at least call a cab. You can't walk back alone."

You shake your head at his offer, "It's a few blocks. I'll text you soon as I'm back."

He opens his mouth to protest but you beat him to it, quickly gathering up your things.

"I'll be fine I promise." You kiss his cheek, more out of habit and a desperate need to go back to normal, before you rush out of the door, ensuring he has no chance to stop you.

You get as far as the next block before the rejection fully hits you and tears burn your eyes. You knew there was no chance for certain now.

I can't do this with you.

Are you still awake? - Message sent

No reply. Your last message had been answered with a simple ok. A stark difference to the usual slew of emojis and hearts he would send you.

But it's been hours since you left. Hours since he'd broken your heart without even knowing he was doing it. Hours for you to calm down, to rationalise, to hope you could move on and forget about this, to hope you could both chalk it up to too many drinks, a momentary lapse of judgement.

Of course though it would still hurt — a keen sharp pain that's edges you wished you could dull. And perhaps over time you would. Perhaps the pain would eventually disappear and make way for brighter things. Perhaps.

You wonder if he knew, or at least guessed. Perhaps he'd seen it in your face, or tasted it in your kisses — the desperate need for more than he was offering. It was for the best, you'd reasoned with yourself. One night would never have been enough. Maybe this was the kindest way of ending before it began.

Sorry for earlier. We can just forget about it. It was a stupid decision. Never drinking again right? - Message sent

Still no response. Your messages stay unread.

Are we ok? - Message sent.

Okay, that was needy and you instantly regret sending it. Maybe you could just delete all of the messages before he even read them. At least then you could pretend it was nothing. You could pretend it didn't hurt at all. You could pretend you were just friends.

But even as your fingers hover over the keys again, the screen lights up with a photograph of the two of you, Santiago’s name on the caller ID as the phone vibrates impatiently in your hand.

Fuck.

You consider not answering but your thumb is automatically swiping the answer button before you even have a chance to stop it.

"Hey, San-Pope," you correct yourself quickly.

"Open the door." He pants down the phone.

"Why? Wait, what are you doing? Why’s it sound like — nope I'm not even gonna say it." You stop yourself before you can let that image get too far into your mind. The last thing you need is to think about that.

"Just come open the door, it's fucking freezing out here," he complains in a breathless tone. What follows is a loud banging on your door that makes you yelp in surprise.

Dropping the phone onto the coffee table you bolt out into the hallway and wrench open the door, fear twisting sharp in your veins about what must be wrong.

Santiago's cheeks are flushed and he’s breathing heavily, sweat damp in his curls despite the sharp winter air. You manage to take a quick recon of him, making sure he's still in one piece before he suddenly grabs you, pulling you into his arms and pressing his lips against yours.

It's so unexpected, and your mind is still catching up, that you can't even consider kissing him back.

"W-what are you doing?" You stutter out as he pulls away, frowning at your lack of response.

"Explaining I'm hopelessly in love with you. I couldn't have sex with you because I'd never let you go if I did. Honestly I thought it would be romantic to come tell you this now but fuck, i forgot how far it is to your house. I shouldn't have run. My knees are killing me." He babbles out quickly, leaning down with his hands on his knees, catching his breath while you stand frozen in the doorway. "Why didn't you let me let you walk home?"

You stare at him blankly for a long moment, trying to ignore the burning desire re-igniting itself in your belly at the mere memory of the way his hands had slid down your thighs, his tongue hot in your mouth. No, you're not going to think about that. Not even a little bit.

"Are you - are you fucking serious right now?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? I just ran all the way to your house to kiss you again. I swear this is the last time I do anything romantic if this is your reaction," he complains, standing up to stretch out his back. No matter how confused, how surprised, how angry you are, you still can't help but catch the way his shirt lifts just slightly with his moment, exposing the tiny patch of skin above his pants.

When he drops his hand and gives you an expectant look, you can't help but laugh from the shock. The noise tears itself from your throat before you have a chance to stop it, earning you a glare from the man as you clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

Santiago's frown deepens and you see the flicker of worry in his eyes.

"I can't tell if this is a good reaction?"

"I-I'm a bit surprised," you stammer, getting a hold on yourself. "You turned me down a couple of hours ago, and now you're all about romantic gestures and running to my house telling me you're in love with me?" It has more of a bite of anger behind it than you really mean it too, the hurt still too sharp in your chest.

"I know. I'm sorry," he sighs quietly, dropping his eyes from yours and looking everywhere but at you as he tries to find the words to explain his actions. It makes your heart physically ache for him. You've rarely seen him look so lost. Not since his sudden reappearance in your life. Not since they lost Tom.

"I thought I could just have you for one night and that would be enough. But I realised it would never be enough. I just… panicked and I thought I could fix it. I thought this…this would fix it."

There's a thousand things you want to ask, a thousand more you want to confess, but the words never come and the silence stretches out uncomfortably.

Santiago is the first to break it, his voice unsure.

"This was a stupid idea. I'll just go and we can pretend I was still drunk, ok?"

"I don't want you to go." The words escape, much like your earlier laughter, before you have a chance to stop them. They hang suspended in the air between you for a long moment, both of you lapsing back into a silence you still can't seem to fill.

"I just wanted you to know my feelings. I wanted to tell you for months. You're the first girl that knows everything about me and hasn't run a mile. Every time I had the chance to tell you how I felt I just…couldn't. And then tonight I just thought… fuck, I don't know what I was thinking. But I've always -"

"Stop. Stop. Just stop talking," you interrupt before you sigh, your tone softening as you take everything in. He'd pulled away from you out of fear of his own desires, because he cared for you too. Because he did want you, and he didn't know you wanted him. The urge to laugh at the entire situation bubbles up again but this time you bite it down.

Explaining I'm hopelessly in love with you.

You barely have time to catch up with his confessions and your own thoughts before he starts rambling again.

"I can go and we can talk about this tomorrow. Or not at all. I don't want to make things akw-"

"Will you just shut up and kiss me?" You cut him off sharply, finally meeting his worried gaze. It isn't eloquent, it isn't a sweet romantic gesture, or any bold declaration of love, but you hope it's enough for now. Enough to explain your feelings.

It takes him a second, a pause in his movements, waiting for you to take back your comment, and when you don't he steps up close to you. Wrapping one arm around your waist, holding you tightly against him, the other hand comes up to tangle in your hair, his thumb resting against your jaw as he leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is so much different to the giggling sloppy kisses you had shared earlier in the night as you stumbled into his apartment, or the rushed desperate kiss he had given you when you opened the door. This kiss is gentle, slow, and passionate, though no less insistent.

When his tongue licks into your mouth, you swear the fire that courses through your veins should burn you. The arm around your waist tightens as you press your body against his, tangling your hands in his curls as he familiarises himself with every inch of your mouth.

Neither of you pull away until the beep of a passing car pulls you back into reality.

Giggling you keep yourself pressed close against his chest, the heat from his body making you forget about the cold winter air surrounding you as you stand in the open doorway.

His hands slide down your back, cupping your ass to pull you impossibly closer to him as he steals another lingering kiss, one laced with suggestion.

"I know it's late, and maybe you've changed your mind about what you want tonight, so I don't have to, but can I come in for a while?"

You nod mutely, still too distracted by the tingling in your kiss swollen lips and the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

The lock is barely clicked into place before his hands are on your waist, spinning you to face him, pressing you back against the door and pinning you there with his body.

He holds your chin in a gentle grip as his lips find yours again, his other hand dropping down to smooth across your waist.

"I haven't been able to get you off my mind. Not for months." he sighs, placing a row of soft kisses across your jaw.

"Wish you'd told me before tonight," you manage to mumble in response, distracted by the movement of his lips down your neck, his teeth nipping at your pulse point.

He lets out a soft laugh of "me too" against your skin as the fingers which had been gripping your hip slowly start to slide up towards your ribs, capturing the edge of your t-shirt on their way, exposing your skin to his still chilled hand.

You gasp as cold fingertips sweep across your ribs, cooling your burning skin.

"I told you it was cold out," he grins, lifting his head and pausing to kiss your lips softly before he switches sides, his mouth going back to exploring your neck.

When he finds a particular spot that makes you give a breathy moan you can feel him smirk against your skin, making a mental note of it.

You know what he's doing — he's surveying you, completing perimeter checks, mapping out every weak point so he can take you apart piece by piece.

His other hand joins the wandering against your skin, drawing another hiss from you at the cold intrusion.

You open your mouth to complain but an incessant high pitched beeping interrupts you. It takes longer than it should for your desire-addled mind to realise what the noise is.

"Is that an alarm clock?" Santi frowns at you, looking around for the source of the noise.

"Timer. Cookies." You duck out of his arms, straightening your shirt as you run through to the kitchen, switching off the beeping timer before you open the oven to save the cookies.

"Are you seriously baking? It's like 2am?" Santiago laughs from behind you as he follows you into the kitchen.

"You seriously running over to a girls house at 2am to declare your undying love?" You defend yourself, turning the oven off and putting the cookies onto a cooling rack. "Baking helps me think."

Putting everything else into the sink you turn around in time to catch his yelp of pain as he picks up a cookie, immediately dropping it again when it burns his fingers.

"You literally just watched me get those out of the oven. How the hell did you ever stay alive?" You sigh, rolling your eyes and watching him shake his hand with a frown. "Let me see."

When he places his injured hand in yours you look it over carefully, seeing that no actual damage has been done before you give him a mischievous grin.

"I think you'll survive but just in case I'll kiss it better." You softly press your lips to his fingers, keeping your eyes on his face. Your action brings the quirk of a smile to the corner of his mouth, which is quickly replaced by a wide eyed look of surprise when you wrap your lips around his fingers, drawing them into your mouth.

You can't help but be proud of the way his mouth falls open, or the shaky exhale of breath he gives as you swirl your tongue around his digits, gifting him a soft moan before you withdraw, intentionally slowly.

"Better?" You raise an eyebrow with a grin, pleased at the power you have over him when it takes him a moment to react. But react, he does. When he moves he's on you before you have time to blink, his hands gripping your waist, pulling your hips hard against him as his lips capture yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue hot in your mouth.

When he finally pulls away, after your breathless and practically panting with need, he continues to hold you close, dipping his head to whisper sinfully in your ear.

"I've imagined fucking you in every room of this house, shall I let you pick where to start?"

Hard, pure desire surges upwards through you and you let out a soft moan of need, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to relieve some of the building ache between them as your pussy clenches.

Santiago lets you go, taking half a step back to look you over — heavily breathing and practically shaking with arousal from his words and kisses alone. You see the flicker of pride across his face at what he's done to you already with so very little. But you aren't going to let him win so easily. The battle for power is only just beginning.

Biting your lip you take another step back from him, taking a breath to gather yourself before you give him a smirk. He raises an eyebrow in question as you take another step, then another, slowly backing up until your ass is pressed against the edge of the kitchen table.

You pause, reaching down to grip the edges of your shirt before you pull it up and over your head, tossing it out of the way before you shimmy out of your bottoms and kicking them to join your shirt. He makes no move towards you but his eyes take their time roaming your exposed skin all the way to your toes before coming back to meet yours.

Your bra is the next to join the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and you don't miss the way his tongue darts out to lick at his lips as he eyes the newly exposed flesh.

"Going to stand there and let me take care of myself?" You tease, watching his eyes narrow. "Or are you just still tired out from your run, old man?"

That earns you a low growl that shoots straight to your core as he strides over to you, hands slamming down on either side of you, pinning you against the table.

"You're gonna apologise for that comment," He warns in a low tone, dropping his forehead to rest against yours.

"Oh will I now?" You grin, teasingly licking his lips.

His reaction is instantaneous, lips crashing into yours, one hand leaving the table to tangle in your hair.

When you nip his bottom lip with your teeth he lets out a low growl, and using the hand in your hair he tugs, gentle enough not to hurt you, but firm enough to tilt your head back, exposing the column of your neck to his kisses.

"You're such a brat," he complains against your skin, nipping your pulse point with his teeth. There's something in the tone of his voice that makes your pussy clench around nothing.

His lips work their way back up your neck, across your jaw to capture your lips again, his tongue licking into your mouth, hot and slick. He lets go of your hair to allow his hand to wander down across your chest, taking your peaked nipple in his fingers and rolling it slowly as you gasp.

Your own hands tug at his shirt, needing the barrier between you gone, but Santiago pushes your hands away, breaking your kiss.

"No, we are going to deal with the apology you owe me first." The way he speaks sounds like both a promise and a threat, making goosebumps break out across your skin and your breath hitch in anticipation.

He keeps you pinned to the table with his body, only moving back just enough to allow his hand to slide between you, brushing his fingers over the cloth still covering your core, and you hear him give a soft groan as his fingers meet the wetness already soaking through the thin material.

"Baby," he groans, pressing his fingers against your clit through the fabric, causing you to let out a shaky breath, a quiet moan catching in the back of your throat as his lips move across your jaw, placing gentle kisses in a row down your neck.

"Oh, we can do better than that," he whispers, as tugs the material to the side, allowing his fingers to drag through your wet folds. "Hmm so wet for me. I could slide straight into you right now."

To hammer home his point he presses two fingers deep into you, and this time you don't hold back the loud moan that tears from your throat.

"That's better," he smirks, removing his fingers to drag them up, circling your clit, spreading your slick. "Don't hold back, I want the neighbours to hear you."

You hiss out a curse, your hands flying to hold his arms as your hips buck against him, desperately chasing the friction you've been craving since he first kissed you so many hours ago.

He teases you in the best possible way, alternating between pressing his fingers into you, curling them slowly against your walls, and drawing them out to glide across your clit. It takes no time at all for you to feel the beginning of your climax swelling in your belly.

But then he stops suddenly, making you frown. You open your mouth to ask, to protest about why he stopped, but your words get stuck when he holds his fingers up to his mouth, licking each clean with a satisfied hum.

"I need to taste more of that,"

You want to make a coherent reply. You want to be cocky and cute and take back the power, but the predatory look in his eyes quells your tongue, and you find all you can do is watch.

He kneels down slowly, pressing kisses down between your breasts, across your stomach and down to the edge of your panties. He playfully licks a line following your waistband making you wriggle with ticklishness.

Santi lets out a soft laugh against your skin as his hands ghost up your thighs. Biting the edge of your panties he tugs downward, which does nothing. His second try budges them no further and only makes you giggle.

"Stop laughing," He grumbles but you can see the smile hiding at the corner of his lips. "This was supposed to be hot"

"Let me help a little bit," you giggle, hooking your thumbs into the material and pushing them down over your hips.

Taking the edge of your panties back in his teeth he tugs a few more times, eventually managing to get them far enough loose that they slide down your legs. For all the trouble it's caused him it is worth it, and you can't help but bite your lip at the sight of him at your feet, your underwear in his teeth.

As he kneels in front of you, his pupils blown wide, watching your every reaction, you realise while he holds a power over you, you hold just as much over him. This game of trading places, trading power, neither of you were going to win, because one would always give way to the other. You need him just as much as he needs you.

He lifts one of your legs, then the other, removing the offending material of your panties. He pushes your legs apart as you lean against the table, your fingers digging into the wood with anticipation.

His breath is hot against your skin as he runs his nose up your thigh, before placing soft kisses against your skin.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he mumbles softly, more to himself than to you. It's a strangely soft sentiment given the way he's been so far, and more than any of his other words, his soft statement makes you tremble the most. "And so fucking delicious."

He licks a hot flat stripe the full length of you before swirling his tongue around your clit, drawing a high pitched moan from you, your hips bucking against his face.

He gives a pleased hum at your reaction which vibrates through your core, before he devours you. He alternates between slow laps of his tongue against your clit, to pressing the hot muscle deep inside your core, tasting as much of you as he can.

