- drunken confession -
✧ pairing: santiago “pope” garcia x f!reader
✧ summary: your best friend santi needs a ride home after a night out with the guys. pope, being the drunk man he is, confesses his pent-up feelings for you.
✧ genre: fluff/soft comfort
✧ warnings: nothing bad, just mentions of alcohol and a bit of cursing
✧ word count: 1.2k
✧ author’s note: listen i’m like, in love with santi rn and um i was like why not do a lil fic of him? this is probably the first fic i’ve ever posted lol and well hope u guys like it! :) ♡ this is more in santi's pov and how he views you rather than vice versa. !! keep in mind, english is not my first language and if u see any mistakes pls ignore them :') (this doesn’t help my oscar obsession)
@marc-spectorr helped me come up with this !! pls read her fics ! they're amazing and she's one of my favorite fanfic authors. i love u callie, this one's for u amiga, hope u like it ! ♥︎
You had just picked up your best friend, who was, not to your surprise, drunk.
It made your eyebrows raise in amusement as you quietly snickered to yourself, seeing just how out of it Santiago was as he stumbled over to your car. He was usually so composed and right now, he was loosened up.
Frankie had texted you earlier, asking if you could give Santi a ride home. The other boys were still drinking and partying their hearts out, they weren't going anywhere just yet. He had hoped you could take Pope with you, knowing you were just getting out of work anyways. He didn't want another wasted man to take care of, plus, he knew Santi would get rest if he went home early.
Not to mention how much Pope spoke of you; Frankie knew the man felt something for you, and vice versa. The two of you were just stubborn or shy, if he could call it that, to admit it to each other.
"Heeyy princesa," Santi slurred as soon as he was inside the car with you. "I missed you, I was looking, everywhere for you," he added, his hand snaking up to grab yours, interlocking your fingers with his own, while his other open palm gestured to the air around him.
You felt your heart flutter all of a sudden in your chest. He usually wasn't this touchy with you.
What does that mean? No, no, relax, he's just drunk.
Sure, there were the occasional hugs and his arm placed around your shoulders, but, never.. hand-holding. God, you felt your heart beat quicker by the minute.
"You look really beautiful tonight, amor," Santi complimented, "but you always do, right, Morales? Veery beautiful."
Your cheeks warmed up at his words.
"Take care of this idiot for me, will you?" Frankie chuckled, clapping Santi on the shoulder.
"Oh, I will, don't you worry." You grinned, your gaze shifting over to Santi who was staring at you with half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile.
"Alright, drive safe, amiga."
Santi watched as you hummed to the music playing on the radio, eyes on the road, hand on the steering wheel and everything.
He noticed you were wearing scrubs, which barely clicked in his head that you had just come out of work.
"How.. was work, hermosa? Busy?" He asked you, that lopsided smile of his still on his handsome face. His short salt-and-pepper curls were hit by the bright red hue of the traffic light, illuminating his face too, the curve of his nose, his cheekbones.
Santi softly brushed his thumb across the warm skin of your hand, still holding it, in a way that screamed "i'm not letting go anytime soon".
You turned to look at him. "Oh, it was horribly busy. I had a lot of patients this shift and god, the doctor was chewing my ear off..."
As you explained to him how your day went, your words faded away as his dark brown eyes studied the features of your face for a long moment. The shape of your nose, your lips, your eyes, your scars, your eyebrows.
The same face he fell in love with ever since he had met you in that hospital in Paraguay, where you tended to the children that needed immediate medical attention with such carefulness and precision. He remembered how he felt when his heart stopped at the sight of you. You looked so beautiful and so caring; the way you softly smiled at the kid you were helping.
His gaze flitted down to your interlocked hands.
He loved you, and so he thought, with a burst of confidence, maybe he should tell you that tonight.
"Come on honey, dance with me for a bit." Santi chuckled at you as he pulled you in for a spin, much to your cute protest.
"What you should be doing instead of dancing, Garcia, is getting your drunk ass to bed." You laughed, swatting at his chest playfully to make him let go of you. As much as you wanted to dance with him, he was drunk and you wanted him to get some rest.
"Only if you're there with me." He winked and you rolled your eyes at him in response. His hands drifted down to place themselves on your waist.
Santi felt your body go still from the feeling of his hands on you. He smirked down at you, and soon, that smirk turned into a soft smile.
Quickly enough, your own hands found themselves around his neck. You returned the smile he gave you without hesitation.
He leaned forward, gently placing his forehead against yours.
He heard your breath quietly hitch in your throat.
Even with all of the alcohol in his system, Santi suddenly and strangely felt steady.
He loved you, and he wanted to tell you that. Maybe he should. Would right now be a good time?
He knew you felt the same. He noticed how you would get visibly flustered whenever he'd compliment you, how you'd smile to yourself as you looked away from him, how you'd gaze at him when you thought he wasn't looking. He knew you did.
But if he was wrong, he'd know by your reaction.
A good minute passed by.
"I like you," he cut you off, "a lot. Like, a lot, a lot." Santi laughed quietly under his breath.
"This isn't the alcohol talking, baby. I know, I'm not so great with this... kind of thing; confessing feelings and all, but I don't think I can hide it anymore."
"I've loved you ever since I saw you in that hospital years ago. I-I can barely understand what I feel for you." He whispered, one hand now on the side of your face, the other on your hip. Santi noticed the way your eyes slightly widened in surprise and in another emotion he couldn't quite place.
"I love the sound of your voice, I love the way your nose scrunches up when you smile, I love it when you dance in the kitchen, thinking nobody else is watching you. I love everything about you, you know?"
"I.. I've never felt anything like this before, preciosa. You're fucking beautiful and sometimes I-I wonder to myself how lucky I am to be your best friend. I just hope we can become something more." He finished, losing himself in those eyes he loved so much.. but judging by your stunned silence, he was quick to add: "B-but if you don-"
"Do you really feel that way, Santiago?" It was your turn to cut him off with a whisper, a pretty smile growing on your lips. You rarely called him by his actual name.
His heart swelled at the sound of you saying it.
"Meant every word, amor." He sighed in relief, feeling your hands hold his face, your thumbs caressing his cheeks slowly. He swore you could hear his heart beating.
Next thing he knew, you were softly pressing your lips against his, drawing him in as close as you could.
If his heart was running fast earlier, it was certainly running a fucking marathon right now. Probably add in a somersault, too.
Santi's arms wrapped and tightened around you, as if never wanting to let go, afraid that this moment would vanish if he did so.
He knew he'd never get tired of kissing you.
Eventually, you pulled away from him with a smile, much to his dismay.
Gazing into his onyx eyes, you chuckled to yourself, whispering:
"I love you too, Santiago Garcia. You have no idea."
Broken Yet Reunited || Santiago Garcia x Reader
gif made by Cass - please credit us if you use the gif.
Summary: Long after your break up, Santiago finds his way back into your life
Warnings: none, just fluff & comforting
Word count: 2143
Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x fem!reader
Authors: Cass & Rouge
Hundreds of loud conversations competed with the music that dominated the atmosphere in the bar. The audience was mostly young people. Santiago made his way through the crowd to order a drink, a dark local beer. He felt someone melting their body to his from behind before the drink was poured, and he knew you had arrived. "What brings you here, Y/N?" Santi inquired.
"I should ask you that question, Santi," you chuckled as you wrapped your arms around his waist. "I would never think of you as someone who enjoys such places, but I can't blame you… All the young ladies in the room."
Scoffing, he rolled his eyes theatrically. "Stop, that isn't a reason. One for the lady," he ordered a drink for you as well. "How's life treating you? I haven't heard from you in a long time."
You shrugged as you sat on a high chair next to him, patting his shoulder. "Oh, you know, doing my things, popping in and out. This is standard fare. So, how about you? I heard you're doing well."
"Could be better," he said quickly, sipping from his pint. "Been missing ya."
"You? Did you miss me? Do you know how to do it?" You asked, slightly teasingly, tilting your head. "I'm sure your cute contacts or informants are enough for you."
"No, as you can see, Y/N," he said flatly. "You're familiar with my work. I wanted to keep you safe from any potential dangers."
"I'm a mercenary, and you think I'm afraid of some ex-shady soldier's business? My cherished softie," you tease him even more.
He rolled his eyes again as he sipped his beer. "So, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, work is going dry for the time being, so I'm using my free time to rest," you explained, taking a large sip of your drink. "I was shot in the knee a few months ago and am still trying to recover. I'm not going to run a marathon, for sure."
He frowned, disappointed that you didn't even send him a message informing him of the seriousness of the situation. "Do I want to know about the circumstances?"
"Let's call it a team misunderstanding that results in friendly fire. That's all, but I'm still alive, so it's not all bad."
Santiago slowly nodded his head.
"How are things going for you? Was it something like neck surgery? I hope you're not running around doing crazy stuff like I am." Looking at him, you raised an eyebrow.
"I've been trying, but haven't been successful so far," Santiago joked lightly before putting his palm to his nape and smiling sadly at you.
You slid out of your chair and approached him. Your hand soon replaced his on his nape. "I think you enjoy the difficulties more than I do, Santi."
He gave a small smile, leaning into your touch. "Isn't it getting later? Could we get some takeout and come to my house?"
"Are you tired of all the pretty ladies around you?" You laughed and leaned in behind him to kiss his scar. "Takeouts and your establishment? Sounds intriguing."
A shiver ran down his spine and spread throughout his body. He nodded and hummed softly.
"Let me just pay for the drink and we'll be on our way, sweetie." You said this as you kissed his nap again before walking away.
"This one's on me," he said, nodding to the bartender and leaving a few dollars on the counter.
"I'm not returning that money to you." You cautioned him while patting his back.
"I'm not expecting this, babe."
"I'm hoping so, baby." You took his hand in yours and yanked him out of that damn bar.
Then you followed him to wherever he chose to get the food.
Santiago's apartment was small and cluttered, just as you remembered. A single man explained a lot.
"Same place, same shambles. As far as I can tell, nothing has changed." You chuckled as you sat on the couch.
"Sorry, hadn't expected guests," he apologized as he unpacked the food and offered you your portion. Santiago gathered a few boxes and relocated them to the second small room that served as his bedroom.
"You haven't had any visitors since you moved in? This place looks exactly the same after... four? five years? Typical guy," you laughed. "A woman's hand is needed here."
"As you can see, there's no line of women on the horizon," Santiago joked lightheartedly as he joined you on the couch. "I'm delighted you came. I missed the old days."
"I missed them as well," You agreed and moved your legs onto his lap. "If I may say so, this is surprising. You were always the one with the most female informants."
He laughed. "It's not my fault that I'm attractive and women treat me this way."
"Nonetheless, none of them stayed. A slew of bitches... Of course, no offense intended," you said this before you started eating.
"You're talking about yourself as well?"
You raised an eyebrow as you looked up. Things were getting interesting.
"Pardon me? First and foremost, I was not your informant. Second, you ignored me on your own volition, love."
"I told you about my motivation, and if I recall correctly, you sold your mates twice."
"I swear Santi, if we're going to pull dirt on each other, you'll end up with that fork in your eye and you'll never see me again," you warned, playing with a metal fork. "According to what I know, you took four of our buddies to rob a drug lord and only three of them returned, so don't pretend to be a saint, darling."
He rolled his head back, resting it on the back of the couch, and set the food down. "True. It's been a fucking disaster. Tom was far too avaricious."
"He was never perfect. Of course, I don't think he deserved it," you sighed and popped some food into your mouth. After a brief pause, you shrugged slightly. "I have a feeling he didn't even like me. I didn't like him very much; he had a difficult personality."
"I'm afraid he never truly liked anyone," Santiago replied, rising from his seat and walking to the window, where he sat on the windowsill and peered out.
You walked over to him, placing food on the small coffee table you had obtained. You wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled his shoulder without saying anything.
"I'm still not over that fucking failure. I lost a friend, so screw the money."
"I know," you gave him a gentle squeeze while whispering. There was nothing else you could say because nothing you said would make things better. Actually, you've been feeling bad since you brought up the subject.
"Return to eating, darling, it'll get cold," he said, tapping the bridge of your nose. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Yours will as well; I'm not returning to it unless you return to me."
He let you pull him back onto the couch where he was sitting, grabbing the box containing his meal to finish it. "Hey, did you meet anyone?"
"I did, in fact," You nodded and smiled at his slightly disappointed expression. "But don't be concerned, Santiago. You're not going to get a wedding invitation anytime soon. I abandoned him, so I am mostly alone. You? Are you sure you're not keeping some pretty girl from me?"
"I'm not," he assured, more like he'd be assuring himself as well. "No girl could stick with me as long as you actually did." Santiago indeed felt an unpleasant sting in his chest when you mentioned having someone, but thankfully it was a past thing.
You hummed loudly while chewing your food and nodding your head. "Don't give me that look, my tolerance for 'Santiago's bullshit meter' is not too high. It's something I made up with the Millers."
"What?" He cast another glance your way. "Come on, for a change, stop being a jerk."
"I am not a scumbag. If you don't believe it, ask Ben "You lay down and ruffled his hair gently. "You should know that I don't mean it negatively."
"I don't know anymore," Santiago hissed, jolting up, his palm resting on his nape.
"You okay?” You asked worriedly. "That neck, huh? Can I do something?"
"It's fine," he said but it clearly wants fine. He crossed the room to reach the bathroom, and with a shaking hand, he opened the box with pills, instantly swallowing two.
You, of course, followed him, and your palm was gently placed against his nape. "It's really that bad, huh?"
As you looked into his reflection in the mirror, he gave a slight nod and a single tear streamed down his cheek.
"C'mon. We're going to sleep. "The bed is still in the same room?"
He nodded and walked into the small room that served as his bedroom.
You walked alongside him and, once in the bedroom, you removed items from the bed. This man didn't seem to change much. You were the first to lay down when it was finished. "Please come here." You muttered.
He laid down beside you, taking an almost embryonal position, grunting a little with pain.
You moved closer and wrapped your arms around him. "Is there anything else I can do to assist you?"
"It's fine this way," he said quietly, his eyes closed, taking in your warmth and presence.
You nodded and carefully placed your hand on his nape, covering the scar. "Did you miss me that much?"
Santiago silently nodded. "When you spend your entire day alone, you have plenty of time to think. And I've been thinking a lot about what we talked about recently. I missed your presence and the relationship I should have given more thought to. I'm sorry I didn't pursue you."
You wanted to say something, but your knee was acting up, so you hissed. "Fuck..." You stretched your leg in the hope of some relief, muttering more curses. "To be honest, I missed this relationship as well. To be more specific, I missed you, which is probably why I never stayed with anyone. They weren't you."
He rolled onto his back and extended his arm to you. "Come on in, doll. Maybe I should go to the pharmacy and get some pain relievers or ointment? What about your knee?"
You nuzzled closer to him and sighed deeply. "No, I've got mine, but I kind of shoot myself in the knee, pun intended. Because I can't mix them with alcohol, I'll just have to wait." You laughed as you rested your leg on his. "Oh, Santi, we're so broken. "Where have all the good times gone?"
He gently rubbed his palm over your aching knee, whispering soothing sentences into your ear. "I guess they're gone."
"Wow, and I was dubbed the 'team's biggest pessimist,' guess you took after me, huh?" Before looking at him, you moved your hand into his hair, sadly smiling. "Santiago?”
His eyes were closed as he got lost in your touch. "Yes, doll?"
"Let us try to make good again in the coming days. Together. What are your thoughts on this concept?"
"Mhm," Santiago hummed softly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his hand soon stopping rubbing your knee and lying still.
"Santi? Don't leave me like that, sweetie," you kissed the top of his head softly.
He reluctantly opened his eyes and smiled at you. "You're a tease."
"This makes me very happy. I'll be your pillow for as long as you want." You kissed his brow and gently cupped his cheek. "Maybe I should move in since we've already been together?"
"Where do you keep your belongings? I'll go get them for you."
"Well, I live with a friend now, and all my belongings fit into a box and a traveling bag, so I'll get them myself, but I was wondering what you thought about such an idea?"
"I'll make you a room in the wardrobe and the bathroom," he chanted happily.
"So eager suddenly. Look at you. Where is that sleepy pessimist that I was cuddling just a moment ago, huh?” You couldn't help but laugh.
He raised his head and his lips met your jawline.
Turning your head, you smiled and simply kissed him like during good old times.
He hummed softly. "Esta vez no voy a dejar que te vayas de nuevo."
"I hope so. Try it and I will kick your ass before leaving," you warned him with a short laugh.
Caught On - Part 5
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader x Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia
Word Count: 7,890
Rating: Explicit. NSFW. (language, sexual acts, sexual contact with two separate men)
Summary: The three of you spend time together for the first time since you and Pope kissed. It’s a typical Saturday night for all of you ... right? Wrong.
The moment you’ve all been waiting for ... sort of. This is where things really pick up for these characters, and it’s been a challenge trying to keep things in character... hope you all enjoy.
Catch up here: Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
They pulled into the driveway a little over a half hour later, both men laughing as they carried things into the house. Pope had two six packs of beer - one in each hand - and Frankie was carrying two giant bags of chips and a plastic bag that you figured had some sort of cold dip in it.
They met you in the kitchen, setting things down onto the table and you immediately stepped toward where Pope stood, opening your arms to hug him. “Sorry about your car.” He waved you off, pulling you close and turning his head to kiss you on the cheek like he usually did. But you weren’t paying full attention, and instead of the man’s mouth finding the intended target, his lips met yours, though it was brief. Shit.
Backing away, you waited for Frankie’s reaction, the kitchen utterly silent, Pope’s eyes just as wide as yours. “If that’s how you’re gonna kiss her, Pope, then I’ve definitely got nothing to worry about.” Frankie’s arms were crossed as he leaned back against the counter, his posture loose. “I meant what I said, I -”
“You’ve gotta admit this is a little weird, ‘Fish.” Pope moved further away, one of his hands rising to swipe at the back of his head. “I wasn’t trying to -” He wet his lips, eyes darting between the two of you. “That’s not what I wanted to do the minute I walk in your goddamn front door.” You stayed quiet, wanting to see what happened between the two men, but you couldn’t look away from Frankie, the man’s entire attention focused on his friend. He really doesn’t look mad. And he hasn’t looked at me once, so he doesn’t … this isn’t on me.
“Is it weird because you think it should feel weird, or because you actually feel like it is?” Frankie pushed off of the counter and moved to stand next to you. “Because -” Enough.
“You know what’s really weird, guys?” Rubbing a hand over your face, you looked between them. “Talking about this like I’m not standing right fucking here.” Reaching out, you poked Pope in the chest. “You just kissed me in front of him and he didn’t deck you. Don’t question it.” Turning on Frankie, you narrowed your eyes. “And you, Morales, you’re antagonizing him over this. Just because you’ve already made up your mind that you’re OK with this happening as an observer doesn’t mean that we are going to accept it so quickly as participants.” Frankie said your name at the same time Pope did, but you silenced both of them by lifting your hands. “No. You know what? Keep this up and neither of you are going to kiss me ever again.”
Frankie’s lips twitched and you could tell that he wanted to make a smartass comment, but to his credit, he didn’t. “Think she’s right, Pope.” He sighed. “Like usual.” Damn straight.
“Go start the grill, Frankie. I’m thawing burgers.” Squeezing his arm, you waited until he was looking at you to give him a small smile. “Pope will help me in here.” You got a nod in return as he turned toward the package of meat in the sink, grabbing it and a spatula before heading out onto the back deck, leaving you and Pope in the kitchen. “Well that was awkward.”
“Was it?” He moved before you did, reaching for the beer that he’d carried in. “Hadn’t noticed.” Fighting back a laugh, you kept your eyes on him as he started unloading bottles into the refrigerator. “What do you need my help with?”