Your fingers wrap in his short curls, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp as you hold him to you, high pitched needy moans freely escaping from your throat as his tongue brings you steadily closer to the edge.

You feel the familiar tendrils of heat snaking up through your belly, your legs trembling as he pushes you ever closer to the edge, the blissful edges of a climax just out of reach.

Your hips arch, chasing his mouth as he pulls back, a broken whimper tearing from your throat.

"Fuck, don't stop," you whimper as his lips move to your thighs, placing soft kisses there as though you arn't trembling in need. He takes your hands in his and gently presses them to the table, a silent command for you to keep them to yourself now.

"Hmm are you going to apologise for what you said?" He presses a soft kiss to your thigh as he looks up at you, waiting for your answer. You're momentarily confused before you remember your comment about him being an old man. If he's expecting you to apologise he has another thing coming. You blink at him, tight lipped and stubborn.

Santiago gives you a shrug, a mutter of "brat" and then goes straight back to lapping at your sensitive folds.

He brings you to the edge twice more, each time pulling away from you just before your climax hits, asking if you're ready to apologise as he goes back to peppering soft kisses against your thighs while you tremble.

Every time you ignore his question, determined that eventually he'll give in. But he's more stubborn than that and by the fourth time he pulls away, you're ready to tell him anything he wants to hear if only he'll let you cum.

"Fuck I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whimper, legs trembling, your nails digging into the edge of the table. He raises an eyebrow at your apology, the glimmer of a smirk on his lips, before dipping his head back to your heated core, dragging his tongue achingly slowly across your clit. "I'm s-sorry. Please don't stop. Please, please."

Just a few more moments and you'd be over the edge. You'd apologised. He had to give in this time. He had to let you cum now. He had to.

You almost sob when he pulls away from you, the whimper of his name on your lips in a shaky plea.

"Santi,"

"I know, baby," he soothes softly, getting to his feet, "I know you wanna cum, but the first time I make you cum it's going to be on my cock."

Fuck. You're almost lost at his words alone, another needy whimper tearing itself from your throat. You almost don't mind that he stopped your climax yet again. Almost.

"Up," he breathes, tapping the edge of the table, a gentle command. You jump onto the kitchen table, sitting with your legs dangling over the edge.

"Off." You give your own demand, tugging at his shirt as he slots himself between your still trembling thighs. He allows you to this time, helping you pull it off before unbuttoning his pants, shoving them down, exposing his weeping cock.

"Of course you go commando," you giggle breathlessly, rolling your eyes as he grins at you. Really you shouldn't be surprised, it's exactly the sort of thing you should have expected. Your mind can't help but slip into memories of every time you've playfully sat on his lap.

"Easy access, baby," he shrugs. Wrapping his hands around your thighs he gives a sharp tug, dragging you to the edge of the table, and out of your thoughts. Your giggles cut off abruptly at the feel of his hard cock against your folds, coating him in your slick.

He holds your waist in a gentle grip as his lips ghost across yours, his eyes flicking across your body, drinking in the sight of your naked bodies pressed together.

"Please," you whisper softly, winding your arms around his neck, desperate need still sparking through your veins, "Don't make me wait any longer."

He captures your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue, swallowing down your moan as he presses himself inside you devastatingly slowly, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein as you adjust to the stretch.

You're expecting him to go to town, to rail you into the table until stars to explode across your vision. You don't expect him to still, drawing your body close against his chest, dropping his head to capture your lips, teasing them open to dip his tongue into your mouth.

His hands explore your flesh, ghosting gently along your back, caressing the curve of your hip, fingers tiptoeing down your thighs as he kisses you, slowly, as though he isn't buried deep inside you, as though he has all the time in the world to savour this moment. As though he hasn't brought you to the edge only to drag you back, a maddening number of times.

"Santi," you whimper in a plea against his mouth, your walls pulsing around him as he holds still.

Pulling back he takes your lower lip in his teeth and tugs gently, a rogue smile blooming across his face when you let out another soft moan.

"I"ve always loved the way you say my name. I can't wait to hear how you scream it."

He uses that exact moment, as your eyes go wide at his words to pull almost all the way out of you before thrusting deep, punching the air from your lungs.

It's blissful and euphoric. It's better than anything you could have imagined. Each thrust sends sparks scattering across your vision, pulling gasps and moans from you, each louder than the last. It takes him no time at all to drag you back to the edge, to hold you over the precipice of oblivion once more.

Your nails dig into his back as you bury your face in his neck, kissing and biting his shoulder as you tremble, heat blooming out across your body, desperate to feel more of him, to taste more of him, to chase the impending high that he's kept from you.

"You're close aren't you?" He groans, another deep thrust tearing a cry from your lips, "I can feel it."

"Yes," you whimper, wrapping your legs more firmly around his waist, trying to draw him deeper into you.

Wrapping his fingers around your leg beneath your knee he tugs your leg upwards sharply, high above his hip, causing his next thrust to hit the spot within you that makes you wail in pleasure.

"Fuck, right there," you whine, clinging onto him. He groans, his own stuttered curses mumbled against your neck as he pulls your body closer, barely leaving your wet heat with each deep thrust, rutting against you, desperate to be as close to you as possible.

It's almost too much. The pressure and tension threading through your limbs makes you tremble with need. Practically sobbing, delirious with pleasure you drop your head to his shoulder, nails digging into his back as the tension builds and coils inside you.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with lust.

You lift your head to meet his eyes, dark with lust, intense, soft and hard. It's the same look he gave you earlier, only this time he doesn't pull away, he drags you impossibly closer to him. Somewhere in your pleasure clouded mind, you register the noise of the neighbours banging on the wall and you let out a shaky laugh, Santiago's face breaking into a grin. But then he shifts just slightly, dragging your leg a little higher, thrusting a little harder, his hand slipping between your bodies to press against your clit, and the tension that had been building inside you snaps. The release washes over you in trembling waves as you hurtle over the edge into oblivion, a scream of his name tearing from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut, unable to keep his gaze as you fall apart around him.

"Fuck. Fuck, baby. That's it, let me hear it." His arm tightens around your back, holding you up against his chest as your body convulses and trembles, his fingers still working against your clit as incoherent words and moans tear themselves from your throat, riding the high for as long as you can.

He groans at the feel of your cunt pulsing and squeezing around him, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, working to his own climax.

"Santi, Santi," you whimper his name over and over, your whole body trembling with the overstimulation. His muscles flex under your fingers as his hips stutter, plunging him deep into you with a low groan of your name muffled against your neck as he cums.

There's a long suspended moment where neither of you move, where you still feel the tremors of your climaxes, where nothing else exists in the world. It seems to drag on forever, and yet all too quickly Santiago is letting down your leg slowly, running his palm up your thigh and around your waist, holding you to him as his forehead drops to yours. You allow your eyes to flutter closed, still trying to catch your breath.

"You ok, baby?" He whispers softly, allowing his hands to roam across your damp skin, brushing across your back and hips, coming up to gently brush his thumb against your jaw. You manage to hum in assurance, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close.

"Yeah," you whisper softly, as your fingers soothingly trace the scar at the base of his neck. "San, do you want to stay here tonight?"

"I'll stay until you kick me out," he promises, brushing his lips against yours, his hands continuing to explore your skin, as though memorising how it feels to touch you. He captures your lips sweetly in gentle kisses, over and over, as though he can't taste enough of you.

"So, does this mean you're in love with me?" He finally whispers softly against your mouth. The question is quiet and soft, so different from his lustful growls that had filled your ears only moments earlier. There is such a hopeful edge to his tone that it makes your heart soften, any hurt that may have been caused by earlier events evaporated.

Opening your eyes you regard him for a moment — His flushed cheeks, sweat beading on his brow, his eyes hopeful yet concerned.

Even in the softest of moments you can't help but tease him, just a little.

"Santiago, I like you a lot. But," you sigh, raising your hand to cup his cheek gently as he frowns, "I once saw you eat pineapple on your pizza and I could never love someone who -"

"Ok, enough. Mala. You're such a brat," he complains, cutting you off. But he can't keep the grin from his face, relief bright in his eyes.

Giggling you frame his face with your hands, softly brushing your thumbs against his stubble as you bring your lips to his in a slow kiss. You pour your feelings into it, allowing him to see your heart without speaking.

"Yeah, you're in love with me," He breathes with a relieved smile as you pull apart.

"Yes," you admit with a soft smile, watching his face light up, "I'm in love with you. Now will you -"

"Shut up and kiss you?" He cuts in with a smug grin and a raise of his eyebrow.

"Actually I was going to ask if you'd shut up and bring me a cookie. I'm gonna need the sugar before we pick another room," you pause to give him a teasing smile, knowing exactly how to get what you want now, "well, that's if your knees can handle it."

Santi's knees survive the next round, but your bed is less fortunate.

****

Taglist reblog to follow. If you liked this please take the time to comment and reblog :)

#Santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x f!reader #santiago garcia x female reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x female reader #santiago pope garcia x you #santiago garcia imagine #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #tripple frontier fanfiction #tripple frontier

1K notes · View notes

bits-and-babs · 1 year

Note

Oh if you’re accepting requests would you do thigh riding with Santi? 😳🫣🫣 man has very rideable thighs…

16. thigh riding I| santi masterlist |I main masterlist

"Santiago," you speak his name lowly as he pulls you from the passenger seat of the car. It’s dark, the vehicle hidden in the blackness of the night in an attempt to evade detection during your surveillance of the building that the cartel had set up drugs-shop in. “We’re working-“

“There’s nothing to ‘surveil’, hasn’t been all night,” he mumbles, pulling you over the car’s console and setting you on one of his thighs. Santi looked agitated, frustration painting his under-eyes a tired blue-purple. Dead end after dead end wifh Lorea seemed to be pushing him to the limits of his patience. “I’d prefer to watch you get off on my thigh, Hermosa.”

Santi’s hands grip ahold of your hips now, dragging them across his thigh with ease. He flexes the muscle, tightening it up beneath your clit as he rolls your pelvis forward.

“Pope-“ you sigh, lips parting as he presses kisses to your throat. Santi’s stubble scratches up against your soft skin, making a soft scraping sound and leaving an almost staticky feeling behind.

He nips at the skin just beneath your earlobe, cruelly targeting the parts of you that he knows will get you riled up. Soon you don’t need his help, rocking your hips against his muscular thigh and gripping at his tshirt as arousal floods between your thighs.

“Fu-“

“Pope,” a pointed voice sounds from the radio set on the dashboard of the car, causing you both to jump. Catfish. “You might want to cut the line.”

Santi smirks at that, seeing blush flood across your cheeks at the realisation that the boys could hear you.

“Let’s give ‘em a show.”

386 notes · View notes

flightlessangelwings · 6 months

Text

Ktober 2023 Day 16- Lap Dance

Santiago Garcia x fem!reader

Word count- 1.6k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), sexworker reader (respectfully), reader wears a sparkly bra and thigh highs, slapping, riding, protective!Santi, pining, one mention of Santi's round ass lol, no use of y/n

Notes- This is so on brand for me it's not even funny lol. And I definitely had fun writing this one! Prompt list made by me! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on my new fics!

Music pulsed through the club as Santiago Garcia made his way in. Flashing lights highlighted the silhouettes of the girls who danced on the stage, and there was glitter everywhere. Santi gave them a glance and a smile as he made his way to the bar; there was only one person he looked forward to seeing when he came here.

And his heart pounded in his chest when he laid his eyes on you. Your back was turned to him, but he knew your ass anywhere. The skimpy outfit complimented your figure, accentuating your features, and he couldn’t help but stare as you leaned forward slightly to reach for a drink to place on your tray.

Santiago cleared his throat before he sauntered up to you, leaning in to murmur in your ear, “Looking good tonight, baby.”

You gasped for a moment before you recognized the voice. Your face softened as you turned to him, and you took a moment to admire his handsome features, “Santi…” you breathed as a smile lit up your face. But your tone dropped as you shimmied your shoulders, “What brings you back here tonight?”

He smirked as he rested a hand on your hip, “I think you know, baby,” he purred in your ear as he placed a soft kiss on your cheek.

Heat rose under your skin and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle, “Your usual, then?” you bat your eyes at him.

Santi nodded, his gaze burning into you.

“Wait here,” you told him, “I gotta deliver these drinks then I’ll get someone to cover for me.”

Reluctantly, Santiago let go of you and his eyes never left you as you made your way through the crowd to the private tables. His fist clenched as he watched the way the men who sat there oogled you, and a sense of pride blossomed in his chest when you slapped a wandering hand off of your backside. You even used a wrist lock move that he taught you. Of course, Santiago wouldn’t hesitate to jump in if you needed him, but you had it handled and you walked away before he even had a chance to move.

“Follow me,” you slid a hand into his when you made your way back to him, “Let’s get some privacy.”

“Right behind you,” Santi cooed, “Wouldn’t want to miss the view.”

You laughed, “Your view ain’t bad either, Santi.”

He ran his thumb across your hand as you led him into the private rooms and shut the door. Knowing the routine, Santi sat in the chair in the middle of the small space as you turned on some music. Without another word, you swayed to the music as you made your way back to where he sat.

You straddled his lap, holding onto his shoulders as you moved your hips to the beat. You knew what you were doing as you kept yourself hovered over him, just brushing down to tease him once every few sways. It drove Santi wild, and he always craved more. He rested his hands on your hips to guide your movements gently; you were still in control for now.

“I missed you,” you admitted in a soft tone as you grinded your hips against his lap, “It’s been a while since you’ve been in.”

“I know, baby,” Santi ran his eyes up and down your body, “Shit happened.”

You pushed yourself up and turned around, rubbing your ass against Santi’s torso instead. Looking over your shoulder, you asked, “Want to talk about it?”

A flash of a frown glazed over his face. Santi didn’t want to be upset right now, not when he cradled your ass in his hands, “No,” he said plainly, “I just want you right now, baby.” Before he thought twice about it, Santi slapped your ass, pulling a moan from deep in your throat.

“Fuck,” you breathed as you turned back around and straddled his lap once more. This time, you lowered your body more against him, grinding your body against his quickly hardening cock.

Santiago wrapped his arms around you, yanking you even closer against his body. In a flash, he crashed his lips against yours in a desperate and heated kiss. You moaned into him as you rocked your body against his, only this time you lost the rhythm from being so consumed by his kiss.

“Baby,” he murmured against your lips.

Breaking away, you blinked your eyes open to meet his gaze, and your heart skipped a beat at the way he looked at you. He was different from anyone else, and it wasn’t just his handsome face. You felt safe with Santi, and he always left you wanting more, when it should have been the other way around. What you didn’t know was how badly he craved you as well.

You whimpered as you lifted yourself enough to reach for his zipper. With excerpt precision from your occupation, you single-handedly opened his zipper and pulled out and length. A fire ignited behind your eyes as you pumped is cock a few times, and watched as he lost his composure for a moment.

“Shit baby,” Santi groaned.

You exhaled sharply with a grin as you squeezed his cock harder, thoroughly enjoying the way he turned into a mess under your touch, “You like that, Santi?” you purred.

“Yes,” he breathed, “But you know what I want,” he added, regaining his composure as you let go of his cock.

“I know,” you cooed as you ran your fingers through his curls, “I want you too, Santi.”

“Fuck,” he sighed as he watched you quickly strip yourself. He slipped off his shirt, desperate for as much skin to skin contact as he could get.

When you sat back down on his lap, you had nothing on but your thigh highs and tiny sparkly bra, something Santiago loved. He groaned as he cupped your breasts while you rocked your folds along his length.

“Santi…” you moaned as you held onto his shoulders, a jolt of electricity pulsing through you the moment you touched his skin.

“You ready, baby?” he asked in a low tone.