The truth was that you didn’t really need the help, but you wanted to talk to Pope in private, to make sure that he was still alright with what had happened the last time you’d seen each other. Because I am. “There should be some lettuce and tomatoes in the drawer in there, if you want to grab them.” Turning away, you headed for the pantry and grabbed an onion. “You know where the cutting boards are.”
A minute later, the two of you stood side by side at the counter, slicing. He’d washed the lettuce and peeled away a few leaves, patting them dry with a paper towel before taking a knife to them, and even though you were trying to focus on slicing the onion, you couldn’t look away from the man’s hands. Oh, fuck. He was precise with his cuts, working quickly through the lettuce and switching to the tomato, but when he turned his head to the side just enough to look at you, you weren’t surprised. “What? Am I doing it wrong?”
“No.” Setting your knife down, you shifted closer, still watching him. “No, you’re not doing it wrong. You…” Fuck. Why is this so weird? You wouldn’t ever admit it, but it was a little weird to be around the man after what had happened, especially in the home you shared with Frankie. Now that I know what it’s like to … “Do you think that counts?”
“Counts? As what?” He finished with the tomato, reaching over to lay his knife in the sink before returning his attention to you. “What are you talking about?” Pope’s smile grew, but you could tell the confusion was real.
“Do you think that counted as the first time we kissed in front of him?” His jaw dropped in shock and you saw the way he was scrambling for a reply, though you didn’t let him make one. “Because it was going to happen at some point, right? And even though it was barely a kiss, you still -”
“It counted.” Both of you straightened up, attention snapping to the doorway, where Frankie was standing. “And it was … strange to see, but…” He shrugged. “You’re right. It was going to happen at some point.” He pointed at the patio. “Gonna put the burgers on when I go back outside. Do you guys want cheese?”
Either Frankie was truly unaffected by the fact that he’d just seen you and Pope kiss, or he was a great actor, but you had no idea which was closer to the truth. “Yes.” Pope walked back to the refrigerator, opening it and pulling out two packages. “Pepper Jack for me. Grabbed the Swiss for you.” He held both out to the other man, nodding once. “I’m sure you know what she wants.”
“Yeah.” Frankie winked at you and took the packages from Pope, reaching up into one of the cabinets for a large plate. “I do.” And then he was gone again, the door closing behind him and leaving you and Pope alone in the kitchen for the second time. You do.
“Well there’s you answer.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, pressing his lips together briefly before he licked them. “I gotta admit, he’s taking this a hell of a lot better than I would.” Pope laughed, turning away to grab a small plate before he began piling the lettuce and tomato on it, leaving space for the onion you’d returned to slicing. “If I saw someone kiss you, I’d -”
“That isn’t true.” You were next to him again, filling the plate. “You’ve watched me kiss lots of guys without reacting, Santi.”
“Not lots.” He nudged you, scoffing. “But enough. And none of them made me happy to see.” Pope met your gaze, his eyes bright. “Until him.” He reached out, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “And that’s why I’m being weird about this.”
“I know.” You closed your eyes. “I just wish we could get past this awkward phase, and figure out whether or not …” You trailed off, trying to figure out the best way to explain yourself. “Whether or not it’s always going to feel strange.” It hadn’t felt strange the night in his house, even when he’d run back in to kiss you fiercely. But it was just us then. No Frankie. “But that’s going to take time, right?”
“Right.” He leaned in again, catching you by surprise and actually kissing you on the cheek. “But.” He said your name, mouth still close to your ear. “Hopefully you noticed that I didn’t apologize for today.” I didn’t, but now… You sucked in a breath, watching as he pulled away from you and started gathering other stuff - more plates, silverware, condiments pulled out of the refrigerator - and organizing them on the counter. “Go. Take a beer and go sit outside with ‘Fish. I’ll finish in here.” He nodded. “I’m serious. Go.”
You didn’t argue, moving past him and reaching into the fridge to pull out bottles for all three of you, opening them with the magnet attached to the door’s surface. “There’s napkins in the pantry, Pope.” Sliding the third bottle toward him, you picked up the other two. “I’ll be right back in to grab the -”
“Nope.” He whipped his head back and forth. “I got it. Just go sit.” You knew better than to argue with the man and so you didn’t, the door closing behind you as you joined your fiancé on the patio.
The three of you had moved from the patio to back inside after dinner, hastily cleaning up as a storm rolled in without warning. You’d made it - just barely, but all plans of hanging out outside until it was time for bed had been dashed, the two men banishing you from the kitchen so that they could clean up.
You heard them laughing as you went up the stairs to change from your clothes into pajamas - a pair of shorts and one of Frankie’s t-shirts - and you were unable to keep from smiling at the sound. Even if it’s weird between me and Pope, at least it isn’t weird for them.
They were sitting on the couch when you got back downstairs, Frankie on one end with his feet propped up on the coffee table as he flipped through channels, Pope on the other end, leaning against the arm with a fresh bottle of beer in his hand. “Brought you another. Figure all we can do now is drink and watch TV becausea the damn storm.” He isn’t wrong. “‘Fish thinks there’s a game on.”
“The Rays are on the west coast, so that makes sense.��� Passing in front of Pope, you leaned over to grab your beer before taking a sat next to Frankie. You turned your body enough so that you could lean against his side, keeping one foot on the floor while the other was on the cushion between you and your friend, knee bent and providing a place to rest the arm that held your beer. “But it’s not 10 yet, so it probably hasn’t started.”
“You’re right.” He stopped flipping, leaving the TV on the pregame show and set the remote on the arm of the couch. “Still got a little while.” He put his arm around you - between the back of the couch and your back, the man’s large hand resting on your hip, and for a few minutes none of you talked, focused on the TV.
It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but it was uncharacteristic for the three of you, and just as you were trying to think of a good way to break it, Pope spoke up. “So you’re feeling better? Your side doesn’t hurt anymore?” Turning your head enough to look at him, you nodded.
“Yeah, it was pretty bad for a couple days. I didn’t realize that guy hit me so hard, but it’s fine now.” Shrugging, you took another sip, gesturing with the bottle. “No permanent damage.” He grinned at you, lips wrapping around the mouth of the bottle as he took a long drink. “I think you and Frankie were more worried than I was, but -”
“You shoulda seen her, Pope.” Frankie’s voice rose as he joined the conversation, shifting slightly behind you. “Gettin’ out of bed in the morning and trying not to let me see how much pain she was in.” It wasn’t that bad. “I watched her get dressed two days after, and halfway through, she decided to switch from a shirt to a dress, just because she -”
“Didn’t wanna lift your arms, hmm?” Pope raised an eyebrow, even as you glared at him. “We know that feeling and it’s a bitch.” I’m gonna kill Frankie. I swear I’m going to murder him and then hide his body in a swamp and - “Don’t ever let ‘Fish tell you otherwise, because I’ve seen him a couple days after taking a punch from Benny.”
“At least I let him hit me full strength.” The hand on your hip moved, Frankie pointing at Pope with one long finger. “This asshole asked him to go easy because he -”
“Hey, we didn’t all get to sit in a pilot’s seat, ‘Fish. Some of us actually had to move around while we were on duty, and Benny hits fucking hard.” Pope leaned forward and set the bottle down on the table, turning enough so that he could face the two of you while he spoke. “It was just a dumb way to pass the time, you know? Guys hanging out and sparring? And he might play tough guy, but he slept with an ice pack for days, and never asked to go up against Miller again.”
“Gotta know your limits.” You shrugged and then tilted your head back to look up at Frankie. “I can’t believe you let him hit you, that had to hurt.”
“Sure fuckin’ did.” He grumbled the words at the same time he rolled his eyes. “Goddamn Pope, Trying to make me look bad…” He trailed off and you stretched your neck, kissing the underside of his jaw briefly. He’s not going to like this, but…
“Did you have Pope check on your bruises, too?” The question caught Frankie off guard, but Pope laughed, the man tossing his head back even as Frankie groaned and shoved you away from him playfully with the hand that had been holding his beer. It knocked you slightly off balance, the foot on the couch sliding forward until it made contact with Pope’s thigh. Shit. “It was just a question.” Mumbling the words, you moved to pull your foot back - and then chose not to, deciding to see what would happen.
It wasn’t like the three of you hadn’t spent nights together on the couch before - and there had even been some when you found yourself leaning against Pope while the two of you shared bowls of popcorn or chips. But this is different, because … It was different for a lot of reasons, but as you made eye contact with the man, it didn’t feel different. The only way we’re going to get past this is to act like nothing’s different. “Game’s starting.” He cleared his throat, drawing his lower lip between his teeth briefly. “Guys need anything? I’m gonna go grab another beer.”
“Bottle of water for me, Santi.” He nodded, standing and leaning over to grab the empty bottles. Frankie asked for another beer before Pope left the room - and you and Frankie by yourselves. “You ok?” Utilizing the vacated end of the couch, you stretched both legs out on the cushions, eyeing the amount of space remaining. Should be just enough.
“You’re teasing him.” Frankie said your name and you twisted around more to look directly at him. What? “You’re teasing both of us, and I’m glad.” Glad? I’m so confused. “I really thought that it would be you that was thrown off by this. Never figured it would be him, but -”
“Maybe he’s a better person than I am.” You frowned. “Especially when you say it like that. Shit, Frankie, I don’t…” He cut you off with a single shake of his head, leaning down to press his lips against yours.
“No.” He kissed you again, that time for a little longer. “No, he just … he knows me but he doesn’t know me like you do.” What does that mean? “He’ll catch up.” You were still confused but there wasn’t any time to ask Frankie another question because Pope reappeared in the room, standing behind the couch and handing the two of you your drinks. “Thanks, man.” He took a sip, eyes back on the TV.
When Pope moved to retake his seat, you backed your feet away to give him room - but kept watching him, wanting to see his reaction. You weren’t going to push. It was apparent that he was still hesitant about his behavior, but the one thing you knew was that if the two of you couldn’t get back to how things had been before the kisses, there would be something irrevocably broken between the three of you. And none of us want that. He sat, getting comfortable, and when he was settled, you extended your feet again, pressing the soles of both of them against his leg.
He stiffened - briefly - but then relaxed, and to your surprise, he dropped his arm so that his forearm was resting across your legs, the man slouching down on the couch. It’s a start. Frankie’s fingers tightened against your hip in recognition of what was happening, but then the three of you turned your focus to the game, Frankie using one hand to turn the volume up.
By the third inning, you had to pee, and so you got up, leaving the room and heading for the bathroom. It was still raining, fat droplets hitting the window and running down in streams, and as you washed your hands, you wondered what the next steps were. Frankie had seen you and Pope kiss - sort of, and he’d been alright with it. The three of you had managed to have a normal dinner, laughing and joking during and after. And Pope still seemed to be comfortable touching you casually, as had been the case for almost two decades. But where does it go from here?
That was a question that you’d need time to answer, and you had no illusions that you’d find those answers that same night. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the rest of the game with them. Settling back down onto the couch - and against Frankie’s side, the man’s arm wound around your shoulders to pull you close. You stretched out again, legs long enough that they reached Pope.
But instead of only making it to his thigh, you realized that your feet were pressed against him, knees still slightly bent. He moved. He’s… Before you could pull your legs back, one of Pope’s arms snaked beneath them, lifting both up. What is he… When he lowered them, your calves were resting one one of his thighs, feet right in the center of his lap. Frankie made no move, though you knew that he was aware of what was happening, and before your shock had even had time to dissipate, Pope’s hand was settled on one leg, his fingers wrapped around your ankle and that thumb stroking over your bare skin.
From next to you, you heard Frankie hum quietly, his arm tightening. Maybe this is where it goes.
The Rays lost, but you weren’t shocked. As the game wound down, you’d noticed Frankie’s breaths lengthening, the man relaxing enough to fall asleep for at least a few minutes. But you were wide awake and so was Pope, if the constant movement of his thumb was any indication. There’d been a few moments - a strikeout with the bases loaded, when your team scored in the top of the 8th, and during an overturned play in the bottom of the 9th when Pope’s grip tightened, the man squeezing your leg.
In those moments, your eyes had snapped to him, finding that he was watching you, a cautious excitement deep within them. The touches were innocent - or at least they would have been had the situation not been different. But it’s Pope. And it’s not… shit. Taking a deep breath, you carefully pulled your legs away from Pope’s lap and shifted so that you were sitting up straight, turning your attention to Frankie. “Hey.” You said his name, trying not to startle him awake. “You should wake up and get into bed. It’s late.”
He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Missed the end, what -”
“They lost.” Pope stood, stretching, and you couldn’t help looking over in time to see a thin strip of skin between the waistband of his pants and the bottom hem of his shirt. “You missed jack shit, ‘Fish.” You rose from the couch, too, and only seconds later, Frankie was behind you, using one hand to scratch at the back of his head, his already messy hair growing wilder with the movement. “You guys going to bed now?”
“I am.” Frankie yawned. “Unless there’s something that you want to do.” He touched the center of your back. “If you’re not tired, though, I’ll stay up. We never got to play cards.”
“Yeah, well, if it hadn’t rained…” Spinning to face him, you swallowed hard. “Next time?” The man nodded and Pope agreed from behind you, his voice low. “I’ll come upstairs and say goodnight, but I might come back down and watch TV for a while, I’m still awake.” Looking over one shoulder, you eyed Pope. “What about you?”
“Donno yet.” His eyes flicked between you and Frankie. “I -” You saw something in his eyes then, a look of determination. “I’ll probably stay up for a little while if that’s alright.”
“Our place is your place.” Frankie waved his hand around vaguely. “You know that.” Pope didn’t reply right away, so you leaned forward and picked up your empty water bottle, along with Frankie’s beer bottle and then stepped past him, heading for the kitchen to toss both into the trash. The room was spotless, and you grinned at the sight of it, thankful for their military background and their penchant to clean everything they touched thoroughly. Flipping the light off as you left, you walked back through the living room, Pope already seated back on the couch and holding the remote.
“I’m gonna go say goodnight to Frankie, and then I’ll be back down.” He nodded at your words, but didn’t turn his head toward you. Interesting. Climbing the steps quickly, you found your fiancé in the bathroom, shirtless and brushing his teeth. You joined him, reaching for your own toothbrush as you stood at his side. Neither of you spoke until you were done, and after you’d leaned forward to spit into the sink, you faced the man head on. “I’ll stay up here with you if you want.”
He reached for you with one hand, the pad of his thumb wiping away toothpaste from the corner of your mouth, but then shook his head slowly. “Nah. I’m really goddamn tired. You aren’t. And if you stay up here, you’re just gonna lay awake scrolling through your phone.” His lips quirked upward into a small smile. “And you want to go back downstairs.”
“I do.” Biting your lip, you closed your eyes. “Frankie, this is fucking weird. I feel guilty because I want to spend time with my friend. I feel guilty because I’m leaving you laying in bed by yourself to -”
“To do the same thing you two have been doing for the entire time you’ve known each other?” He moved closer, the man’s hands sliding along your hips and beneath the shirt you wore. “The only thing that’s different now is that one of you might actually kiss the other.” Yeah, and that’s the problem. “I was wrong when I thought that the two of you were gonna jump at this opportunity, you know? I thought as soon as you knew it was ok, you’d … well.” Arching a brow, he urged you closer. “As weird as it fucking sounds, the fact that you’re being so respectful about this tells me that I was right about both of you.”
You laughed at that, closing your eyes and leaning forward to rest your head against his chest. Respectful? He’s talking about being respectful in the same conversation that he’s suggesting our best friend and I sleep together. “The last thing I want to do is disrespect you.” Looking back up at him, you put both hands flat on his chest. “Ever. Which is why -”
“I know.” Frankie leaned down, angling his head to one side and kissing you. He tasted like toothpaste, the man’s tongue entering your mouth after only a short pause. You kissed him hungrily, his hold on you tightening at the same time you curled your fingers, the bare skin of his chest warm beneath them. He shifted on his feet and the next thing you knew, your back was pressed against the wall next to the towel rack, Frankie’s body flush against your front. Gasping into his mouth, you rocked your hips forward. Before you could get too lost in him, though, he pulled away, dropping his hands to his sides. What are you - “Go. Go keep Pope company.”
There was nothing else to say and so you rose up to your full height and kissed the bridge of his nose, letting your lips linger for long moments. “Is it going to be weird if I come up to bed later? I can sleep on the couch, or -”
“I’m gonna be pissed if you don’t come to bed.” Frankie’s smile grew. “Now go. It’s late and I really am tired. Love you.” There was nothing else to say after repeating the same back to him, and so you told him that you’d try not to wake him up when you came to bed and then headed back downstairs, hand trailing over the railing. There was a slight breeze blowing in - Pope had opened the back door, and the rain-cooled air was filtering in through the screen, the sound of the water audible over the low volume of the TV.
The man was back on the couch, but instead of sticking to the corner of it, he’d repositioned his body, legs stretched out over the cushions and one arm folded back behind his head. He’d taken his shirt off, too, leaving him dressed in only jeans and a tank top, the man’s shoulders on full display. It’s just because he’s getting comfortable to go to bed. Not anything else.
“I’m going to grab something to drink, Pope. You want anything?” He peeked over the back of the couch, telling you no. Alright. In the time it took you to walk into the kitchen and grab another bottle of water and reenter the living room, Pope had moved again, sitting up straight and sticking his legs out, bare feet on the coffee table in much the same way Frankie’s had been earlier. “Did you find something to watch?”
“No.” He laughed. “Nothing on, really. Unless you want to watch some late night sci-fi bullshit.”
“That’s fine.” Sinking down onto the cushion next to him, you tucked one leg beneath you as he continued to flip through the channels. “I’m glad you came over tonight.”
“Are you?” He set the remote down, taking a long breath and holding it. “‘Fish seemed like he was, too. And that’s weird as hell, but… it was a relief.” You understood what he meant, and since both of you were being open, you decided to try and push the conversation - just a little.
“Do you think we can do this, Santi?” Turning your head toward him, you waited until he was looking at you to keep going. “Like, do you think if anything else happens, we’d be able to just hang out together - or even with the other guys - and act like nothing was going on?” It was a genuine concern for you, but there was one that was even more prevalent. “And if I’m not there, would you and Frankie be alright together knowing that we’ve -”
“Well you gotta hold on a sec.” Pope grinned, holding up a hand. “Nothing else has happened yet. We were fine at the bar the other night, and ‘Fish didn’t leave my ass at the mechanic today.” Pope leaned in, still grinning. “And the two of you are definitely still fine if you were counting down the seconds until you felt up to sex again, so -” You scoffed, reaching out with one hand to shove him, but Pope surprised you, catching your arm and then pulling your hand up to his face. “I think we’ll be alright.” Keeping his eyes locked on yours, he kissed the center of your palm.
You couldn’t stop yourself, fingers moving to cradle his cheek, the stubble there scratching gently against your skin. “I hope so.” He leaned into your touch, eyes dropping to your lips and then rising again to meet yours. “I really hope so.” Despite the fact that you knew Frankie was right upstairs, the position that you were in wasn’t making you feel anxious - instead, you felt content sitting next to the man in low light, your hand on his face. Maybe it’s not that this feels weird with him, maybe … “Pope?” Wetting your lips, you pressed them together. “I think I figured it out.”
“Yeah?” His jaw was set and you could see in his expression that he was trying to hold himself back. “Figured what out?”