“Please,” you begged as you adjusted yourself to line up with his cock, “Santi…”

Perhaps a little too quickly, you sat yourself down in his lap once more, this time with his cock deep inside you. In one swift movement, Santiago was suddenly buried in your pussy, and both of you gasped loudly. You collapsed into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“You alright, baby?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good,” he growled as he bucked his hips up into you, causing you to moan into his shoulder.

Finding your rhythm once more, you lifted yourself up to meet his gaze and rocked your body in time with his. Together the two of you found a beat all your own as you writhed against each other on the chair.

“Fuck,” you both breathed at the same time.

“I’ve missed this pussy,” Santi growled, “Missed you.”

Your mouth dropped open as his cock hit that sweet spot deep inside you, “Santi… Fuck…”

“Cum for me, baby,” he sped up his thrusts from underneath you, groaning as you dug your nails into his skin.

The room spun as your climax hit without warning, and your limbs trembled as you came hard. You gushed against your bodies as he pounded into you from below, talking you through your orgasm until his own hit. With just a few more thrusts, Santiago came deep inside you, shivering and groaning your name as he spilled himself inside you.

When you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer, you fell forward into Santiago’s strong chest, and he caught you without hesitation. Together, you breathed heavily as you both came down from your highs, still connected together as you sat on the chair.

“You ok, baby?” he asked as he ran his fingers up and down your back.

“Perfect,” you murmured with a smile as you closed your eyes contently.

As much as you wanted to stay here like this with Santiago, you couldn’t be gone long, you were still at work after all. With a reluctant grumble, you pushed yourself up, watching with awe as Santiago’s softening cock slid out of you. He reached for his shirt as you dressed yourself. You hated that your time with him was limited, but such was the nature of your occupation.

Santiago hated it just as much as you did. “Those guys give you any trouble earlier?” he asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you replied as you turned back to him, “Just some guys who have trouble with the no touching rule.”

He frowned, “How about I stick around for a bit and make sure those assholes keep their hands to themselves,” and off my girl, he added in his head. Santi knew you knew what came with your job. He was fine with it, but he also wanted to make sure you were safe and alright. That was more important to him than anything else.

Your face softened, “I’d like that.”

He stood and cupped your face, “If you want,” he started as his lips hovered over yours, “I can take you home tonight too.” Santi couldn’t take it any longer, and he took his shot.

You closed the gap between your lips as you clung to him, “I’d like that too,” you repeated in a low tone, “I was waiting for you to ask me that.”

Santiago almost couldn’t believe your reply, but he had never been happier nonetheless, “Good,” his tone dropped, “Then I can show you what I can really do… when I can take my time with you.”

“Can’t wait,” you smiled widely as you kissed him again.

139 notes · View notes

pimosworld · 5 months

Text

The story of us- Final Chapter

Pairing-Triple Frontier boys x f!reader

Chapter summary-The boys find a way to make your birthday very special.

CW-18+, Angst,Fluff,lots of fluff, tears but happy tears.

WK-5k

A/N- This is my first completed series so I’m very proud of myself for that accomplishment. I’m not saying goodbye to this group so please be on the lookout for future stories involving them as their relationship progresses. Thanks for sticking around 🤍 all of you.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Final chapter-It’s my party

“Come in officers.” You don’t skip a beat as you move aside to let the two men enter your home. Your training won’t allow you to let on that your heart is beating a mile a minute.

You gesture them over to your dining room table to have a seat. Of course the couch feels more personal and you don’t want them to be comfortable. The more comfortable they are, the longer they’ll stay. You want to be able to sit with your nervous legs concealed under a table versus on display for them to judge your movements.

They likely know as much as they can about you. Your military background and a basic knowledge of your schooling and home life. What they likely don’t know is you are no basic militant soldier and you’ve had them clocked since they stepped through the threshold of your home.

Any form of torture or interrogation you’ve been through will make this look like child’s play.

You have a seat at the head of the table facing the door. Not offering them something to drink was another tactic in making sure they were uncomfortable enough to make this quick.

“We just want to ask you a few questions regarding your boyfriend Michael’s disappearance.”

“Ex.” The officer who couldn’t keep his eyes away from the low cut neckline of your tank top looks up at you finally. “Sorry to interrupt but we broke up weeks ago.”

“Well that would explain why one of his coworkers reported him missing and not you.” Officer Williams seems to be offering up information you don’t necessarily need but could definitely be used to your benefit. “She seemed to be under the impression you two were still together.”

“We got into a pretty big argument and I asked him to leave. He hadn’t been acting himself lately and he didn’t really react well to my questioning his odd behavior.” You hold his eye contact as he waits for you to continue. “I have a box of his things that he never came to get if you want to take a look.”

He perks up at that and you stand to head out of the kitchen towards your bedroom. You don’t miss the way the other officer watches you walk clearly not having any sense of decorum about him.

You linger in the hallway a moment listening to their hushed voices. “She doesn’t know anything, let's just go.”

“I know but I need to go through the routine.” He says through gritted teeth.

Your leaving gave you a moment to breathe and come up with some idea of what you were going to say when they inevitably brought up the boys.

You set the box down in front of the shorter officer and he goes for it like a kid being handed a toy to keep himself busy. Leaving you with the one who had some semblance of professionalism.

He tilts his head towards the ornate bouquets on your countertop. “Those all for you? You must be a lucky woman.”

“Oh my friends spoil me, they dropped those off earlier.” Not entirely a lie.

“What’s the occasion if you don’t mind me asking?” I do mind actually.

“It’s my birthday in a few days.” The mention of your birthday makes you wonder if you would even be able to see them or know what’s going on.

The other officer seems bored of looking through the box of his random assortment of clothes and paperwork that he left as he slides it forward.

“I don’t really see anything in here but I’d like to take it off your hands if you don’t mind?” You throw your hands up and he tucks the box under his arm as he stands seemingly ready to go.

“Well officer Williams and I should be getting out of your hair.” He offers a tight lipped smile at his partner who doesn’t manage to disguise his eye roll from you.

You’re torn between acting like you don’t care about his disappearance and not wanting to come off like you care too much about your ex boyfriend. It would be a little suspicious even without evidence that you’re involved that you could care less about someone you spent over six months with. Truthfully you’re relieved.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you any more information.” They wave you off in your attempt to sound concerned.

“It’s probably for the best since he was involved in some pretty shady business dealings.” The more competent of the two turns around to hand you his card. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling yourself, but if anyone comes around here giving you trouble or asking questions about him you give me a call.” His wink suggests something else and now you’ve all but written off these two idiots, who are no doubt on a wild good chase.

“Those your delta buddies?” The other officer gestures to their photo on the wall with you strategically placed in the middle.

Annoyed at pointing out the obvious but forced to bite back a smart retort. “Yes, that was taken shortly after I joined.”

“Well I’m sure you could call on one of them if you run into any trouble.” They chuckled to themselves as they stepped out into your front porch.

You have no idea

****

Will closes the laptop just after you close your front door. He runs his hands through his hair as he stares up at the ceiling, breathing a sigh of relief. It’s done

Santiago’s idea to purposely leave you in the dark offered you the chance to have a genuine interaction should the cops show up. Which they assumed they would since you were his most recent relationship.

Ben’s already left from the table, no doubt to start packing his bags because he knew once the cops left they were going to head home. Ben may have worn his heart on his sleeve but they were all holding on by a thread not being able to talk to you or see you in person.

The little glimpses of you they got through the camera only served as a means of torture. Watching you do the most menial task in the kitchen while dancing or kicking your feet on the couch when the book your reading gets interesting. They want to be there for those things everyday.

Someday

The next mission, which they had days to plan out being holed up in the safe house was orchestrating your birthday. You always told them not to make a big deal about it. Just being with you boys is allI want.

They skated on that for too long. You deserved more for your birthday than the normal hang out at the bar in your usual spot. You are a big deal so they should make you feel like one. Especially if they were going to show you how committed they are.

Everyone had their specific tasks tailored to their skill level and you’d be a fool to think each of them weren’t going to treat this like the most important thing they’ve ever done.

All doubts about their relationship or what people would think were out the window before they even stepped foot into the safe house.

If they were willing to travel to another country and steal a drug lord's money, they could just as easily tell society to fuck off when it comes to you.

****

You haven’t slept that well in a long time. Some may find it odd after being questioned by the police, but Mike being gone puts you at ease. Knowing whatever happened to him was not by accident and whatever they did, it was for you.

You were completely ruined for any other man when you stepped foot into their lives. It’s a shame it’s taken you this long to notice because you’ve wasted so much time.

Your relationships with each of them over the years have developed into something you can’t live without. You couldn’t put your finger on why your brain wouldn’t allow you to look at any one of them as just a friend. It made things difficult when your lives were on the line so you shoved it down deep somewhere to hide away and never resurface. Until Tom passed away and all those feelings came flooding back and instead of embracing it, you ran head first in the wrong direction.

It’s a little sick and twisted but you really have your ex to thank for pushing them back into your life and making all of you open your eyes up to see the most perfect thing was already happening right in front of you.

You're thankful you have work to keep you busy today. You know it’s highly likely they’ll be coming home from wherever they are and you don’t want to sit by your phone all day waiting for a call or text.

You hop in your shower letting the hot water (scalding) as Frankie would put it cascade over you. Washing the last few weeks away, the steam is opening up your lungs and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in a long time. You nearly choke on it as you hear your phone ping from the counter. Almost breaking your neck and towel rack in the process of jumping out to read your text.

Benjamin: I'll be seeing you this week honey

When

Benjamin:😘

You stand their half naked soaking the mat beneath you as you wait for a response. You look up and see your blurry reflection in the mirror and get a sneaky idea. Your hands brush quickly over the mirror streaking the glass but revealing you just enough. You pull the towel up slightly before you bite your lip and snap a photo.

Image

Benjamin: Sweetheart you’re killing me.

Benjamin: I’ll see you on Wednesday

****

Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough. Thankfully you weren’t assigned to the ER today so you had time to rush home and shower, unsure of when Ben would be showing up or if he was planning on staying.

You put on your favorite leggings that hugged your curves perfectly and your old army tee shirt. After giving yourself a once over in front of the floor length mirror you dabbed on some new perfume that you treated yourself to for your birthday.

The doorbell rings and you try not to sprint to the door as you shuffle through your hallway, taking a slow deep breath before opening it.

Your legs nearly buckle at the sight of Ben on your porch, looking the most nervous you’ve ever seen him. He’s shakily holding a piece of canvas paper in his hands as he sways back and forth. He has a blue polo on to match his eyes and a pair of tan slacks. His hair is combed back out of his face and he looks so handsome you could cry.

“I missed you.” He breathes out like it’s the first time his lungs have had air in weeks.

You can’t help yourself when you launch into his arms and he clings to you like his life depends on it.

It feels like an eternity as you stand on your front porch just holding him, breathing in his scent. A new cologne you don’t recognize that washes over you.

“Oh shit the paper.” He reluctantly lets you go to smooth out the paper he dropped on the ground as you try to glance at it and he holds it back from you with a wink.

“What’s that?” You gesture towards it as he skims it over again like he’s reciting lines.

“It’s an itinerary.” He smiles at you then and your heart can’t take how much you’ve truly missed him.

You step aside awkwardly to let him in but he doesn’t move from his spot on the porch. “Are you coming in?”

“I’m not supposed to.” He sounds a little defeated as he says it which causes even more confusion for you. “Read the itinerary and leave…”

“Oh so you’re here on strict orders?” You’re hoping the teasing will ease some of this tension. “So read it to me.” You step further into the house far enough away that he would have to follow.

“You think you’re slick?” You nod your head as you sit down on the couch with your legs tucked under you.

He mumbles something under his breath about getting in trouble as he sits next to you. “There will be a special delivery here, when you get off work tomorrow.”

“What..”

“Obviously I can’t tell you what it is or that would ruin the surprise. Just be here to sign for it at 7.” He shifts a little on the couch so he’s facing you.

“Friday Maria is taking you to do some kind of spa day.” His emphasis on spa has you laughing.

Santiago’s sister Maria was always your number one fan. She was the woman you could confide in when you were constantly surrounded by men who just didn’t understand. You know she always secretly hoped you’d end up with Santi but you’re sure she has no idea what’s actually going on. She just recently moved closer to Santi after her divorce and you feel a little guilty for not having reached out sooner. You didn’t want to burden her with your own issues when she was just getting her life back together.

“Saturday at seven a limo will arrive to pick you up and take you to a separate location for dinner.” He sets the paper face down on the coffee table and smooths his hands along his slacks.

“Ben, the first rule of kidnapping is never let them take you to a second location.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you can trust the driver.” He winks at you again and if he doesn’t stop you're going to have to glue his eye shut.

“So…I guess you have to go now right?”

“Ya…I should go.” Ben doesn’t move as he watches you fidget with a run on the couch thread.

His hand reaches out to still your movements and you finally look at him. It’s been so long since he took you on that date and by the way you’re looking at him it would be so easy to just walk you down your hallway. To the bedroom he’s been in so many times to simply sleep. He could cave like Santiago and you would let him.

He leans in, pressing you back against the headrest of the couch. His face is just inches from yours as you close your eyes. His fingers trace the outline of your bottom lip and then trail down your neck as he cups the back of your head and finally presses his lips to yours. It’s soft and slow, like you're just breathing each other in. He tastes like mint with a hint of your cherry lip balm that you left in his car ages ago.

He pulls away reluctantly and rests his forehead against yours. “I promise after Saturday, we won’t have to keep stopping this short.”

You groaned under your breath. “I don’t know what that means.”

He kisses your forehead and stands from the couch, pulling you with him. Without your shoes on it feels like he towers over you. You wrap your arms around him one last time, burying your face in his chest.

“You’ll know what it means soon enough hon’.”

****

Texting the boys to find out what your special delivery was of course yielded no results. You resigned yourself to guessing throughout your work day as to what it might be.

Your house couldn’t possibly hold any more flower arrangements and you don’t think they would get you a pet. Or would they? You don’t think they would do something that rash for your birthday, but then again Mike was nowhere to be found and that wasn’t of his own doing.

You make it home just in time to make yourself a quick dinner, grilled cheese and tomato soup one of your favorites. You’re hardly paying attention to the show you put on when the doorbell rings. You bolt up from the couch and open the door hoping to see one of the boys.

A beautiful woman in a crisp black suit is standing next to a rack with black garment bags lined along it.

You look down briefly at your shorts and oversized shirt. You’re two for two opening the door to some very well dressed individuals, while in your lounge clothes.

I have a delivery, I’ll need you to sign off as she says your name. She hands you a small pad to sign and you politely step aside as she wheels it into your home.

“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like me to place this?”

“There is fine, thank you.” You haven’t torn your eyes from the rack as you try to decipher what’s inside.

She offers you a courteous smile as she exits through the front door. You stand there briefly as you watch her walk to a sleek black delivery van and drive away.

You slam the door and push the rack to your bedroom so fast you almost knock it over. It’s safe to assume it’s clothing so you strip down to your panties and fish your nice bra out of your top dresser drawer.

The sound of the zipper and rustling fabric is all you can hear over the sound of your rapid breaths. Your hands are shaking with excitement as you open the first bag to reveal a navy blue satin dress. You take it off the hanger and notice the intricate straps on the back, opting to forgo those and just step into it.

You pull the thin straps over your shoulder as you look at yourself in the large mirror in your bedroom. It’s been a while since you got really dressed up, and despite your unkempt hair and no makeup you feel so beautiful in it.

You smooth your hands down the silky fabric and straighten up a little.

You look good

Your excitement starts to build as you quickly realize you have several more items to try on. You delicately extract yourself from this dress so as to not damage it. There’s one way you get to keep all of these so you need to treat them very carefully until you decide what you’re wearing.