“This… it only feels weird when Frankie’s in the room, and I think it’s because he knows and would see. And even though he’s … encouraging whatever this is, there’s a difference between doing it in front of him and -”
“And being in private.” He nodded. “I agree.” Pope sighed. “He told me a while back that he didn’t know how he’d react if anything happened and he was right there to watch it, but that the idea of you and me didn’t … bother him as much as he thought it should.” You moved again, turning your body so that you were facing Pope and kneeling on the couch, one foot still on the floor. “I laughed it off, because what kind of dick would do that with their best friend’s girl, no matter how I felt.” Yeah, what kind of dick would do that. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And then the three of us talked, and …” He shrugged and you realized that your hand was still on his face, though he’d let go of your wrist, dropping his hand to settle on the top of your thigh. “And then I kissed you in my bathroom. And you kissed me back, and I didn’t even worry about -”
It was you that moved first that time, closing the distance between you as you slid your hand around to the back of his head, fingers getting lost in his curls. It took him by surprise but he didn’t pull away, instead slipping his arm between your body and the couch to urge you closer. The kiss deepened without warning, his mouth opening just wide enough to suck your lower lip between his before he captured it with his teeth. Humming at the feeling, you waited until he let go to tease at the opening with your tongue, Pope’s grip on your leg tightening.
It felt just as right as it had in his house, the two of you doing your best to make up for years that you’d spent at arm’s length, and so you didn’t try to stop yourself when you hooked your leg over both of his, shifting so that you were straddling his thighs, both knees on the couch. “What’re you doing?” He broke the kiss long enough to question you, the man’s breaths shallow. “You -”
“Getting comfortable.” Leaning back in, you kissed Pope again, one arm curled around his neck, the other hand still in his hair. “Tell me to get off of you and I will.” He didn’t, Pope’s hands moving to your lower back as he nodded, a quiet sigh the only sound you heard before his mouth covered yours.
You stayed like that for a long time, Pope’s hands never straying too far from their original position, but when you backed away, using your knees to push yourself into a more upright position, they fell a little further, Pope gazing up at you. You watched him in silence for a few seconds, shadows from the light of the TV flickering over his face - and you felt no guilt whatsoever. I wonder if he - “I want to touch you.” He curled his lip, the man’s nose wrinkling. “You have no idea how bad I -”
“Then do it.” You were stroking the back of his head, your other hand resting on the muscles of his shoulder. “I won’t stop you.” He met your eyes again and you nodded, heart pounding. ‘Pope, I -”
“Clothes stay on.” He groaned, shifting his hips below you. “Clothes stay on and my jeans stay zipped and buttoned.” Alright. It was your turn to swallow past the lump in your throat as you agreed with him, the man’s hands still firmly in place on your hips. “But fuck, I need to…” He pushed away from the back of the couch, the movement catching you by surprise, and when Pope’s lips met yours, you moaned, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room.
That seemed to spur him on, Pope releasing your hips and dropping his hands lower, his palms warm on the backs of your thighs just below the bottom of your shorts. He’d never touched you like that before, but he wasn’t done; both hands urging your hips closer to his, the apex of your thighs dragging over the seam of his jeans. His kiss turned sloppy, Pope’s mouth open as he prodded at yours with his tongue, and it struck you how different kissing him felt from kissing Frankie, though it was no less enjoyable. I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.
The hand on his shoulder moved, pushing beneath the strap of the shirt he wore. When you closed your fingers around the curve of it, you dug your nails in, grinding your hips down as he lifted his again. “Santi.” You barely recognized the sound of your own voice, but Pope seemed to like it, the man lowering his head so that he could mouth at the side of your neck. He kissed his way across it and you tilted your head back to give him more room, hips still pressed against his lap and moving just enough to create friction. You could feel him - solid beneath the denim, straining against the material, and if you’d ever had any doubts about the way Pope felt about you, they disappeared completely in that moment, the man’s body’s reaction to a few kisses and you on top of him more than enough confirmation. Oh, fuck.
He slid his hands back up your thighs and then to your waist, pushing beneath your shirt but not lifting it. When they settled against the bottom of your ribs, you moaned again, the man moving quickly to swallow the sound. Shit. When he broke the kiss, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing hard. “¿Estás bien?”
“I’m fine.” Combing through this hair with your fingers, you cleared your throat. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” He kissed you again, briefly. “Yeah, I’m…” Pope sighed, pulling one hand away from your body and letting it fall between you, the man using the heel of it to press on the bulge between his legs. “Gonna have to do something about this when you go up to bed, though.” He laughed quietly, the tips of his fingers making contact with the material of your shorts and then withdrawing, the man stiffening in front of you when his fingers hit the damp material between your legs. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to…”
You heard the longing in his voice though, and desperately wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to apologize. But we already agreed that clothes stayed on and fastened, and if he touches me… “It’s fine.” One hand cupping his jaw, you asked him to look at you. “If this … any of it is going to happen, we’re going to need to stop apologizing, Santiago.” You knew it would be easier said than done, but wanted him to know that you meant it, and would be attempting to do the same. “If I don’t get off of you right now, I’m not going to… and I don’t think that either of us are -”
“It’s not the right time.” He laughed, the sound cut off as he swore. “And I am not prepared.” He paused. “I don’t know what you and ‘Fish do or don’t do when it comes to -” Are we really going to have this conversation right now? As strange as it was, it made sense that it was something you’d talk about, and so you chose to answer him, settling your weight back so that it rested against his knees, both hands back on his shoulders, his on the tops of your thighs.
“We actually…” Briefly glancing up, you shrugged. “I’m on birth control, so we haven’t used anything else in a while.” You swallowed. “But if … if it gets to the point where you and I -”
“Oh, you don’t even need to worry there.” Pope smiled then, winking at you. “I always use protection. Wouldn’t be any different with you. The last thing I want is for you and me to do this and become a statistic.” You felt an immediate sense of gratitude toward the man, relief flooding through your body. “‘Fish would kill me.” You bit back a smile as Pope continued. “And I wouldn’t be too happy with myself, either.”
“Thank you.” You spoke quietly, leaning in again to kiss him, lips pressed gently to his mouth. “If you need to shower or anything, you know where everything is.” It felt wrong to leave the man hanging, but it was the absolute truth: if you didn’t get up, things would have progressed, and after so many years of waiting, both of you deserved better than giving in for the first time on the couch in your living room. Maybe when we were 20, but not … not now.
You rose to your full height again, using his shoulders for balance, but instead of letting you go, Pope leaned closer, pressing his cheek against your chest and between your breasts. What is he… But you figured it out only moments later as he turned his head, the bridge of his nose running along the swell of one, the man’s mouth following and pressing kisses there over the material of your shirt. You had a bra on underneath but you felt your nipples hardening and knew that the peaks of them were visible through the thin fabric of the shirt. And if he can see them, he can feel them, and -
Crying out as he bit down and a jolt of arousal shot straight into the pit of your stomach, you closed your eyes and arched your back, pushing your chest toward him. Guess he’s not done yet. He hummed without removing his mouth and you felt the vibration of it, his other hand moving from your leg and up as he palmed the other side of your chest, fingers curling to take you in his hand. Frankie was right, you realized as you opened your mouth to sigh and let him continue, your gaze focused on the top of his head. This is going to go further and it’s going to… we just need some time to figure it out and …
As quickly as Pope had started touching you, he stopped, biting down again and then releasing you before you’d even had a chance to register the twinge of pain from his teeth. “Go to bed. It’s late.” He swatted as your ass with one hand and you swung your leg back over his, glancing down and able to see that you were still affecting him, the stiffness between his legs apparent. “And I need to take care of something.” You had to laugh at that - at the absolute absurdity of the fact that you were going to go up and get into bed with your fiancé while your best friend got himself off in your shower thinking about you. “I can take an Uber home in the morning if you want. Be gone before you guys get up.” He was adjusting himself again, widening the spread of his legs as he spoke.
“No, absolutely not.” Firmly shaking your head, you moved over to close the back door, locking it. “If you leave that’ll be weird. We can all go out for breakfast or something and then take you home. We’ll figure it out.” Wetting your lips, you let out a long, slow breath. “Please don’t go anywhere.”
“I won’t.” He stood then, crossing the room to where you were. “If ‘Fish is pissed at you, you know where I’ll be.” He was grinning, though, and when Pope leaned down to kiss you on the cheek, you wrapped your arms back around him, holding him close. “Goodnight.”
When the two of you separated, you headed for the stairs, only pausing when you had one hand on the railing. “Hey.” Looking at him over your shoulder, you waited until the man’s attention was on you to finish. “Earlier tonight, Frankie said that I was the one teasing you.” Pope fought back a smile, cocking his head to one side. “I’m pretty sure that what just happened was the reverse.”
“Maybe.” He ran a hand through his hair, swiping his tongue over his lower lip. “Can’t help it though.” Of course you can’t. Taking the stairs slowly, you pushed your bedroom door open, the sound of Frankie’s quiet snores filling your ears as you crossed the space and stepped into the bathroom. Once the door was shut behind you, you turned the light on, staring at yourself in the mirror.
Your eyes were bright, lips swollen from the minutes you’d spent kissing the man on your couch and you looked frustrated - but happy, at the same time. And why wouldn’t I be? Pope and I just… Things had moved much faster than you’d thought they would, but the fact that Pope had put a stop to things, opting instead to shower and cool off and let you go to sleep reinforced what Frankie had said. It was him that was more hesitant to take things further with you, and that was a good thing. Because we’ve both waited long enough, and a little longer isn’t going to hurt anything.
Brushing your teeth again and using the bathroom - as well as cleaning yourself up - you removed your shirt and bra before flipping the light off, tossing both pieces of clothing into the laundry basket and then heading back into the bedroom. Frankie had opened the window nearest to the head of the bed before laying down, and you let the breeze hit your skin for a few seconds before stepping to your dresser and grabbing a new pair of shorts. You might have had permission from him to explore things with Pope, but you drew the line at climbing into bed with one man wearing the same clothing as you’d had on with the other.