The next dress is a burnt orange color with a velvety smooth fabric. You brush your thumb across it reveling in the way it feels, knowing how good it will feel in your skin.

It is decidedly less difficult than the first and stretchy enough that you can pull it over your head. It has thicker straps and a slit going up your left thigh. The first dress was beautiful but this is leading so far.

You set his dress on the hanger and put it in your closet before moving on to the next.

The next is a bright yellow strapless dress. The fabric is chiffon and it’s so far the most revealing thing you could possibly own. It’s stunning when you pull it out but you’re also wondering how exactly you're going to zip this. It’s sort of origami on the top and has a train which you love.

You zip it as far as you can by yourself and even with it slightly agape in the back the boning in the bodice is cinching you in. You round your shoulders back with your hands on your hips as you marvel at the image before you. Part of you wanted to take a picture of each one and send it but now you’re certain they want this to be a surprise.

If picking the best of four was going to be your future you were going to have to get really good at making diplomatic decisions.

The final garment bag has a note attached to the top.

We know you’ll look beautiful in any of these but please pick your favorite to wear on your birthday. Don’t be worried about the weather or being in front of a crowd when making your decision.

As if they could read your mind. They know you might think twice about wearing a few of them in public and the humidity at times could be unbearable even with nothing on.

They are all yours to keep. Happy Birthday Honey.

You feverishly wipe your eyes and set the note down on your bed.

The final garment bag reveals a sparkling red dress. You walk backwards as you pull it out and the layers of fabric trail behind it. You hold it up to your chest in the mirror and try your best to compose yourself. It’s all so overwhelming and exhilarating all at once.

You're careful with the straps as you step into the dress. They might as well be non-existent with how thin they are. The sweetheart neckline is doing wonders for your chest and the silhouette billows out into an A line skirt. You do a twirl in the mirror as the fabric rustles the ground. You feel like a princess in this dress and you find yourself staring for far longer than you want to.

You glance around looking for your phone, remembering you left it in the living room. You traipse through the house in your dress and find it sitting on the arm of the couch. It’s been over an hour. A text from Santi not long ago is your only notification.

Santiago: What ya doing cariño

You type out a quick reply and wait until you see those three dots.

Playing dress up

Santiago: How is it going

Very well

Santiago: Which one are you wearing now

You know I can’t tell you

Santiago: It’s the red one

Goodnight Santiago

Santiago: Goodnight cariño

****

You're nervously pacing your living room, waiting for Maria to arrive. You haven’t seen her since the wedding and that marriage fell apart faster than it was conceived. You’re embarrassed that you haven’t reached out to see how she’s doing but Colombia happened around the same time and you both took a step back. Days turned into weeks turned into months and neither of you knew where to pick up again.

Your doorbell rings ripping you from your thoughts as you take a deep breath for the third time this week and answer the door.

Her back is to you, admiring the flowers on your trellis when you open the door. She turns to you with that same blank expression that Santiago has all but perfected. The tears brimming her eyes give way to the demeanor she’s clinging to.

Much like Santiago it doesn’t take much for her to break as she steps forward and pulls you into her arms. You can hardly understand each other as you mumble apologies through tears and a little bit of her hair is in your mouth as you cling to her. It’s sloppy and messy and you love it. You missed her so much and the relief washes over you at the realization that she missed you just as much.

“I think we both need this today.” She leans back and frames your face with her hands, wiping your tears with her thumbs. “Are you ready to be pampered?”

You nod, still too overwhelmed to speak without choking back tears.

“Okay Honey let’s go.”

****

You’re thankful they booked you a couples massage. The thought of being alone right now after spending such a great day with your friend was paralyzing.

She had a lot of questions for you about your life over the last few years. You didn’t have a lot of answers for her but you did your best to put her at ease.

You're lying side by side on separate tables as two strangers try to rub years of stress and worry out of your sore muscles. It’s comfortably quiet for some time as you take in the tranquil white noise and smell the lavender and eucalyptus in the room.

“I’m glad you guys finally figured it out.” Her voice is slightly muffled with her head down on the massage table. You don’t know if she’s referring to Santi or if she even knows half of what’s going on. “I just have one question for you.”

“Sure…ask me anything.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” You think for a moment at the weight of her question. You turn your head on its side so she can hear you clearly before answering.

“Not a clue.”

She turns her head to you and smiles. “Good…people who know what they’re doing scare me.”

You both laugh and she reaches out to lock her finger with yours as they dangle between the two tables.

****

You stare at yourself for the second time this week in this beautiful dress. It was perfect for whatever tonight had in store.

It’s five till and you're anxiously awaiting your ride as you stand by the door placing the strappy heels on your feet.

For the first time all week, you hear a light knock instead of the doorbell. When you open it you’re met with Frankie dressed in a tight black button down and black slacks. His hair is on display which you assume has some kind of product or gel. His brown curls frame his face perfectly as he smiles down at you.

He leans in, placing a kiss on your cheek. “You look…beautiful.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself Morales.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment even though you didn’t pick my dress.” He takes your hand as you step out onto the front porch. You turn around but he’s already got his spare key in hand, locking up behind you.

“You’ll just have to take me somewhere I can wear it.”

“That can be arranged.” He helps you down the steps as a long black limousine comes into view in front of your driveway. He opens the door for you and helps you slide in before he starts to close it.

“What are you doing?”

“Someone has to drive hermosa.” He closes the door, shrouding you in darkness until the car starts up and the back seats are lined with soft yellow lights.

This is by far the most extravagant display of affection and attention they’ve ever paid to your birthday. Every year you’d spent together you told them you simply just wanted to enjoy their company.

It didn’t bother you that you always went a little too hard on their birthdays because that’s how you show love. You think this may be their way of making up for doing just the bare minimum and then some.

It’s hard to tell where you're going with the sun having set and the dark tint of the windows. It’s not until you pull up to the airfield where Frankie works that you recognize your surroundings.

Coming into view is an open hanger with the boys standing in front. It’s a beautiful sight seeing them all standing there…waiting for you. Santi and Ben are talking to each other as Will stares down at a small piece of paper.

Frankie heads over to them before opening your door. Santiago looks at him and grins as he makes his way over. He has the most adoration in his eyes as he opens the door for you.

“Fuck…you look beautiful.”

He holds his hand out for you as you try to swallow the lump in your throat. Ben lets out a low whistle as you exit the car. You’ve been in hostage situations less nerve wracking than this moment.

They lead you to the open hanger and you’re taken aback at the romantic set up. A singular plane in the background.White roses and candles line the table set up for five.

“So…how did we do?” Frankie’s deep baritone voice settles into your bones as his hand rests against your back.

How do you tell them it’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for you? How do you tell them you’ve been waiting for this moment longer than you’d care to admit?

You turn to him then as he sees the tears in your eyes.

“Please don’t cry.”

“Don’t worry they’re happy tears.” You laugh as he wipes your cheeks.

Frankie pulls up a chair behind you and you sit as he goes to stand by the other three.

Will digs into his pocket and pulls out the piece of paper he was reading when you arrived. He opens it and folds it back quickly.

“I was going to read some things we all wrote down, but it doesn’t sound right anymore.” He pauses briefly as the others stare in confusion. “I’m sick of listing out reasons why this works. I can’t explain in words how I feel…how we feel about you.”

“You’re doing great.” The sarcasm dripping from Benny’s voice has you chuckle.

You’re glad Will seems just as nervous as you are. He was always the one who had a way with words and now here he is unable to form a coherent thought.

“All I’m saying is, we want you to give whatever this is between us a chance. Life feels so much better with you in it everyday.”

You can hear yourself saying yes before he even finishes what he’s said.

“Did you expect me to say anything other than yes.”

“I don’t know sweetheart, I’ve never done anything like this before.” Ben claps his brother on the shoulder as they all surround you.

“So…what do we do now?”

Santi leans in and kisses your cheek.

“We have our first date.”

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

The dresses

The birthday

@luciferiorbxtch@alwaysdjarin @meveispunk @casa-boiardi @evyiione @littlenosoul @the-fox-den @saturn-rings-writes @romanarose @wandasbitch22 @spngingerbread21 @spookyxsam @summer-may @imonmykneessir @avastrasposts @fishingforpike @laaundromat @tanzthompson @living-in-a-daydream-24 @savvysav27 @csarab615 @scarletthefierce @paleidiot @comfortlessjoy @trinkets01 @awkwardalie @missladym1981 @soft-persephone @itspdameronthings

#frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales #tf boys x reader #triple frontier fluff #triple frontier x you #santiago garcia x you #william miller x oc #benny miller x reader #triple frontier fanfic #francisco morales x f!reader #santiago pope garcia x you #will 'ironhead' miller #benny miller x female reader #triple frontier poly #tfpoly x reader

108 notes · View notes

softlyspector · 1 year

Text

Year after year

Summary: No matter how far Santiago goes, no matter where he goes, he always comes home to you. And you're always there, right where he left you.

Alternatively, homecoming and gray hair are always bittersweet.

Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Reader

Word Count: ~15.3k

Warnings: lots and lots of pining, some angst, fluff, cursing, smut (p in v, oral), mildly sexual themes throughout, some jealousy, PTSD and assorted metal health issues, mentions and depictions of an emotionally abusive relationship (NOT between reader and Santiago)

A/N: Well, here we are again. You, me, the absolutely monstrously long fic that I wrote and can't make myself cut down. Believe it or not, gray hair actually inspired this fic. Thank you for reading! I hope you like it! Once again, please forgive anything that's militarily inaccurate or dissimilar for the timeline the movie (kinda) established.

Twenty-three

By far, the best part of coming home is getting to see you.

Santiago misses his family, misses his mother’s cooking. But there’s something about seeing you, hearing your voice, that brings him back to who he used to be before he signed his life away.

“Garcia,” you call, waving at him from across the crowded bar, a smile plastered on your face. “No one told me you were back in town!”

Santiago smiles despite himself, hefting his duffel bag a little higher on his shoulder as he approaches you with one arm out. “Didn’t have a chance to warn anyone,” he shouts back over the din of conversation and music, deftly navigating the mass of people milling around on the bar’s sticky floor.

“Liar,” you accuse, ducking out from behind the counter to fit yourself under his arm, your nose against his neck as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Your mother always warns me when you’ll be back. You usually warn me when you’re coming back.” You tilt your head so your mouth is next to his ear, your breath a warm puff of air against his skin, the line of your body pressed into his, “It’s good to see you.”

The softness of you against him reminds him of how hard he’s become over the last few years, reminds him that he’s not the kid he used to be and that you aren’t either.

Santi smiles when you pull away, glancing over you, the little changes in you that time wrought. You’re pressing your lips together, like you’re trying not to laugh or smile as you look over him right back, one hand drifting down from his shoulder and across his chest to stop against his belly. “She didn’t get a warning either,” he says, squeezing your hip.

“Don’t tell me I’m your first stop?” Your other hand is still on his shoulder, fingers digging into his flesh.

“Fresh from the airport,” he confirms.

“God, Santiago, you must have missed me or something,” you say cheekily, winking at him before you let go of him and cross your arms over your chest, cocking an eyebrow at him. “But you should go home and see your mother! It’s going to be me that gets an earful that I didn’t send you to her door the moment I saw you.”

“C’mon, just one drink,” Santi smiles at you, eyes flicking over the length of you. You roll your eyes and reach out a hand to drag him by the elbow to the bar, shoving a couple of drunk locals out of the way as you go.

He dumps his bag on the floor, the cracked leather of the barstool creaking beneath him as he takes a seat.

“I would have come to the airport, you know,” you say, rounding the counter again to lean opposite him. “With a big sign and balloons.”

Santiago rolls his eyes but he feels warmth pool in his cheeks. “I know you would have and that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.” You’ve done it before, when he came home from basic training, when his first tour was over. You’re usually the one to meet him at the bus depot or the airport.

You pop your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “You wound me. I wanted to see you in your fatigues and cry all over you. Everyone would clap because you’re a war hero now.”

He chuckles, “Not sure that’s true.”

You hum and look him over, huffing fussily, “Like it's about you. I want the attention.”

He shakes his head as you pour a beer for him without asking him what he wants. You know him too well, you always know exactly what he needs. If it were a different day, if he were in a different mood, you might have sat a whiskey in front of him instead. “Next time, I promise.” He raises the glass, “This is why I come here first.”

“And here I thought you liked me,” you quip. “I will hold you to that by the way,” you warn with a smile. “I want to meet you at the airport next time. I always want to meet you at the airport and I’m sure your mom does too.” Your voice only carries a slight reprimand.

Santiago hadn’t told you this time because it’s painful to see you like that, waiting and excited when he knew he’d only be breaking your heart within a couple of weeks as you waved him goodbye again.

It’s not fair of him, but he hadn’t been able to bear it this time around. You always look so hopeful, like this time would be the last homecoming, like he wouldn’t keep breaking your heart over and over again.

But you don’t know about the special ops, you don’t know about Delta Force yet.

He lifts his glass to you, eyes drifting over you again, noting the changes in you that months time has brought. You’re as beautiful as you’ve ever been. “Got it,” he just manages to keep the longing out of his voice.

“So, how is it? How are you? How long are you in town?” Your hands flutter at a man that approaches the counter, shooing him immediately away. “Down there,” you point him to another bartender.

Santiago doesn’t try to hide the smile, or the pride, that your dismissal, and your sole attention, brings him. “Shitty. Regretting everything,” he deadpans.

“Of course,” you chirp. “Wouldn’t be a Garcia decision without a little bit of regret.”

“What about you?” he asks. “Busy savin’ up?”

You groan and toss your head back. “God, it’ll never be enough. I’m starting to think I just shouldn't go. Maybe this is enough, y’know? Or maybe I can just take out more loans.”

Ever since Santiago can remember, you’ve loved school, you’ve loved learning, and you’ve wanted to go to college. You want the satisfaction of being knowledgeable and smart and having Doctor in front of your name.

“What about grants? Scholarships?” He asks, sweeping the gathering condensation down the side of his glass.

You shake your head and glance down the bar where a few customers have gathered around your co-worker. “It’s never enough. I’m starting to think the whole thing is a scam.”

“Probably.”

You smile. “So supportive. But I get enough tips here for now,” you wink and wrinkle your nose at him and he frowns at you, not really liking the mental picture that painted. “You want anything else before I get those yahoos?” You tip your head toward the other side of the bar where your co-worker is becoming increasingly overrun.

“No. Go get them.”

You press a hand over your heart in mock shock. “And leave an American hero here without personalized service?”

“Shut up,” he laughs. “You’re making a scene.”

You grin, before the expression falters and you reach out to cup your hand around his wrist, your thumb slowly stroking over the veins in the back of his hand, “I miss you. I worry about you all the time.”

Santiago covers your hand, his skin slick against yours from the wet of the glass, “I know. I’m sorry.”

You pinch him a little bit, “Go see your mother.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Where are you staying tonight then?”

Santi doesn’t say anything, hoping that you won’t make him spell it out, that you won’t make him beg. He just squeezes your hand and doesn’t look away from your eyes, pouring everything he can’t say into that look. “You definitely owe me an airport pick up,” you tease. “Of course you can stay with me.”

“You can even make a scene about it,” he agrees.

You pat his hands and move away, his skin already feeling empty without your touch.

He doesn’t usually come home to you like this, unannounced and wanting for something that usually goes unspoken between the two of you.

The relationship you have is ill defined and without label. He’s never asked you about it, never wondered if you want more. The answer is already clear to him. You’re on two different paths, and one day there will be a time when he goes searching for you in this small town and finds you missing, like you’d never been there at all.

Santiago leaves his duffle bag just inside the front door of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to drag those memories and experiences around your place, leaving the taint of something already rotting behind.

Your place is small and outdated, but cozy, and it feels more like home to him than his childhood bedroom at his parents’ house.