Letting the old ones drop to the floor, you lifted one leg to put the new pair on, and were interrupted by the sound of Frankie’s sleepy voice. “Why’re you getting dressed?” What? “Forget the shorts. Just get in bed.” He dragged the blanket back, giving you space and you moved without hesitation, climbing onto the cool sheets and scooting toward him. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah.” It was only a whisper, but he still wrapped an arm around you, urging you closer to him. “Everything’s fine.” He pressed his lips to your forehead and when you reached for him, you realized that he, too was naked, the broad expanse of his back smooth to the touch. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“Heard the sink,” he mumbled, lips skating over your closed eyelids and then down, pressing to your cheek. “And then I saw you walk out of the bathroom without a shirt on, and there’s no way in hell I was gonna go back to sleep right away.” His hand moved slowly down your back, skimming over your curves and you instinctively moved even closer to him, heart rate beginning to speed up again. This shouldn’t feel so right. “Unless you and Pope already -”
“No.” You were quick to deny the insinuation, saying Frankie’s name as you backed off enough to look into his eyes. “No, we didn’t.” His long fingers wrapped around the back of your thigh, urging that leg forward so that you could rest your knee atop his. “Hey, wait. You don’t have to -”
“Want to.” He kissed you then and you closed your eyes, humming as his lips met yours. “You said you weren’t in any pain anymore, and it’s been -”
“Too long.” You spoke against his mouth, licking at his lower lip. “It’s been too -” You gasped as he slid his hand down further, fingertips between your legs and brushing against you - but instead of pulling them back like Pope had, Frankie kept them in place, the tip of one just barely sinking into you. You whined his name out, the man using the opportunity to kiss you deeply, and at the feeling of his tongue meeting yours, you raised your hand, tugging on his hair. Oh, fuck. He grunted and his hand moved enough to sink two fingers into you, both of them bent slightly as he dragged them back out and broke the kiss.
“Can’t believe it.” His voice still low and gravelly, you could see in the dim light that his pupils were enlarged, the man barely concealing a smirk. “Pope got you all worked up and didn’t do anything about it?” You didn’t know what to say, but you didn’t need to, Frankie growling out your name as he lifted his head off of the pillow and placed his mouth close to your ear. “I’ll do something about it. Gonna let me take care of you?” He exhaled and then took your earlobe between his teeth. “Hmm?” I hit the jackpot with him.
You rocked your hips against Frankie’s lower body, his teeth still latched onto your ear, and that was all the confirmation he needed, those same two fingers pushing further into you before he withdrew them, the man’s wrist flexing as he found a rhythm. “Please, Frankie.” You knew that you’d need to very seriously contemplate what was happening between you and the two men in the near future, but as Frankie released your ear and returned his mouth to yours, you pushed that thought to the side. It doesn’t need to be tonight. We have time. “And only if you let me return the favor.”
mi marc and frenchie
A Little Announcement
Okay, so: before or on Monday, I hope to post the following, so keep an eye out. ;3
Wild: Poe Dameron x fem!Reader smut Posted!
The Rubik's Cube: Steven Grant x fem!Reader smut (Posted! Now titled Puzzles)
The Whitest, Brightest Wedding of All and Next Steps: Additions to the Batons and Unicorns series
Red Handed, Part 3: Jake Lockley x fem!Reader kinky, kinky smut ;)
I'm also currently working on:
Banks of the Nile, Part Two: In which the Reader meets Steven, Layla, and confronts Harrow, following the events of episode two
The House of Fett, Part Three: In which Poe and the Reader deal with the after-effects of whatever happened at the Jedi Temple on Tython before heading to Ovanis
Bad Moon Rising, Part One: The first part of a six-part Santiago "Pope" Garcia x afab!Reader series, set in a dystopian AU and taking place in Columbia.
And of course I have plenty of wips for Oscar Isaac characters that I'm not currently working on, but I write a sentence here or there or smth. ^^
Take care, guys!
ooooo happy sleepover saturday! 🥳 if you are so inclined to write a little drabble —
kisses in the rain? with Frankie perhaps pls? 😍
sIGH SOFT MAN 🥰
HI BBY. This is partially based on a true story. It's a tad melancholy but sweet, and Frankie is who I would want in this scenario. Thanks for sending me such lovely inspo.
A Little Upside-Down
Frankie x gn!reader. About 600 words? You're saying goodbye to your childhood home. You're a little sad, Frankie is there to help. Smooches. Thanks to @ezrasbirdie who said "spiderman kiss, idk how" when I asked her where I should take this drabble.
Your parents were selling the house finally, and even though you’ve been living on your own for eons now, you were sad to see it go. After helping pack up the last of their things, you excused yourself to take a stroll around the garden for the last time. The play equipment in your childhood backyard seems so tiny now. This is where you used to do all of your big thinking, how could it feel so small?
You’d spent countless hours in the position you are in now - on your back, head hanging off the edge of the platform - thinking about the world. When you were little, you would daydream about what would happen if the sky became the ground, or if the clouds came to life. In high school, you came out here to cry when your first love broke your heart. On the night of your college graduation, you and your oldest friend split a bottle of champagne and cried when you said goodbye to each other.
Now, you were saying goodbye to the place you used to know as home. Home is a different place now; a different person now. This person ambling across the grass to you, t-shirt wet around the collar with sweat.
“You’re upside down,” he says as he stands in front of you, eyes level with yours.
“No, you are,” you insist with a sad smile. It quickly fades as you slip back into thinking mode.
“Truck is packed, your parents are on the way to the condo. Told them we would follow soon. You about ready?” he asks, running the back of his finger across your cheek. It’s what he always does when he sees a frown on your face.
“Yes and no. It’s weird to say goodbye to something that hasn’t really been yours for a long time,” you think out loud. Even upside down, Frankie’s face is as expressive as ever.
“Yeah, you’re right babe. Time’s funny like that,” he laments.
Fat raindrops start falling sporadically, your father’s prediction that “there’ll be weather” coming to fruition. The smell of fresh rain fills your nose and you feel a sense of calm come over you. Rain is funny like that, washing away the feelings you no longer need.
The drops fall faster, dotting both of your shirts with little puddle stains. Frankie tells you it’s time to go, but you just tug him back towards you and awkwardly rub his nose with yours. It makes both of you smile.
“Kiss me like that spider movie,” you command as he lifts his hat off to hold over your head to protect your face from the rain. It makes a cute little umbrella, albeit an ineffectual one, for the two of you.
“Are you Spiderman in this scenario?” Frankie can’t keep a straight face asking you this. He doesn’t care if he’s getting wet, this is the most carefree you’ve looked all day.
You giggle. “Yeah, I guess so. Kiss me, Frankie. One last good memory here before we go?”
The kiss is awkward, noses nudging chins and lips not fitting together quite right. It’s silly and loving and exactly what you need right now.
The sky really opens up, and Frankie insists that you get down. You mutter something about all the blood rushing to your head from hanging upside down for so long, and Frankie helps you hop down from the platform. He tucks you under his arm and hurries to the moving truck with you. He helps you in before running over to the driver’s side and jumping in himself.
You lean across the bench seat with your lips puckered, and Frankie kisses you right-side up this time before pulling away from the house.
Yeah. Things were gonna be okay. This isn't your home anymore.
Flirty friends to lovers headcanons with Will Miller
You and Will are always exchanging banter back and forth. It makes Benny roll his damn eyes every time because you two are so ridiculous and OBVIOUSLY in love, though you won't admit it.
Mutual pining. So much mutual pining.
You absolutely 100% get jealous when other people flirt with Will and you see him flirting back. It just hits you like a ton of bricks and it fucking hurts.
When everything in life goes to shit, Will is the one you call at 3am because you feel like it's all falling apart and you don't know how to fix it.
Will brings over your favorite junk food and a blanket and drags you outside to look at the stars to put everything in perspective again.
Will goes into Protective Big Brother mode when you date someone else. He wants to know everything about them. Definitely does a background check on them and gives them a stern talking to (aka threatens them).
Benny teases you and Will all the time - "get a room" and "you act like an old married couple, Jesus, it's disgusting."
There has absolutely been a brief, tipsy, totally accidental, fumbling kiss in the dark in your past that neither of you talk about ever.
But neither of you can stop thinking about it either.
You totally have movie nights where you two are touching in some way and it's ridiculously cute. Will guides your feet into his lap. Or you fall asleep with your head on his shoulder and he wraps an arm around you.
Will confesses his feelings for you first and he does it when you're trying to get over a really shitty, toxic relationship where you were dumped in the worst possible way and it destroyed your self-confidence.
You were at a loss and Will was PISSED because you were doubting yourself over this person who did not deserve you at all.
Meanwhile all Will could see was how absolutely incredible you are.
When the two of you finally make it official, you can hear Benny yell from the other room, "ABOUT FUCKING TIME. THANK GOD."
Just throwing this out there…
Imagine him in a hard hat, dirty white tee, jeans and tanned Timbs stained and speckled with paint and other things.
Idk what he would specialize in, probably management tbh. He would work his way up there though. Maybe the Miller bros. start their own construction company or something.
I always had this headcanon that his parents own like a hardware store and the boys grew up around a lot of blue collar workers so it’s natural they do something similar.
Bunny-Girl || Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Reader
-> Rating: 18+
-> Wordcount: 9.5K!!!!
-> When convinced to retrieve the money left by Frankie and his team left at the bottom of a canyon in Peru, you have to deal with the most annoying person you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Thank you once again to @foxilayde for proof reading!
Gif Credit doesn’t belong to me!
TW/CW: LONG-ASS SLOW BURN ISH FIC BUT THE SMUT IS WORTH IT I SWEAR. Enemies to lovers ya’ll. Santi being a sassy little bitch. Violence, death. Oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, degradation and dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex.
Shocking you out of your tipsy haze is the slam of a shot glass against the wooden tabletop. The dingy bar is rather quiet this late at night and so the sound practically ricochets off of your eardrums. Paired with the raucous laughter of the men sitting with you at the table, you found it practically impossible to tame the wild twitch of your brow that only made an appearance when you were truly at your limit.
Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia had surpassed your limit astronomically. He’d stepped over the fence of exactly what you could tolerate, then set it aflame.