Santiago stands awkwardly in the middle of your living room, watching you buzz around the kitchen. The stove clicks and pops and finally flames when you turn it on, nestling a kettle there before you beckon him towards your bedroom.

To him, your apartment, your space, is evidence of your brilliance. And he hates that you haven’t been able to go to school yet, that you’re a couple years out of high school and you haven’t been able to go.

School has always been your dream, to sit in stuffy lecture halls and read until your eyes fall out. He glances at your bookshelves as he passes them, stuffed so full of texts that there isn’t an inch of space left.

He wonders how much you’ve saved, and wishes there was something he could do to help make that dream of yours a reality.

“You look dead on your feet,” you say when he follows, the glow of yellow lamplight washing out the lavender and blue ocean that is your bedroom. “I still have some of your clothes around here somewhere.”

Santiago doesn’t comment, knows better than to try to sit on your bed with outside clothes on. “I can get something out of -,”

You send him a wry look over your shoulder. “I know you don’t want anything out of that bag right now.”

“Maybe not,” he agrees. “But it’ll have to do if-,”

“Here they are!” you sing. “Look, shirts and pajama shorts and jeans and everything. Anything you need, I got it baby.”

Santiago steps closer, peers into the drawer you’ve yanked open. “I remember leaving my Metallica shirt here-,”

“Oh, Santiago, darling,” you coo. “That’s long gone. That’s mine now.”

“Yours?” He pushes the thought of you alone and wearing his t-shirt to feel close to him out of his mind. “Guess I did leave it here.”

“Yep,” you nod seriously. “So you can’t have it.”

He takes the first thing his hands touch, a simple black t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms he hasn’t thought about in five years.

“I’m gonna get the tea,” you say, pointing back toward the kitchen where a shrill whistle is vibrating in the air.

He nods, rubbing the fabric between his fingers as you close the door behind you.

When he enlisted, you had cried for days and refused to talk to him. He was just barely eighteen and graduation was nearing and he had no idea what he was going to do next, and enlisting had seemed good enough in the moment. Recruiters swarmed with magic words that made the whole thing sound like a grand adventure.

He wasn’t naive enough to believe that, but the prospect of bonuses and steady pay had enticed him. Being able to send money home to his mom had seemed like a good thing. It had been better than the other choices staring him down.

But it hadn’t hit him until he told you, that it actually meant leaving, leaving you, going out into the unknown, becoming something unknown. You had wormed your way into his life so firmly, the first time he met you like a blurred home video in his mind.

You were never awkward with him, always bizarrely confident, like you’d been born with surety in your veins.

A smile had quirked on your lips when you were assigned to tutor him in French.

“I’m really not that good at French,” you’d said by way of an introduction when you met him in the small, stuffy high school library. “Why don’t you just test out of Spanish?”

“Assuming I speak Spanish?” He’d questioned with a lifted brow.

You’d rolled your eyes and taken the seat across from him where he was slouched at a table. “I heard you speaking it in the hallway earlier, asshole.”

He’d grinned at that. He liked your little bite while you smiled at him, like kindness with a razor edge. “Call it expanding my horizons then.”

“With high school French? Okay, Garcia. Make your life harder than it needs to be,” you’d snarked, flipping open the French textbook. “So, Bonjour means hello,” you’d started sarcastically. “Have you gotten that far yet?”

Santiago had only been able to smirk at you, “Yeah. Got that down.”

He liked the way you were able to clock him, because the truth was he had been taking that class out of pure misplaced, stubborn rebelliousness. It would have been so much easier to take the placement exam for Spanish and bypass the language requirement entirely.

But he hadn’t and he’ll never regret that bout of pointless teenage angst. Because it brought you to him, rolling your eyes and correcting his pronunciation like you didn’t know he was botching the words on purpose.

“You’re bold.”

“And you’re a total punk. Shouldn’t you be a bit more mature?” you’d wrinkled your nose, just like you still do now.

And with that, you became his best friend.

Santiago has a way of taking up the whole of your apartment.

His presence has always been intense, like a fire, something burning you could never quite look away from. But it's only gotten worse since he enlisted, a heaviness accompanied that intensity, like he could see the inscrutable insides of everything.

He doesn't talk about what he does, doesn’t tell you what goes on. You get an extremely limited picture of what his life in the military is like, but one thing that becomes apparent is that he’s good at it, and your hopes that he would stay on for one or two tours had been quickly shattered.

It’s been years, it’s been five years of homecomings and departures that hurt worse than having a tooth pulled, than having your heart ripped out and open over and over and over again.

He sits on your sofa and drinks your lavender tea, and tells you that he wishes you could go to school like you want to, and vows that someday he’ll help you make it happen.

You smile and tease him about having a savior complex when it comes to people he cares about, people he loves.

Santiago touches the edge of your jaw, his hand rough against your skin. “God, I miss you all the time,” he murmurs.

And really, before you can stop him, before you can think about how your heart will be broken again, he’s kissing you with heat, with heart, with a thousand things unsaid.

You thought that as the years passed, and time and distance separated you, the feelings you had for him would abate, but they never do.

So you let him push you back on your couch, and you let him press the warmth of his body against yours.

The shirt he picked out is too small for him now, tight in a way it hadn’t been when he’d left home at eighteen. It sticks to him like a second skin, clinging to every line and pull of muscle beneath.

You push your hands under the fabric as Santi licks into your mouth. He’s hot against you, his skin burning where it touches yours. “Santiago,” you pant out his name, miserably needy for him, a lump forming at the back of your throat. Your eyes are treacherously hot, pressure squeezing at the back of your eyes.

“I’m here, baby.”

He pulls back, his dark gaze flicking over you, the molasses warm brown sliding over you.

Santiago’s brows are pulled together over his eyes, pinched tight. You can’t read him, can’t guess at the thoughts behind those bottomless depths. His lips are parted, swollen, and when you drag a hand down his face you feel the comb and tug of his stubble against your hand.

His skin is a few shades darker than it was when you were in high school, from exposure to the elements wherever he traipsed off to.

He’s pretty, he’s always been so pretty, but he’s starting to become unrecognizable to you. You wonder at those little changes, the hardness of his features, the growing darkness in those fathomless eyes of his - you wonder if one day he’ll come home and you won’t be able to recognize him at all.

That hole in you that you usually manage to ignore yawns open. It’s a Santiago shaped space, one that’s picked and pulled and tugged wider by time, by the uncertainty of what you had between you, of how long you should wait for him, of whether he wanted you to wait or if one day he’d come home with a person on his arm and your heart will shatter and break.

Before he can open his mouth, you reach up and drag a hand through his hair, the dark, thick locks slipping through your fingers. “I’m so glad you have hair again,” you change tracks before you can start crying and ruin what little time you do have with him.

The weight in his eyes lightens a fraction. “You really weren’t a fan of the buzzcut,” he agrees, dipping down to press a line of kisses down your throat, his lips soft against your skin. The scrape of his stubble along your jaw and neck is heavenly, the slide of soft, plush lips even better.

You thread your fingers through his hair against the back of his head, holding his mouth to your skin. “I really wasn’t,” you grouse, ignoring the pulse of butterflies shuttering through you. “Nothin’ to hold onto.”

Santi snorts, pressing kisses up your throat until he reaches the hinge of your jaw again, teeth scraping along your skin. One broad palm slides down your thigh, settling behind your knee to haul your leg over his hip.

You tug on his hair until you can see his eyes again, like a burnt sugar offering, deep wells of ink spilling out and into you. “You didn’t look like you.”

The grin fades from his face, replaced with something unreadable. The ache in your chest spreads and you know it shows on your face.

For a moment, you think he might say it, might put your anxieties to rest, claim you as his own, reassure you that he would always be the person you know, that he’ll always come home to you, but he cups your cheek instead and kisses you breathless, murmuring against your mouth, “Then I still don’t look like me. Like how you remember. That long ass hippie hair I used to have.”

“Fuck off,” a laugh bursts out of you as you shove at his shoulder, the unbidden memory of a Santiago with hair past his shoulders teaching you how to play guitar in his bedroom racing to the forefront of your mind. He’d still been baby faced then, cheeks a bit rounder and with just a scattering of facial hair.

“What?” he grins. “That’s who you’re missin’?”

Your throat closes, because in a lot of ways, it is who you’re missing.

You tug him closer, one hand against the back of his neck. “Shut up,” you exhale against his mouth, putting all those damning thoughts out of your mind. This is good enough, this is more than enough, these moments with him when he comes home to you. Because no matter what, he’s your best friend, and you’re always his first stop when he comes home. And when he’s home, he’s yours. “The hair was, like, hot punk.”

He’s laughing against your mouth, sweeping his hands up and down your back. “C’mon, hermosa,” he pulls back and tugs you up with him.

You wind your arms around his neck, and let him guide you back to your bedroom, flicking the lights off as you go.

It’s only in the low lighting of your bedroom, Santi’s mouth trailing down your torso, that you notice the gray hair.

Just one, but it sends a spiral of heat through you. “Santiago,” you moan, because his lips have traveled to the line of the sleep shorts you’d changed into earlier, his warm, broad hands braced against the outside of your thighs, fingers hooked into the fabric. “You’re already going gray on me, baby.”

His head jerks up. “What?” His mouth is a pretty shade of swollen red.

“You have a gray hair.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious! Right here,” You pluck at the one gray poking up through the mass of dark brown.

You cup his cheeks when he groans. “Fucking pull it out.”

“Absolutely not! It’s hot,” you assure him. “My silver fox,” you coo, squeezing your palms together, squishing his cheeks.

He flops back beside you, pulling out of your grip. “Don’t do that. You ruined the mood.”

You lift a brow before sitting up and swinging one leg over his hips. “Oh? But it is hot,” you repeat.

“Aging is hot?” He asks warily, running his hands repeatedly through his hair, tugging on the strands.

“Gray hair is hot,” you emphasize again, rolling your hips into his, watching his eyes roll back as his large palms clasp at your hips. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just one. Everyone gets random gray hairs.”

You stick your hands beneath that skin tight shirt again, drawing it up and over his stomach and chest until he gets the hint and shrugs out of it. You caress the warm brown skin revealed to you, tracing the ridges of muscle and dots of scars you don’t want to know the origins of. “That sounds like some shit you just made up.”

You scoff and lean in to kiss him softly. “Okay, I’m lying and you’re aging really poorly. You practically have one foot in the grave, old man.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles again.

“See! You know it’s a damn lie.”

Santiago mutters something under his breath before hooking one hand beneath your knee, stroking the soft skin there, uncharted territory, a strangely intimate touch that makes you shiver. His hand drifts lower, over your calf until he can circle his fingers around your ankle, thumbing softly at the bone. “Gray hair,” he mutters. “I’m only twenty-three.”

“It’s sexy,” you repeat, a whine creeping into your voice.

He hums and rolls so you’re trapped beneath him, dark eyes drinking you in as he skims his hands over your belly. “Fuck, you really think so, huh?”

You nod, nerves skating over your skin when he nudges his knee between your thighs. “Wanna show me how much you think so, baby?”

The part of your brain that forms coherent speech goes blank, and you don’t respond or move, nerves of want and need pulsing through you, until Santiago fits one hand against your hip and drags the heat of you along his thigh.

Twenty-eight

On the night of your holiday party, you throw open your front door to find Santiago on the other side.

An inhuman noise leaves you as you rip open the screen door and throw yourself across the threshold, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The screen clatters shut behind you, the noise of the party going soft and muffled in your ears as you squeeze him. “Santi!”

“Hey, querida,” he laughs into your temple, immediately wrapping his arms around you, hugging you back tight and hard.

You want to melt into a puddle at the sound of that pet name on his lips, but you jerk back to shake him instead, pressing a hand to his jaw, “What did I say about doing this? It’s my god-given right to come embarrass you at the airport.” It’s the first time in years, since that time at the bar, that he hasn’t called you first.

Santiago pulls away, cupping your face briefly in his palms before he shifts back. “I hope you don’t mind. I brought -,” he turns and gestures to the man standing slightly behind him that you hadn’t noticed until now. Santi introduces you by name and then says, “This is - ,”

“Frankie?” You guess, and watch the other man’s brows lift, glancing between you and Santiago. “Santi writes to me a lot. I probably know more about you than you do,” you joke.

Frankie sticks out a hand which you take, his grip firm and warm on yours. “Pope giving away state secrets in his free time?”

The joke slides off you.

Your brow crinkles, “Pope, huh?” Worry carves into your gut, like the word is something much worse than a nickname.

You’d long ago given up the notion that Santiago might only be away for a few years, but this somehow feels permanent. Like he’d always be just out of reach, like he would always be too far away for you to hold onto.

“Yeah-,”

You shake your head, swallowing down the inexplicable tightness in your throat, “Pope. Can’t say I’ll be integrating that into my vocabulary.” You shoot a smile to Frankie, “And do you also have a super cool nickname?”

He ducks his head, and you like the feathery shift of his hair in the dark. “Catfish.”

“Oof.”

Frankie groans and drags a hand down his face. “Don’t do that.”

You grin and turn to yank open the door. “C’mon in, Pope and Catfish, honored guests.”

“Fuck off,” Santiago says, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he passes you.

Frankie shakes his head as he steps over the threshold. “Just Fish is fine,” he tells you. “Or Frankie. Since it’s my name.”

“I think I’ll stick to Frankie and Santiago,” you confirm.

He smiles at you, toeing off his shoes by your door.

You turn and find Santi watching you. In the holiday lights that criss-cross your living room, you can see the faint edge of gray creeping into the hair at his temples. “Want something to drink?” You ask, instead of pointing it out to piss him off. The salt and pepper of it sends a swooping feeling swinging through your gut. “And then I’ll introduce you around,” you direct to Frankie. “If you want. Or you can hermit up in the kitchen.”

Your apartment is filled with people, people from your program and people you’d graduated with the semester before, people you worked with at the bar, and now, with Santiago and his friend Frankie, who you’ve heard a lot about over the phone and in letters.

You wonder about the other ones from the special ops team - Will and Benny and Tom - and where they might be, what’s brought just Santiago and Frankie to your door.

They each take a beer from you in the kitchen, both of them looking a little out of place among bar regulars and soft academics and undergraduates.

Frankie clears his throat and looks to you, “So, Santiago tells me you’re in school?” It’s such a painfully awkward attempt at small talk that it makes you laugh.

He says it like a question, like he isn’t sure where to start or if it's something appropriate to ask. You whistle lowly, looking between the two of them, and Santiago raises a brow at you, “C’mon guys, loosen up a little bit. When’s the last time you talked to a civilian?”

They glance at each other, matching expressions drawing over their faces. “It’s been awhile.”

“Right,” you knock your bottle of beer against each of theirs. You grin at each of them, “Let me reintroduce you to regular society.”

You and Frankie get along well, laughing in the corner of the kitchen, heads bent together.

Santiago tries not to let the burn of jealousy curl through him at how close you are, at the smile gracing your lips like sugar. He tells himself that you’re both just being polite, each trying to bond with one of his closest friends, but he can’t really believe that. You’ve hit it off too well.

You tilt your face up, grinning as you no doubt say something snarky. Fish laughs, a loud, surprised, unbidden sound.

Gently extricating himself from the conversation he’d accidentally gotten involved in on his way back from the bathroom, he approaches the pair of you slowly. “Gina is chatty.”

“Oh yeah,” you turn, reaching out a hand to him, tugging him closer to you in a way that eases the ache in his chest. “She’ll talk your ear off if you aren’t careful.”

“Are we keeping you here?” Frankie asks. “Don’t let us keep you from your own party.”

You shake your head and dig your fingers between Santiago’s, his heart squeezing painfully tight in his chest. “No. Nowhere I’d rather be. When can I meet the other guys?”