Fuck, you’d never hated someone so intensely. You were beginning to spend time awake at night trying to answer the burning, existential question of whether or not there was anyone, alive or dead, who deserved more resentment than Pope. Needless to say, the list of those who met the requirements was dwindling.
He’d sucked you into this mission so easily. It wasn’t even the promise of enough money that you could retire and live comfortably that enticed you. When Frankie had named you as someone who could fill in for Redfly in the undertaking to bring back the money the original team of five had left in the Andes canyon, Pope laid it on thick. That intense, smoldering gaze as he spoke you through each step of the plan had you wondering whether or not you still had the bottle to enter the firing line. You’d barely even processed half of the information you needed before you’d said yes, coaxed into an agreement when you saw the way his focus raked over your body.
Just looking at him made you want to reach across the table and punch him, to break that stupid fucking nose. Seeing him talk so carelessly with Frankie and the others, as though he wasn’t making your life a misery, was enough to boil your blood. The humid heat clings to your temple in beads of sweat, seemingly boiling your anger from the outside in as you scowl at Pope with an icy glare.
Thinking back on it, you’re not entirely sure when your relationship with Santi soured so significantly over the course of the three days you had been together. Perhaps it was that first night where you kept trying to have a serious conversation about faults in his ‘master plan’ only for him to be utterly engrossed by the bounce of your tits as you spoke animatedly with your hands, or the morning you woke up to him singing in the bathroom of your shared motel room in Peru as you waited for an unregistered vehicle from one of Benny’s old friends with only a towel to hide his modesty.
Everything Santiago did vexed you. Regardless of when it started, the situation had devolved to the point that the two of you could barely spend five minutes together without a petty squabble starting up. It was therefore unsurprising that Frankie and Benny had plied you with alcohol all evening in an attempt to dampen the rage that sparked between the two of you whenever you locked eyes.
It was, however, doing very little to maintain your short temper given the antics he had been pulling all night.
A second shot glass practically bounces off the table with the force that Santi sets it down with, and you momentarily consider knocking it off the edge of the table so it shatters on the ground or picking it up and throwing it so it bounces off of his pretty head.
“Could you bang that glass any harder?” You finally snap, voice strained with a bitterness that coats your tongue better than the shitty, cheap tequila you had all been sharing.
“Are you asking if I could bang harder, Conejita?” Pope’s lips pull into a lazy smirk as he watches you fume across the tabletop. He’d purposely misheard your question, intending to frustrate you further with his flirtatious response. The men around the table all chuckle, Frankie sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest as he waits for the firework routine to begin.
“I’m not sure how you expect to ‘bang hard’ with such a small ‘glass’, Santiago. Do you not leave the girls wanting a little more?” You question, feigning innocence as you pick aimlessly as your cargo pants, the quiet ‘oooo’ sounding from Benny spurring you on. There’s a pause, Pope’s jaw ticking as he watches you act very fucking proud of yourself.
“Fuck, Frankie, do you hear this shit?” Santi scoffs, your below-the-belt comment clearly striking a nerve with him. Morales is swift to throw his hands in mock surrender, silently absolving himself of the narrative as Santi gears up to defend his honour- and the size of his cock in the process. “What’s got your panties in a twist, sweetheart? Do you think about me banging you often? ‘S that what’s got you all worked up?”
“Oh you are so fucking dumb, Garcia,” you hiss, irate at this point as you actively ignore the way Frankie halfheartedly slides another tequila shot your way. It’s like trying to douse a forest fire with a water bottle. “What makes you think I’m that easy, huh? Because I’m the only woman in this fucking sausage fest?”
Benny nearly sprays the beer in his mouth as he attempts to hold back his laughter, and instead ends up choking on the now luke-warm liquid while Will breaks out into a fit of hysterical, drunken giggles.
You can practically hear Frankie’s eyes roll in his skull, gathering up empty glasses in a desperate attempt to escape the table that was inevitably going to become a warzone and retreat to the bar.
“I don’t know where you get the idea that I’m a fuckin’ misogyn-“
“That’s all on you, Pope, you’ve got a sex-god complex far superior in size to your fucking shot-glass-sized penis.” You project over him as he exhales slowly in an attempt not to raise his own voice at you. “It’s not like those very same illusions of grandeur have almost gotten us killed or anything, what with you fucking every single one of your female informants. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d fucked the male informants too!”
“You jealous?” Pope returns with a calm tone that somehow manages to incense you further. In what fucking universe would you be jealous of Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcias’ fuckbuddies?!
The silence that answers you back is almost deafening. A victorious smirk settles itself on Santiago’s face as he takes another shot of the disgusting tequila, his eyes cast towards the bar as he shakes his head knowingly. Benny and Will remain silent, an awkwardness settling between them as they keep their eyes firmly planted on the label stuck to the bottle that Ben twists in his hand. Like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
It took you a few seconds, given the odd response, to realize none of the men at the table believed you.
“Oh, fuck off!” You sneer, standing from your seat and slamming your glass down on the tabletop in defeat. You’d rather get snatched off the streets of Peru by the cartels you were actively avoiding than spend another second with the narcissistic prick across the tabletop.
In fact, it’s a miracle that you didn’t turn back on your heel and launch yourself at him when he calls out to your back. “Can you bang that glass any harder?!”
Frankie was never allowed to buy you alcohol again, regardless of whether or not it was a peace offering to make Santiago more palatable. Your head feels like it has been put in a vice, the sunshine leaking into your motel room through the window causing the migraine that ran down the backs of your eyes enough to make you want to hurl the entire contents of your stomach and then some.
Given the fact you had practically thrown yourself at the mattress the moment you entered the room after leaving the boys at the bar, you would have thought the extra sleep would have shifted the swirling sensation inside your skull. It’s possible that staying up at least another hour and stewing in your rage didn’t aid your condition.
You’d heard the lumbering idiots stumble back into their respective rooms while Frankie tried desperately to quiet them all down at a time that was utterly obscene, given the sun was already rising according to the orange tint in the sky when you had checked. Had you not been so exhausted after the ridiculous length of the journey to the coordinates on that tiny scrap of paper Pope carried with him so far, you would have kicked all four of the inconsiderate bastards out and forced them to sleep in the hallway.
Turning your back to the window to escape the glare of the harsh sunlight that seeps through your closed eyelids, you settle back into the thin linen covers as you try to ease yourself back into sleep. Warmth settles between your shoulder blades where the sunshine floods your skin, lulling you back into the in-between stages of sleep, where unconsciousness ebbs at the edges of your mind, but you’re still aware of your surroundings.
As a result, you hear Santi before you even see him.
“Up, Conejita, we’re leaving in fifteen.” He sounds rough as he throws the door open, his voice still laced with sleep and tone gravelly from shouting across the table all night. Had it been anyone else, you’d consider the drawl attractive, but it’s Santiago, so it’s definitely not.
“Mhmmm,” you groan in frustration, rolling onto your back, “You just burst into women’s rooms without knocking, Pope?” You grumble, making it clear that you’re lacking significant levels of patience to be dealing with his ridiculousness this morning.
Opening your eyes, you wince at the pain that sparks through your head as you glance over at Santi. He looks as rough as you feel, his short curls sticking every which way as though he’d drunkenly stuck a fork in an electrical socket. His clothes are crumpled, creases in every direction throughout his simple, gray cotton t-shirt, like he’d slept in it. Come to think of it- weren’t those the clothes he wore to the bar last night? His salt and pepper stubble has grown back on his chin and frames his cheekbones, despite you knowing for certain you had seen him shaving in the mirror only 24 hours ago.
Despite how tired he looks, you note the way his brown eyes, polished amber from the golden sunshine cast across his face, seem to drag down the silhouette of your body underneath the thin bedsheets. He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is.
“Fifteen.” He repeats curtly, turning on his heel and walking back down the corridor with thumping steps across the wooden flooring while leaving the door wide open.
“Heard you the first time, asshole,” you scoff bitterly to yourself, rubbing your palms over your face in a fruitless attempt to rouse you from your weariness. Swinging your legs over the mattress, you reach down to the zipper of the duffle bag you had stuffed fresh clothes into, reaching blindly into the carrier and fishing for the first shirt and set of cargo pants you could get ahold of. Living around these feckless men meant no real effort was put into your appearance on their behalf. It also meant you were ready within moments, completely contrary to Benny’s persistent joke that the team we’re always waiting on you.
Everyone knew Santi was always the one holding them up, you’d caught him a few times carding his fingers through his hair in the mirror as you screamed at him to get a move on.
Walking down the hallway after slipping on your combat boots to finish off your outfit and duffle bag in hand, you’re careful to observe the relatively damp atmosphere in the communal-kitchen area. Benny and Will are barely managing a plate of scrambled eggs and looking rather sorry for themselves. You lock eyes with Frankie as he leans his hip against the counter. He’s smiling at you apologetically as he holds out a chilled bottle of water.
“Sorry if I woke you last night. Wrangling these lunatics into bed took some effort,” he admitted softly, in that gruff southern accent you had grown to love over the coms in his helicopter over the time your two had served together before he retired. The condensation on the plastic bottle cools your palm as you take it from him, another liquid peace offering, lacking in alcohol, that would probably only maintain the tranquility of the morning for five more minutes.
“Yeah, I bet.” You grumble weakly as you twist the cap off the bottle, raising the rim up to your lips as you glance around the small space to locate Pope. “They were causing quite a scene when I left.”
The brothers audibly grimace at your sly dig, and you can feel the self-pitying, sorry gazes they throw your way without even looking at them. They know better than to side with Pope when the two of you start a verbal tug-of-war.
“Oh really?” Frankie muses, eyes settled on your face as he shoots you a toothy grin. “Last I was updated on the situation, it was you and Garcia who were causing the hassle, man. Bickering over the size of a shot glass really is a new low for the two of you, I must admit.”
“It was a euphemism, Frankie,” you deadpan, screwing the cap on your water bottle once again. “I thought you of all people would be smart enough to figure that out after all the time we spent together.”