It’s only much later, when the people have cleared out of your apartment and Frankie has passed out on your sofa from sheer exhaustion, that he gets a moment with you alone.

You’re out on your balcony. It’s filled with plants and mostly taken up by a patio table. It’s secluded and intimate, walled in on either side and facing an empty yard. The Florida air is warm and balmy. Still, a sweater is wrapped around your shoulders. “Don’t,” you say when he opens his mouth. “This is cold for Florida.”

Santiago just reaches over and wraps his arms around your shoulders. “You have a crush on Frankie.”

“Only a little bit,” you say. “He’s cute!”

“Oh yeah? What’s so cute about him?” He grumbles.

“He’s tall and I like his fluffy hair.”

“Fluffy hair” Santiago gripes. “He’s okay.”

Your snort dissolves into a laugh when you can’t hold it in. “You’re cuter,” you tease, turning in his arms to pat his cheek. “Especially with your grays coming in.”

He groans and buries his nose in your throat, relishing the feel of your hands scraping up the back of his neck and through his hair. “You’re giving me a fucking complex about that.”

“Again I say to you, darling, it’s so fucking hot.”

“To be prematurely gray? I’m not even thirty yet.”

You tsk under your breath. “We’ve been over this before. Are you fishing for compliments?” You snake a hand under his shirt, your fingers icy against his belly. It sends nerves pinwheeling through his veins. “You could be going bald, y’know. Be grateful for what you have, Garcia.”

He lifts his face, glancing over you. “I got that down I think.”

“Flirt,” you accuse, fingering the hair at the nape of his neck. “You know I like it, you fucking tease.” Santi opens his mouth to say something, but you’re leaning around him, glancing back through the door. “Where’s Frankie?”

“Asleep. We’ve been up for probably three days straight.”

You hum and lean into him, “Do you want me to say it again?”

Santiago turns, presses you into the wall of the balcony, “Yeah, hermosa, say it again for me.” He curls one hand behind your neck, so you can’t look away from him, not that you try to, not again.

Your eyes are wide, the black of your pupils swallowing your iris whole. A thrill swims up from his gut when you lean in and press your forehead to his. “Santi,” you breathe. “Baby, your gray hair is hot as fuck.”

“Mhm,” he hums, dragging his nose down the curve of your throat, “Maybe I need you to show me.” Santiago grins when he feels your sharp intake breath. He drags his tongue to that little space at the base of your neck when you toss your head back.

“Oh?” You manage as he shifts his hands up the back of your shirt, cradling your back, digging his fingers into your spine. You’re breathless when you murmur into his ear, a bite in your voice, a vicious tease in your own right. “I can do that.”

For a moment, you only pull back and gaze into his eyes, something he can’t identify sparkling in your gaze. And then you’re sliding to your knees and reaching for the zipper of his pants.

Santiago doesn’t try to stop you, he’s too selfish for that. He groans and presses a hand to the back of your head when you swallow him down.

Thirty-Three

Santiago isn’t sure what he expected.

For time to freeze and everything to remain exactly the same as it always had been.

For you to always be bartending, for you to be perpetually waiting for him, unendingly saving up for college and pursuing degrees.

For you to always be willing to meet him at the airport.

But there comes a time, more than a decade after he enlisted, that he finally decides to retire.

Decide, might not be the best word.

Forced to retire after being injured and needs a fucking neck surgery like a crochety old man more like.

By now, you’ve saved some money and taken out loans, you’ve finished a bachelor’s degree and moved on to a master’s and a doctoral degree. You’re in your final year of your PhD when he steps off the plane, wondering what he’ll do next, what life is supposed to be like outside the military.

Somehow, he’s suddenly thirty-three, with nothing to show for it.

Nothing but scars and unseen wounds and a neck injury and wooden knees and a box of decorations and medals that sit heavily in his chest, that weigh like stones in his belly.

He feels sick when he thinks about what comes next, what he’s supposed to do now. Get a desk job? Something worse?

Go home.

Home to you, where you’ve always been.

Something about that feels itchy, like his skin is going to come apart at the seams. Despite it all, despite knowing where you are, he knows he’s not done yet, not nearly ready to be settled somewhere forever.

He’s not used to that anymore, none of the guys are. They were an elite special ops team and now they’re - what? Regular civvies?

Right.

Go home.

Easy.

Only home doesn’t exist, the whole world is bleak, and he doesn’t know who he is anymore.

It doesn’t help that you’ve fallen off the face of the earth recently. The few calls he was allowed to take had dwindled to nothing, and your letters were sporadic. You’d taken up writing to Frankie after you met that one Christmas years ago, and even those had stopped completely.

Santiago’s mother meets him at the airport, even though you’ve always been the one to do it. Ever since that time he came home without telling anyone and you’d scolded him, ever since he showed up with Frankie a couple years back.

Fuck, he regrets that. Regrets integrating two worlds that should have stayed untainted and apart.

You’ve met the rest of them now too, the other guys that have become like family to him, that feel more like home to him than anything else these days.

He hugs his mother and feels sick climbing up the back of his throat, a lump forming that doesn’t go away. Because he’s home and it feels wrong, and because you’re not there and his gut is telling him something is wrong.

He murmurs your name in his mother’s ear. “Where is she? She’s always here.”

“Oh! Something came up. A cake tasting, I think.” His mother pats his cheek, looking over him, scrutinizing him. “I told her I would be here.”

“Cake tasting?” he asks hollowly, trying to put those words together in his mind in a way that made sense. “What the hell for?”

His mother shoots him a stern look but he can’t bring himself to feel chastened. She looks embarrassed then, standing there in the crowded terminal, and says she thought you would have told him, that she assumed the two of you were in regular communication.

“We are. We talk all the time-,” He stops. Except recently you really hadn’t been talking regularly. “I don’t understand what you-,”

“It’s for the wedding, Santi,” she says gently. “It’s a couple months from now.”

“Wedding?” His voice cracks around the word. “She’s getting married? To who?” he hears himself ask at a distance. The words don’t compute. He doesn’t live in a reality where you are getting married, where you are getting married to someone else.

“Someone she met at the university, I think. He’s very nice, very scholarly,” his mother pats his shoulder, guiding him out of the arrivals hall. “He treats her very well. He’s kind.”

Of all the things he’s been through, this is the thing that feels like its stolen his breath, like he can’t fucking breathe, like he’s sinking into sand, into the floor, right into the earth itself.

“She never mentioned-,” he starts.

“It’s been a very short engagement,” she interrupts. “And she’s happy, Santiago.” His mother’s voice is a warning in his ear, not to go tearing off and do something stupid, not to do or say something that he’ll regret.

But he can already feel that building in his chest, nestled right behind his breastbone, heavy and hard and demanding.

Why wouldn’t you tell him? In spite of the rest of it - why would you not tell him? He hadn’t even known that you were dating someone, let alone engaged, close to marriage.

You’ve never wanted to get married - you always fucking said so. You’ve never wanted marriage or children.

He remembers you scoffing at him through the haze of smoke at so many parties and bars, laughter on your lips. “Why would I want someone else’s last name?” Santi had thought he’d like very much for you to have his name someday before he realized that wasn’t quite right. He can’t imagine you as a Garcia, he just wants you, as you, as you’ve always been.

A fog surrounds him as he moves out of the terminal with his mother. The drive home is long and unfamiliar, things changing right before his eyes. It’s been more than a decade. It’s been fifteen years. He doesn’t know this town anymore.

He certainly doesn’t know it without you.

He hates him already, this man who has asked you to marry him. He thinks viciously cutting thoughts about this person he doesn’t know, about this person who’s swept you up but probably doesn’t know you at all.

Of course, he can’t know you, not like Santiago.

He doesn’t even know you never want to be married.

That all you’ve ever wanted is commitment.

And Santiago never gave that to you.

It’s early fall, and if you planned to get married in a few months' time then you’d be saying your vows sometime in the winter. Something about it seems wrong, like you’d be encased in wintery ice, unreachable to him forever. Frozen and still and cold.

Never mind that you live in Florida, it still feels true.

Santiago can’t find it in himself to be happy for you, because you’re his and you always have been and yeah maybe you’ve both seen other people when you weren’t together, and yeah maybe you had a crush on Frankie there for awhile, but you are his, that’s something he’s always known in his bones.

And now-

But what did he expect? For you to be perpetually available every time he decides to show up, live your life on the edge of his?

Still, it stings.

You hadn’t even told him, never mentioned it once.

You are his best friend, and he’s yours, and you hadn’t even told him you were getting married.

He hasn’t been home in two years, but he feels like he’s been away for centuries.

Your fiance’s house is huge, ornate and dripping with wealth. It’s also imposing and cold, and he can’t imagine you there among white marble columns that support a decadent wraparound porch. You belong somewhere cramped and outdated and warm with life, not here. You belong somewhere that feels like loud laughter and not like a harsh shush.

Santiago hesitates, fist raised to the massive front door, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his other hand.

That feeling wells up again, the one that tells him to go go go, don’t stop, never look back. He’s only been home for two weeks and he misses the fucking military. He can’t remember how to live a normal life, he doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that you’re getting fucking married.

He’d only been home for two days when the invitation to this fucking wedding shower had come via his mother.

It stings that you couldn’t even be bothered to invite him yourself.

Panic bubbles too, simmers low in his gut, because for the first time in his life, he is not ready to see you.

Before he can knock, the door opens.

The man that looks back at him is tall and white and blond and wears glasses perched on the end of his nose, hair flopping over blue eyes. “Hello,” his lip curls a little, a forced smile following. “You’re Santiago. I recognize you from all the pictures.” There’s a bitter edge in his voice when he says it.

Your living room flashes through Santiago’s mind the last time he’d seen it - photos hung on the walls, pictures of the two of you together over the years, since you were sixteen years old, pictures of you and Frankie, and the rest of the guys when you’d eventually met them - all next to photos of your family, your friends from school and the bar. There are even photos of his mother and his sister.

He feels a vicious surge of pride, hopes this asshole has to look at his face for the rest of his life no matter where in the world Santiago might traipse off to. “Yeah, well, we’ve known each other a long time.”

The smile transforms into a scowl before his face clears, a strained smile pitching back onto his face.

The guy introduces himself but his name melts out of Santiago’s brain as soon as he says it. He should probably make an effort with him, but he doesn’t bother.

He’s invited inside, introduced to the groom’s family, who are all welcoming and cordial, if a little distant and cold. He greets your family, clustered in a corner looking out of place and uncomfortable among such luxury and wealth.

You didn’t grow up poor exactly, but you never had anything in excess either, and he wonders what your family thinks, if they feel welcome here.

Your mother kisses his cheek when he greets her, whispers in his ear, “I always thought it would be you.” Maybe it's wishful thinking, but he swears her smile is just a bit disappointed, wistful for something that could have been, that should have been.

The simmering panic is starting to turn, curdle into something much ruder and harder than he’s prepared to deal with. He’s still clutching the flowers in his hand. There’s an itch at the back of his throat, one that he gets often now, when he’s in public and there are too many people and too many sounds.

He walls it off, steels himself, forces himself to breathe normally.

But then you’re there, rushing across the room and into his arms, hugging him tight, so fucking tight. That itchy feeling goes away and is replaced by something much better, a tightness around his lungs and heart that threatens to burst them with the overwhelming sense of homecoming that settles inside him. “Santiago,” you say his name softly, just for him, something almost like relief in your voice. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he manages back, circling his arms around you. He only clutches at you briefly, acutely aware that your fiance’s eyes are burning into the back of his skull. Santi grits his teeth and pulls away and hands you the bouquet of flowers.

You glance down at the flowers and then back up at him, searching his eyes for a long moment before you curl your fingers into the edge of his sleeve and drag him through a swinging door into a hugely empty chef’s kitchen, away from watchful eyes.

“I guess I should say congratulations,” he says stiffly when you release his sleeve and turn to him, his voice harsher than he means it to be. He tries to lighten his tone a little but he only ends up sounding bitter. “I think your boyfriend hates me.”

The expression on your face wavers, emotions shifting quickly over your features, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. There are bruises shadowed under your eyes. You look tired, drawn, your skin lifeless. “Thanks,” you send him a small smile, a cracked, spiderwebbed thing. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-,”

Your bottom lip trembles but you quickly clamp it between your teeth.

The same feeling of wrong he’d gotten at the airport washes over him. Something sour squirms in his gut as he looks at you.

Really looks at you.

Something is wrong with you. The you he knows would have slapped his shoulder and laughed, would have teased him until he lightened up just a little.

But you’re mumbling out an apology instead, curling in on yourself, shrinking before his very eyes, making yourself small.

Your voice is thin and meek, nothing like he knows it to be. He doesn’t say anything, because something is choking him, lodged in his throat and expanding fast, chased by anger.

He doesn’t recognize you.

How long has he been away? What happened to make you this tightened, small version of yourself?

Santi whispers your name and watches you shrink at the sound, at the desperation in his voice. He tries to ignore it, that pang of fear that rushes up at him from the ground.

“Missed you at the airport,” he says gently, shouldering the anger as best he can, and watches a brief flash of relief flicker over your face.

“I miss you,” you chirp in response, a genuine smile finally pulling at your lips. “I’m glad you’re home. How long will you be here?”

Santiago doesn’t respond, assessing you.

A long silence descends, where you only stare at each other. Eventually your smile fades and you sit the flowers one the counter with a sigh. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t fuck with me, something’s wrong.” He watches you fidget, watches your eyes flick between him and the door.

“Santi,” you sigh, closing your eyes, like you were drained already, giving up before the fight even began. You lean into the counter, slouching down until you can rest your elbow on the surface, your hand against your forehead.

“No, c’mon. I wanna know. When did you change your mind about marriage? And why the fuck didn’t you tell me about it?”

You peel your eyes open and meet his hard gaze, your eyes wary, lips pressed firmly together. The fire he misses is back in your gaze, and the muscles along his spine relax a fraction. You’re still in there somewhere.

But as quickly as it comes, it flees you again. “I can’t do this with you right now.”

“Do what?” He stalks closer, until he can lean close to you, tilt his face in front of yours. “Do what? Come home and find out my best friend is getting married? Fuck, am I even invited? Shouldn’t I at least be your best man? Was I even supposed to be here today or did my mom tell me more than she was supposed to?”

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” you level your gaze at him. “You think you own me and you don’t. Am I supposed to wait for your every beck and call? Perpetually be alone and stranded here?”

Santi stares at you, watches your bottom lip tremble, as a lone tear slides down your cheek. “Fuck. You really believe that?”

“What else am I supposed to think? All these years, I’ve just been someone to fuck while you were in town. That’s all. Nothing else. Nothing more. I’m nothing to you and I always have been.”

Something in his chest shreds raw at your words, is torn to pieces.

He should tell you that it’s not true, that that has never been the case. Instead, he stares at you, mouth a firm line, and doesn't move away. “Who the fuck put that into your head? Him?”

“Fuck off. No one put anything into my head, Santiago, I’m not a fucking doll.”

“Jesus,” he scoffs. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You are not the person he knows. You’ve always been bold and confident and sure of yourself, you’ve always known how much you mean to him, even if there was never a label attached to the thing that you are.

He stares into your eyes, assessing, until you blink away.

It’s that more than anything that shocks him out of himself, you don’t back down, and certainly never from him. “Hey,” he says softly, gently, before he reaches for you.

But you pull away, and step around him, toward the swinging kitchen door. “Enjoy the party, Santi.”

~ The party, you think, sucks absolute ass.

Rich people are boring, and your fiance’s family is no different. Everything is so very dignified, upright and correct. You miss your apartment, the warm press of bodies in a too small space, cheap alcohol and big laughs.

They’re entertaining themselves in one of the sitting rooms, chatting at appropriate volumes and talking over a wedding you don’t want, eyeing your family and whispering about the importance of prenups. Looking at Santiago and saying military under their breath like it meant anything, explained anything.

Your skin has started to crawl, your fiance bragging about you, about how intelligent you are, how you overcame so much to get your education. You are so strong and resilient and-

All you’d done was work a service job. To them, you might as well have sacrificed a newborn to get your education.

You’re like a pretty little doll to them, something to admire and praise, but at a distance and in the abstract. But they don’t want details, don’t want the dirt of your life on their pristine floors, they don’t want to think about why you’d had to do those things. You can’t get a word in anyways, everything is explained for you, by your fiance, even your research which he knows very little about. He talks over you and at you.

You wish it was the worst thing about him, about any of them. That you would be able to handle.

It’s all compounded by Santiago’s presence, the weight of his heavy gaze, following your every move.

When you feel like you can no longer breathe, you excuse yourself, yanking your hand roughly out of your fiance’s grip. You can’t look at him as you do, the sticky humidity of his hand and the tension radiating off of him, enough to make you want to scream, enough to make you afraid.

The house is too warm suddenly, too filled with people who probably scoff at you behind closed doors.

You’re leaning against the back porch’s railing, watching a slow autumn rain pour down, when the door slides open. For a moment your chest constricts painfully tight, a cord of worry wrapping around your throat. You expect to see your fiance but it's only Santi.

Santiago is fidgeting with the buttons on his suit jacket, tugging at the collar of his shirt with rough jerks, as he steps outside.

“C’mere and I’ll fix it for you,” you say, watching his hands grow more agitated by the second.

His gaze snaps up, like he hadn’t noticed you before.

He only hesitates for a moment, before he crosses the porch to you.

You reach for his collar, loosening the tie and gently undoing the buttons at his throat. “I hate them.”

You sigh before you can stop yourself. “I do too.”

“They talk about you like you aren’t there,” he says, tilting his head, dark eyes boring into yours. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“Santiago-,”

He shakes his head, pushes you gently into the railing, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him though he doesn’t touch you.

You’re totally alone with him, and for the first time in a while you feel like you can breathe. The close warmth of him and the sound of the steady rain soothes you for a moment.

“C’mon,” he pleads, hands braced on the banister on either side of you as he invades your space. “This is fucking confusing. I’m worried. I’m - fuck - I’m scared. The way he looks at you - it’s - like he owns you.”

You don’t answer, your lips pressed in a tight line. Though you knew that, it still hurts to hear from someone else, especially someone who knows you so well.

All you want is to fall into him, let him comfort you but you know that can’t happen. Pressure builds at the back of your eyes, tears threatening to fall. “Santi-,” Your voice is choked, throat tight and hard as you try to get his name out, but it breaks off and you can’t find it in yourself to continue.

“I’m just asking how we got here,” he says firmly. “Why didn’t you tell me? About any of it?”

The tears threatening to fall finally bead over, spilling down your cheeks in salty lines. “What was I supposed to say?”

His voice is strangely soft when he returns, “Anything. Anything would have been better than this.” He steps closer, wraps his arms around you. You hold yourself stiffly against him for a moment before you melt into him, slumping against him and burying your nose in his shoulder. A long shuttering breath leaves you. Breathe, you can breathe. With Santi, you’re okay. “Do you really want to marry him?”

No, you think. No, because he’s not you. Because he’s horrible but I don’t know what to do about it.

Because you aren’t sure how you’ve ended up here and you aren’t sure how to make it stop, you aren’t sure when things got so messy.

A few dates had turned into a relationship, into living together, into being engaged. In the span of a couple months. He was always around, there never felt like there was time to think. Like there wasn’t a choice at all.

But right now, there is. Santiago is safe, his arms are home to you. You can relax and think for just a minute. And that’s something you never get with your fiance.

You stay silent and let yourself enjoy the warmth of him, before you sniffle and pull back to look into his eyes, the hardness of his gaze softened, like liquid warmth injected straight into your veins. “I’m sorry for everything. You just got home and-,”

“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupts, and you know without asking that this, this problem, has given him a purpose for the time being. He doesn’t have to think about anything else. All he’s thinking about is you. “That doesn’t matter.”

He tilts his head closer to you, his arms caging you in again. “Santi,” you whisper, and wonder why you’re only able to say his name. “Please.” You aren’t sure whether you’re pleading for him to stay, or begging him stop.

Santiago doesn’t move and your eyes stay fastened on his. “What did that asshole do to you? I’ve never fucking seen you like this.” He reaches up and touches your jaw.

“Nothing, nothing, he-,”

“That’s a fucking lie, baby,” he chokes out. “That’s a lie. Something is going on.” He leans back and takes your hands in his instead, thumbs sweeping over the back of your fingers. “You can tell me. We’ll deal with it together.”

You open your mouth, not entirely sure what’s about to come out. “Promise?” You whisper.

“I promise. Fuck, sweetheart. I promise. Nothing can hurt you. I won’t let it. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together.” Calloused fingers tighten on yours, hands that you know and love and trust.

You give a hollow laugh and meet his eyes, those fathomless inkwells that would bleed the world dry if you asked him to. “You’re the only one,” you murmur. “Who’s noticed something isn’t right. It should be a dream, shouldn’t it? He’s smart and he’s already landed this great job and he’s rich.”

Santiago just watches you, dark eyes hardening by the minute. “What happened? What the fuck did he do to you?”

You shake your head, not sure you’ll be able to get the words out.

“Do you want to marry him?” He asks again, curling his fingers around your wrists.

The rain has turned into a torrential downpour, the sound of it almost drowning out his words. A fine mist has dampened you both but you don’t feel it as Sanitago crowds in close to you again, the small of your back digging into the railing behind you.

“Do you?” His voice is so soft.

The answer has always been no.

No, you never wanted to.

“No,” you say. “No.”

Santiago’s pupils are huge, swallowing the warm brown of his irises entirely. “Fuck,” he whispers, relief radiating off of him, shoulders loosening and slumping down. “Then why-,”

He’s too close to you, too warm and present and -

You feel like this is the first time someone has looked at you and seen you in months. “I wanna leave. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He jerks back, like he’s remembering where you are, sliding one hand up your arm, your skin damp against his. “We can leave. Right now.”

“I have to tell him. First, I have to tell him. I have to break it off.”

Santi folds his fingers around yours, mouths a kiss into the back of your hand. “Okay.” He releases you, and lets you step away. “I’ll get the car.”

You nod, and say, “Five minutes.”

Santiago forces himself to unclench his hands as he waits for you in the rental, counting backward from one hundred until some of the tension bleeds out of his neck and shoulders.

His neck is aching, and his nerves are fucking shot. He’s already gritting his teeth again, tension knotting at his neck.

You didn’t tell him what that fucker did to you, but as soon as he finds out, he’ll deal with it. He’ll make him regret being born, for ever believing he could harm someone like you.

He’s soaking wet from the rain, dripping onto the SUV’s leather seats.

He keeps the windshield wipers going so he can see the front door through the downpour.

The door bangs open and you dart down the stairs, shoes clutched in your hands as you run toward the car. He reaches over and opens the door for you.

You climb in, dripping wet from your run through the rain.

For a moment, you only stare at him, eyes roving over his face, a smile twitching at the corner of your mouth.

The knot in his chest loosens.

This is the you he knows. Grinning after doing something impulsive, alive with light and mischief.

You reach for him at the same time that he reaches for you, the crush of your lips against his painful but good. You’re warm against him, soft in his hands. He grips the meat of your hips, pulls you closer as the door clicks closed behind you.

He tilts your head back, thumb under your jaw, close but not close enough. He licks into you, tongue flicking against yours, against the edge of your teeth, hungry jaw jutting out in an effort to get more of you. You taste like rainwater and champagne. “Let’s go,” you murmur, pulling back just far enough to speak, your lips still brushing his. Your eyes are wild, your lips swollen. “Please let’s go.”

“Fuck,” he presses his mouth back to yours, needing just one more taste of you. Your mouth immediately yields to his, lips parting against his with ease. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Home,” you say. “Let’s go home.”

Santiago nods against you and forces himself to pull away from you, to turn and put the car into drive and go.

He makes it all of five minutes down the road before his carefully constructed control breaks. The rain is still pelting down and it's impossible to see and you’re taking up every bit of space in his mind, the humid perfume of your skin driving him crazy. The SUV seems ungodly small now, with you sitting only inches away, breathing like you’ve run a race, fingers knotting and unknotting in your lap.

He can’t take it anymore - the smell of you, the rain soaked sight of you.

The rest stop he pulls into is abandoned, trees blocking the view of passing cars.

And before he can even reach for you, you’re climbing into his lap, kissing down his neck to his collarbone. He feels the graze of your teeth there and he tosses his head back, groaning loudly.

You rake your fingers over the buttons on his shirt but there isn’t time for that. He needs you, you need him. Like air and sunshine and cold rain.

A shiver traces up your spine.

“Fuuuuck,” he moans when you grind down onto him. He wonders if he should be doing this with you, if he should stop, if you’d both regret it in an hour. But he can’t find it in himself to stop.

Santi presses a hand under the skirt of your dress, pushing your underwear to the side so he can unceremoniously shove a finger inside you. The tight walls of your pussy clamp around him and you moan. You’re already wet, the slick heat of you dripping down his hand as he circles his thumb against your clit.

You rock your hips along with his hand until you pull back, one hand against the back of his neck. “I need-,”

“I know,” he tips his chin up, connects your gaze and doesn’t let you look away. “Let me see you come first.”

You shutter around his fingers, eyes rolling back. “No, please, I want you.”

Santiago keeps his eyes on you as you lift yourself and tug his hand away, fumbling with the button of his pants.

He knocks your hands away, palming himself, for a moment as he looks at you, your dewy, damp skin, the circles beneath your eyes, the hooded neediness in your gaze. “Fuck, querida,” he murmurs, yanking the zipper down and freeing his aching cock.

He guides you down onto himself, groaning when your eyes flutter shut, when the tight clasp of your cunt is around him.

You feel perfect, soft and warm and silky, just like you always have.

Santi tugs the front of your dress open, presses open mouthed kisses between your breasts, sucks one pert nipple into his mouth just to taste your skin. With one hand on your thigh, he curls the other around your waist to guide your hips, to control the slow drag of you along his cock. Your hands scrabble for purchase even as you arch back, trembling already, eyes fluttering, lashes long against your cheeks.

He feels the tightening fist of your pussy around him already. “Fuck,” he slips his hand under your dress, feels where you’re connected, where your body sucks him in, before he runs his finger through your folds and circles your clit. “You gonna come already?”

Your eyes flash open, mouth parted in a pant, as you keep pace with him and nod. “S’okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. Go ahead. I’m right behind you. Come for me,” he grunts, canting his hips up into yours, rutting hard until you whimper.

You don’t say anything, eyes fluttering closed again, chest heaving. You moan and lurch forward when he nips at your throat, like you’re trying to get him to sink deeper into your flesh. You curl your arms around him, hips jerking against his, moving to the same pace as his body, when he presses the pad of his thumb harshly to your clit. You go stiff, like you’ve been electrified, a sob forced out of your throat as your pussy constricts around him.

The sound of your pleasure, the squelch of you taking his cock so well, the breath of you in his ear, sends him spiraling, careening over the edge with a shout, your hot cunt gripping him tight.

He’s still rutting up into you, spilling into you, when you kiss him. Your mouth is warm, your skin chilled and icy. You’re murmuring his name, over and over, petting your hands anywhere you can reach.

Santiago’s mind is curiously empty, like the world, for just a second, has stopped and decided to let both of you breathe.

You stay in the car for a long time, watching the rain come down. Santiago shrugs out of his suit jacket and hands it over to you, which you promptly snuggle under and fall asleep, tucked into his side.

The center console is shoved up, but there’s no way you're comfortable slumped across cup holders and a gear shaft, but you sleep like you’re on a feather bed, like you’re never been more at peace.

Santi keeps an arm around your shoulders, slides his finger along your temple and jaw.

When the sky starts to darken and he’s thinking of waking you, just so he can get out of this fucking car because his neck is starting to really irritate him, you speak.

“I don’t know how it happened, Santiago. It’s so fucking cliche, but I really don’t know how it happened. We went on a couple dates and usually that would be the end of it for me because no one is ever - because no one is -,” you stutter to a stop and take a breath, peaking up at him. And Santiago doesn’t want to assume he knows what that fucker hadn’t been. But he knows, and pride swells inside him. No one was right because they weren’t him.

“But I had to see him because he works in the department next to mine. He was so persistent. And, at first, so nice. He brought me lunch and complimented me all the time. He was overwhelming and intense.” You keep your eyes on his, “the intensity reminded me of you just a little bit. But I - It was a disconnect that this,” you squeeze his hand, “has come from fucking years of something and he was brand new in my life.”

Santi strokes your hand, “So what happened, baby?”

You tuck your chin in, and give a tight shake of your head. “It was too perfect. I should have known. I mean, what the fuck, why did I agree to marry him after, like, a month? All I could think about was how stupid you would find it, how you would have never asked me because you knew I didn’t want to get married. It was right after that that it started. And then it was too late…I didn’t know how to make it all stop.”

His jaw tightens, “That what started?” His voice is a low growl and you shiver, but you don’t seem afraid. You’re relaxed, your body pliant against his, but you reach out and take his hand, gripping tight.

“Started with the phone calls. I called you too much, he said. Even though we weren’t able to talk all the time. Then the letters that I wrote to you and Frankie. Then my co-worker was a man and he thought I should quit anyways, it didn’t suit me to be doing a job like that. He said if I needed money we could merge accounts and he could just give me what I needed.”

Your hand tightens on his. “Then he didn’t want me to see my mother. He was pissed I invited my family to the wedding shower today. I cry all the time. Because I can’t figure out how to make him happy.” You shake your head, “And then you were coming home and he found out and I knew I couldn’t see you at the airport. I’d crumble, you would see right through everything.”

A sob bubbles up that you try to cut off. “I’ve been trying so hard to keep it all together and I don’t even know why.” Your voice shakes, “I’m miserable. I was miserable. Why did I keep trying?”

Because you were afraid and he took everyone away from you, Santi thinks. But he doesn’t say that.

Santi cups your face and tilts it up, swiping away the tears. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I was right, huh, you saw through everything.”

“I know you better than I know myself. ‘Course I was going to notice.” He cradles your face, traces the dark circles beneath your eyes, “I notice everything about you.”

You shake your head and push yourself upright. “It was like a switch flipped when he found out you were coming home. He accused me of cheating on him all the time, he insisted we needed to move the date of the wedding up. He didn’t want me to invite you. He - he said - ,”

Your words flash through his mind.

You think you own me and you don’t.

I’ve just been someone to fuck while you were in town. That’s all. Nothing else. Nothing more. I’m nothing to you and I always have been.

He can imagine exactly what that fucker was saying to you, what he said to make you feel worthless and used.

“I know,” he interrupts. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

Something hot boils under his skin, shredding through what little patience he had for that dick. To make you feel like you’d never mattered to him, not once in the seventeen years you’d known each other.

“I didn’t know how to make it stop,” you murmur. “It was easier to just do what he wanted. I didn’t know how to ask for help. Everyone thinks he’s perfect.” He strokes your skin, tries to keep calm for your sake.

Santiago squeezes your hand tightly between both of his before he manages to meet your eyes. “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing would have made him happy.”

You bite your lip before a watery smile tugs at your lips. “I’m glad you’re home. I’m sorry I haven’t been there - I’m sure things aren’t easy for you right now-,”

“Hey,” he brings his hands up to cup your face again. “Don’t do that.”

You lean forward, until your forehead is pressed against his. “I’m glad you’re home,” you repeat, voice quieter than he’s ever heard it.

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore,” Santiago closes his eyes, listens to the even sound of your breathing, feels the warmth of your breath against his mouth, the tug of your fingers against his stubble when you pass your fingers against his jaw. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Stay with me,” you whisper. “You’ve always liked it at my place better anyways.”

He would prefer you to come stay at his mother’s house until he can’t decide what to do with that fucking asshole you’d been engaged to, but you don’t need to know that. He would prefer for you to be somewhere that bitch doesn’t have a key.

But as long as you’re safe, with him, it’s enough.

“Okay,” he agrees.

Thirty-Four

Months pass and the year turns, but the winter is a mild one, typical for Florida. Santiago stays at your place with you and everyday, you feel more like yourself, like you’ve shed chains you didn’t know had bound you.

For a few weeks after you break off the engagement, Santiago is focused and driven, boxing up all of your ex’s things for you, setting up security cameras that you feel are a tad unnecessary until someone knocks on your door in the middle of the night for several days in a row, until you get a million calls a day from him that you refuse to pick up, until he tries to catch you outside your building on campus.

Santi’s focus, his precision, are useful to both of you. It gives him a purpose and it makes you feel safe.

In the evenings, you cook together and rid your apartment of the things that remind you of him, you put things back together, the way they had been.

Santiago notices right away that some of the photos you normally have hung up are missing. A bolt of shame careens through you when you explain, “He started hounding me about the pictures. How many of them you were in, and the other boys and my friends from college and -,” You pause, “I think that is when I started to realize something was wrong. Because those are decades worth of memories and I hadn’t known him all that long. Why should he have more pictures than you? Or my mom? Or my friends? Or Frankie?”

You shake your head, “But I couldn’t take all of them down. I refused to take all of them down. That was a scary night,” you whisper before you can think better of your words.

“Why was that a scary night?” His voice is deadly calm and you can’t look at him as you hang up a picture of your mom and sister.

You shrug, “He didn’t hurt me.”

“Bad start, hermosa.”

“He didn’t, Santiago,” you say, swiping dust off a picture of you at Santiago on your seventeenth birthday. “He just grabbed me, shook me a little.” You can’t think about it anymore than that, can’t find it in yourself to look at that memory any closer. He had looked genuinely shocked, like he hadn’t meant to grab you, at least not quite so hard.

He’d showered you with gifts and apologies and compliments the next day, and you’d pretended it was all fine.

One night a few days after that, Santiago disappears for a few hours, and when he returns he kisses you on the cheek and says, “He won’t bother you anymore.”

You never find out what Santiago did, but the calls and the random knocks on the door and the visits to your workspace on campus all stop. You can’t call it a coincidence that the next morning the rest of Delta Force arrives at your door for a visit.

After that there’s a twitchiness to Santi, like he’s ready to claw himself out of his own skin without something to focus him, but you’re glad he’s there, despite everything.

You go with him to the hospital for the consultations on his neck, when you finally convince him it can’t be put off any longer. You’re also the one to insist he get a second and third opinion before scheduling a surgery with anyone. Santi becomes your sole focus, especially after the dreaded surgery that is a thankfully short and smooth recovery.

And when he wakes up in the middle of the night, unable to breathe, unsure of where he is, you’re there too. Your days together become long, the nights late and the mornings early. He doesn’t try to hide it from you, the way he’s struggling with being in a civilian environment, without the structure of a job, of a routine.

But it’s easy enough to create one, to come up with projects and errands and a timetable for when you cook and eat, what days the laundry gets done, when your work hours are, when you work on your thesis.

It helps. Still, he has that antsy look in his eyes and you know he will eventually set off again.

He’s too ambitious, too good at what he does, too restless, to settle down yet.

And you’re okay with it, because it’s who he is, and it’s hard to watch himself try to cut himself down to fit into your world when he isn’t ready to be in it. It’s hard to watch him fight demons he isn’t, for better or worse, done collecting.

Still, you’re grateful for this time with him, that he’s there with you.

Santi helps you reconnect with all your old friends, relationships you’ve been neglecting for the better part of a few months. Luckily, you have good friends and co-workers, and even if you don’t have an explanation to offer them right away, they accept you back into the folds of their worlds. He helps you write a ridiculously long letter to Frankie, to make up for all the ones you missed, which he has to go out and pick up a special mailer for you to be able to send.

Santiago holds your hand as you call a couple of your friends. He’s there too when you explain what happened between you and your ex-fiance to your mother.

“Honey,” your mom says that day on the phone, “I always thought he was kind of a prick. Y’know he talked to me like he knew you better than me. Like he owned you. Besides, I always thought you’d end up with Santiago. He’s a good man.” You glance over at Santi, and you can tell by how carefully controlled his expression is that he’s heard everything.

Although Santi stays with you, sleeps in your bed and cooks with you in your kitchen, goes grocery shopping with you and drinks coffee on your balcony while you work on your thesis next to him, you aren’t intimate, not after that day in the car. There’s still some pulsing hole inside you that’s healing. A wound that festered with distrust and fear. You find it hard to trust yourself. It’s hard not to feel like it’s your fault some days, like you should have seen what was happening much sooner, before you were trapped and didn’t know how to get out.

How quickly he’d cut you off from everything and everyone. How easily you’d been able to fake that everything was fine, even when you were constantly balling your eyes out in the bathroom on campus and in your car before you went into work.

You’d fooled everyone.

Except Santiago.

He’d seen through it in an instant.

And he’s here for you now, even though you can tell being idle makes him want to claw his skin off, gives him that itch to run again, even though letting you see him vulnerable and in pain hurts him more than he’s willing to admit.

He stays.

One morning you wake to find Santiago groaning, rubbing at his knees. He’s sitting up, his back towards you, hunched over.

The scar on the back of his neck is fully healed but still an angry bright pink and red against the brown of his skin.

His jaw is clenched, a vein popping at his temple.

“You got old fast,” you joke, but reach out to rub a soothing hand down his spine, liking the look of him in rumpled sweats. “Bad knees, bad neck, gray hair. Old as hell.”

Santi turns, a smile pulling at the corners of his eyes, little crinkles appearing. His eyes flick over you, assessing you, his mouth only twitching a little in response. “Well, you’ve always had a thing for older men.”

You lift a brow. You’re only a couple months younger than him. “When have I ever-,”

“Baby,” he coos as you reach out and pull him down next to you, “You’ve been lusting after my gray hair for years.”

You snort and touch the solid gray bit of hair that’s made a streak through the rest of his salt and pepper locks. “So you finally believe me after all these years?”

“I might still need some convincing.”

You wriggle closer to him in bed. “I can do that.”

Santiago strokes one hand up and down your spine, not answering you for a long moment. “You know it’s always been you, right?” He ducks his head a little to meet your eyes where you’ve slouched down against him. “Fuck. You’re the reason I come home.”

His eyes are big and round and sincere, brows tilted up.

You think about just agreeing, but things have gone unspoken between you for far too long. “No,” you murmur, still fiddling with the ends of his hair. “No, I didn’t know. I was always waiting for you to come home with someone else on your arm.” You swallow, and clamp your teeth around your pride. “I know that’s stupid coming from me, after everything.”

“It’s not,” he says, before you can continue. “It’s not stupid. I never said it.”

“Neither did I. No one else was ever good enough,” you smile at him. “No one was you.”

Santiago stares at you for a long minute, eventually dipping forward to bump his nose against yours. “I want you. But I don’t know if I’m ready to settle down yet.”

You blink.

You already know that, you can tell by the way he paces, the way he’s already tearing at the walls. “I know,” you say softly. “It’s okay.”

“Not-,” he stops, licks his lips. “-not like that, baby.” He strokes a thumb over your cheek. “I want you, if you’ll have me but-,”

You feel a smile tug at the corners of your mouth until you can’t suppress it anymore. “But you’re not done runnin’ and gunnin’,” you agree. “Honey, I already knew that. You’re miserable sitting around here. Did somebody offer you a job?”

He tilts his head, “How the fuck did you guess that?”

“Santiago,” you laugh, poking his cheek softly. “Look at your career and tell me recruiters and contractors aren’t going to be after you?”

“Fuck off.”

“Thank you for taking care of me these past few months. But you aren’t done. My career is really just going to be taking off after I defend in June.” You tilt your chin against his, “But I wanna be yours anyways. Only yours.”

He exhales hard, like he’d been holding a breath, “Then I’m yours. You’re mine.”

You draw your hand down his back to smack his ass. He kicks at your ankle in response as you laugh and say, “Guess I do have a thing for old guys.”

He groans, rolling onto his back and away from you. “Like,” you continue, propping yourself up on one elbow, “you’re asking for me to tease you though. You could have dyed your hair, you know.”

Santi just stares up at the ceiling, still trying to fight a smile. You poke him again, “It’s almost like someone has liked me pointing it out all these years.”

“Y’know,” he rolls back to face you on his side. “I could get it dyed right now.” You pop out your bottom lip and pretend to think about it, before your shrug. “Or I could shave it off again.”

You gasp and sit up, “You fucker, you absolutely would not do that.” Santiago readily catches at your hips when you swing your leg over his waist. “Careful, I know you’re all delicate and fragile right now. Creaky knees.”

Santi rolls his eyes and slides his hands down your thighs, to the hinge of your knees where he notches his fingers. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched, since you’ve been touched by him, and the warmth of his hands through your sweatpants suddenly isn’t enough.

You lean over him, and dig your hands into the soft curls you’ve always adored. “You’re too pretty. Your hair is too pretty.”

He’s shaking his head, reaching up to cup the back of your neck with one hand, “Fuck, you’re so-,” he doesn’t finish his sentence, pressing his lips hungrily to yours instead.

For a moment, time shrinks down to nothing, you’re twenty again and Santiago is kissing you for the first time at a house party, his mouth bitter with the taste of whiskey he shouldn’t have been drinking.

He’d been leaning against the kitchen counter between your legs, laughing and talking, the haze of smoke and pulsing lights making you dizzy. Santiago had to lean up to kiss you, his hands clumsy on you, dragging you into him before you’d hopped off the counter and kissed him hard, until neither of you could breathe.

You’ve been falling together for decades now, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“I’m so what?” You ask when he nips at your mouth. “What am I?”

“Fuckin’ wonderful,” he muses. “Perfect. Mine.”

“Flirt.”

You slip your hands beneath his shirt, feeling the ripple of muscle and flesh beneath your fingers. You dig your hands into him, desperate for all of him now. “I missed you,” you murmur.

He jerks you closer before deftly flipping you over, and you roll your eyes at the show. “So all the groaning about your poor knees is a total lie-,”

“I’m so glad you’re back,” he whispers against your mouth, fingers trailing along the band of your sweatpants that sends goosebumps racing across your skin. “So fucking glad. That fucker sucked the life outta you. You know how scary that was, hermosa? Like you were a stranger looking at me.”

You tip your head back but he isn’t looking at you, his intensity focused only on peeling your t-shirt up and over your head.

He skims his fingers along your skin, over your ribs and the curve of your breasts, pausing briefly to run the pad of his thumb against one nipple. You arch into his touch desperately needy for him. “I’ve seen a lot of shit,” he swallows harshly, finally meeting your eyes. “But nothing has ever scared me like that did.”

You reach for him, stroking your fingers over his jaw, over the patches of gray on his stubbled cheeks, as you look into the bottomless ink of his eyes. “You brought me home,” you say, not sure where the words bubble from. “I’m still here.”

Santi breathes out, a gust of warmth against your lips as he surges forward to kiss you again, fingers dragging your sweatpants down your thighs.

When he sinks into you a few minutes later, it’s with a groan caught between pleasure and pain, like you are both balm and bane. You sink your teeth into the fleshy part of his shoulder when he buries his face against your neck, wishing you could fuse yourself to him, wishing you could ever have the words to tell him everything he makes you feel.

Thirty-Nine

Santiago comes home every chance he gets, and instead of years or months between the times you see him, it’s only weeks that pass.

It doesn’t make missing him any easier.

It doesn’t make the passage of time go by smoother.

But there comes a day when he comes home from Columbia and says, “One more run. And I’m done.”

It’s something you’ve been half expecting for a while. Over the years, the constant movement had started to weigh on Santi, had started to make leaving again and again near impossible. Running and gunning was finally, you hoped, coming to an end. It was bolstered by his reticence, by the disillusionment that had grown too large to ignore.

He slides down next to you on the couch where you’re pouring over an academic journal on your laptop without another word. His eyes are dark and shadowed, exhaustion tugging his shoulders down, tension stiffening his neck. His hair is still the same salt and pepper, and you’ve been wondering for years now when he might go all the way gray.

“Garcia,” you greet, smiling at him. “Hello to you too.” You hadn’t even heard the door open.

He reaches for you, curling an arm around your shoulders that you immediately snuggle under, pressing your nose to the warm skin of his throat, inhaling the heady scent of him, like sage and bergamot and the lingering wisp of jet fuel.

There’s a strange note in his voice when he plucks at the shirt you’re wearing, something like longing, like mourning. “You’ve still got my Metallica shirt?”

“‘Course. I told you it’s mine, remember?” You snark.

When he doesn’t reply, just rubs the worn fabric between his fingers, you pinch his side gently.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” You put a hand on his knee, digging your fingers into his flesh gently, thumbing at the hinge where you know he’ll have to wrap it later.

He nods. “I’m sure.”

“And then what?”

He shrugs, “We’ll figure that out together.” He licks his lips, turns toward you, “I want to buy you a house. I want roots.”

You smile and lean over to kiss him. “I love you, Santiago Garcia. I can’t wait for you to be at home with me.”

Santiago smiles at you, the creases by his eyes more pronounced than they had been a few years ago. You smooth your thumb there, “You’re my favorite old man.”

The grin fades, replaced by a serious, intense frown. “We’re gonna get Lorea,” he says quietly.

You narrow your eyes, “Who’s we?”

He just looks at you, his brows drawn tight over his eyes. “Oh Santiago,” you sigh, patting his knee. “Just be careful. Whatever the fuck you’re planning, be careful.”

“Always am.”

“I’m serious. I’ve come to like those boys.”

“Come to? You’ve had crushes on half of them.”

You snort, touch his cheek, “Still jealous after all these years?”

Santiago curls his fingers back around yours. “Always. Just a little bit.”

He stares at you, those dark eyes that read to you like an open book these days. You tilt your head at him in question. “What’s going on, Santiago?”

“Nothin’,” he says, and you know it’s a lie. He kisses your knuckles, lips brushing over your hand gently. “Do you remember…I told you once I wished I could help you pay for school. I’m finally gonna make that happen, querida.”

You lift a brow and slide your free hand over his belly. “Oh? Little late for that, baby. A couple years and few loan applications late,” you joke.

Santiago’s eyes remain hard, solid and resolute, something brewing in his gaze that you can’t identify. “I can get those loans back though.”

You tilt your head at him. “Ambitious. Paying off my loans and buying a house. They must be paying you something crazy.”

Santiago’s face remains still, controlled. “Something like that.”

You press the back of your hand to his cheek, the scratch of his stubble scraping against your skin. “Just promise me you’ll come home. I don’t need to know anything else. I don’t need a house and the loans are manageable.” You press your thumb into his full bottom lip, “Okay? Come home safe. That’s all I ask.”

He tips his forehead softly against yours, presses a kiss against your top lip. “Don’t I always?”

“Santiago,” you sigh, shaking your head at him and shifting your laptop onto the coffee table before you pitch yourself into his lap. “Just say yes.”

His hands go to the small of your back, and you let yourself be tugged down, his forehead pressing down into the top of your shoulder. “I promise,” he murmurs against you, reverently.

And it’s not like he’s ever broken that promise before.

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #oscar isaac

813 notes · View notes