Frankie doesn’t bother entertaining you as he points to the door that leads into the corridor of the motel, gesturing absentmindedly with a swirl of his wrist. “He’s outside, setting up the pickup for us.”
“I didn’t ask,” you say bluntly, glancing up at him through your lashes to catch him smirking at you. Frankie never has to say what he’s thinking, his expressions are like an open book written in neon pink. Even the fuckin Inca Tern birds in the trees outside the window would be able to piece together what he was thinking. ‘Just fuck him already’
Perhaps it had escaped you, the evidence that had convinced everyone that you wanted Santiago’s cock down your throat, because you just couldn’t understand why everyone was so certain that you had the hots for him. Sure Pope was an attractive man, arguably the most attractive out of the four, but that didn’t mean you wanted to fuck him. Not with that appalling attitude. If you saw one more set of eyebrows raising playfully, you’d break the nose of whoever they belonged to.
“I said fifteen, pendejo’s hurry up!” Santiago’s voice cut through the room as he opened the door to the motel room, his apparent hangover seemingly responsible for his aggressive tone as he leans against the doorframe.
He’s all sweaty, his light-gray shirt stained dark down his sternum from where his perspiration seeps into the cotton. His tanned skin has a sticky sheen to it, as though he’d been on a run in the middle of the afternoon, and his chest heaves a little as he catches his breath back after running up and down the stairs a few times to load the pickup truck.
Staring down Frankie in an attempt to show your disapproval at his shoddy attempt to play matchmaker, you pull the straps of your bag over your shoulder while making your way towards the door. Pope, in his utter stupidity, doesn’t move from the doorframe and instead puts the effort into slamming his palm against the wood a few times to urge the two brothers from their seats at the dining table. “Move it!”
“Shift, Pope,” muttering under your breath, you attempt to barge through the doorway with the large bag still slung over your shoulder. It’s a tight squeeze, the other side of the wooden beam catching on the bag and forcing you forward into his muscular chest as you attempt to work your way around him.
Meanwhile, Santi is twisting his body towards you to make space for you to squeeze past. You’re certain he’s not sure how close he is to you until your tits brush against his chest and his nose is bumping against yours. Any closer and you were positive his eyelashes would be tickling the skin of your cheeks.
Impossible not to notice, you catch the way his breath hitches at the contact between your bodies. His pupils dart down to your chest, where you’re pressed up against him due to the awkward position, before flicking back up to your face. He makes no attempt to move.
“Could you not have waited?” His tone is firm, if a little breathless- or were you imagining it? It’s not clear to you, your head swimming as though you’d downed another bottle of that disgusting tequila from the night before. You can smell the sweat on him, the pheromones that you’re almost certain are scrambling your brain. He smells good.
“Could you not have fucking moved when I asked?” You respond curtly, the curve of your nose still pushed against Santiago’s as you attempt to force your way through the small gap. Cruelly, your bag is caught on the lip of the doorframe, so your movements only aid in dragging your pinned body against Santi’s. It’s so much all at once, his smell, the press of his warm body against yours- “Fucking move, Pope, I’m serious!”
Santiago is uncharacteristically quiet at first, his eyes set on yours with such formidability that you’re convinced your knees will buckle beneath the pressure against your better judgment and ultimately give way to him. Why is he looking at you like that!?
“You’re not making much of an effort to move yourself,” he murmurs, the rasp of his quiet voice worming its way into your skull and frying your brain. This emotion it pulls from you, a mixture of acrimony and arousal, is so potent that you’re uncertain of the words that slip from your mouth even as you state them.
“You’re so fucking irritating!” The syllables come out sounding strained, vowels drawling slightly.
“Trust me, I don’t consider you an angel.” With that, he’s pushing his body past you, back into the motel room. A final drag of his chest against yours and you’re free, stumbling to grab the wall so the weight of the bag doesn’t tip you backward. “Get in the car, I won’t tell you again.”
You don’t want him to. You’re quick to make your way down the stairs and away from the other boys that you knew would have something to say about that little performance, racing to the street to ensure you had dibs on the seat as far away from Santiago as possible, and hopefully with Frankie Inbetween you to mediate your conversations. Though, you weren’t certain that even Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales would be able to referee the two of you in a confined place for what would be at least five hours after having been so close to Pope.
Luck had never really been on your side throughout your military career. During your time in the Delta Force, you had never heard of someone having as rough of a time as you. Every single mission you seemed to get into deep water; shot at in the open, just barely missing landmines. It came to a point that you were certain you were a cat reincarnated and that you had used up eight of your nine lives already.
Well. Consider this all nine lives used up.
Preempting where Santiago would choose to sit had failed miserably. Having driven the last shift before calling it a night yesterday, you were almost certain he wouldn’t want to take the driver's seat first thing this morning, and so you had sat behind it in the hopes he would take shotgun. Boy, you were wrong.
Santiago’s hands hold the steering wheel firmly and you can see over his shoulder that his knuckles are tight on the leather. He has multiple tie-bracelets on his right wrist, the different brown leather tones complimentary to his complexion. The salt and pepper of his hair peeks out from the seam of his navy baseball cap at the nape of his neck.
There you can see the scar from his neck operation, the one he claims is the reason he’s in this fucking mess in the first place. It’s a pale silvery-pink, raised and thick with a wrinkled appearance. It’s still relatively fresh, apparently, and you’d heard Pope tell Frankie he hoped it would become less noticeable over time. His gold chain rests over it in decoration, glinting in the afternoon sun.
It’s torturous. The three, maybe four, hours you had been in the truck had slowly driven you mad. Pope’s scent clings to you like gun residue, repetitively appearing again just as you think you have shifted it. You can only thank God that the boys are in here with you, Frankie’s knee knocking into yours whenever the tires hit a bump in the road. It keeps you grounded, and prevents you from doing something stupid.
“How far are we from the drop point?” You ask Frankie quietly, your tongue feeling a little too large for your mouth after talking for the first time in four hours. You had attempted to sleep, like Benny who was utterly incapacitated in the front seat, but you were still enraged from Pope’s antics from earlier.
“Hmm. Another hour of driving maybe?” He wondered aloud, scratching at his patchy beard as he glanced down at the map sprawled on his lap, “Then half an hour of climbing to the canyon itself.”
“You’re not having doubts are you, Conejita?” Pope speaks up, ever the instigator. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Frankie tilt his head back against the headrest as he resigns himself to the fate of having to referee yet another petty squabble.
“Don’t insult me like that, Garcia. It’s just that this journey has been long and you’re fucking annoying.” You strain, doing your best to keep your voice down so as to not wake Benny in the front. “You insisted upon driving even though you knew it would take longer.”
You see Pope’s knuckles brighten as he grips the steering wheel harder, the only external expression of his irritation towards you that you’re able to observe.
“If you must know, I ‘insisted upon driving’ because it was a lot more low-key than flying there. If you weren’t aware, the last time we were in Peru we had a whole cartel-army and a village shooting at us and I was a man down. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I didn’t fancy having to go through all that again so I decided to drive,” he drones sarcastically. “Though you would know that if you ever listened during briefings.”
Scoffing loudly, your irritation begins to get the best of you despite the hand that Frankie rests on your knee as though you were about to leap out of your seat, you launch into verbal attack.
“I don’t know why I should listen to you when you’re giving briefings. It’s not like you have any clue what you’re doing, you found all your intel in some girl's pussy.” You know exactly what route he’s going to take in his counterargument before you’ve even finished your sentence, as though you’ve peered into a crystal ball or pulled a card from a tarot deck that spells out THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE.
“You jealous?” How fucking original. “I like it when you talk filthy like that, say it again-.”
“Knock it off!” Will cuts in now, utterly grossed out by now as he covered his ears with his palms like a child. How the fuck more of these idiots didn’t die in the raid last year, you’ll never be able to work out.
“-Besides, you should be listening, Conejita. It’s about your safety during this mission.” He insisted, his tone suddenly taking on a serious note that has you pausing in your seat. “I refuse to lose someone else to these fucks, and you messing around better not compromise that.”
You pretend not to hear him or the demanding tone of his final comment, turning to Catfish with a scowl plastered to your forehead. “Frankie, for the love of God please tell me what that means. He’s called me Conejita this whole fucking time and I have no idea what he’s saying!”
Frankie looks at you with a pitying gaze as Will bursts into laughter at your utter frustration. “Your Spanish is almost as bad as Benny’s.” He mutters weakly, rubbing at his temple in an attempt to soothe the headache that had begun to build in his skull. You were pretty certain that, unlike the others, this headache had less to do with the alcohol consumption of last night, and entirely thanks to yours and Pope’s antics.
Glancing to the front of the car, you catch Pope’s eye in the rearview mirror. That same intense stare, the one that had burnt down your defenses and adjourned you to join him on this wild chase gazed back at you. It makes your stomach feel like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, flipping and twisting in your abdomen and you’re physically unable to look away. It’s really not too dissimilar. Pope is just as thrilling yet utterly devastating, waiting for you to make the jump from the unstable ledge without a parachute.
Instead of leaping you close your eyes, resting the curve of your skull against the window beside you. The vibrations of the truck's wheels against the bumpy road keep you from sleeping, but at least you don’t have to look Santiago in the eyes this way.
Temperatures plummet the longer you stay up the mountain. The terrain is treacherous even with your combat boots on. Within an hour of climbing, you were certain you’d almost popped your ankle at least three times, the snow and ice on the loose stones akin to a walking death trap.
In spite of this, you can’t find it in yourself to complain when Will is being hoisted up and down the freezing cold canyon with climbing equipment. Each time he reaches the bottom of the crevice, he picks up as many of the fully-loaded bags as he can carry and the boys pull him back up, stack the bags away from the cliff face and send him back down.
You daren’t turn your eyes away from the horizon to watch their incredible teamwork. You hadn’t expected the area to be quite so open. While that meant you’d see hostiles approaching from miles away, it also dictated that you were sitting bullseyes against the bright background of snow, ice, and light grey stone.
“Still clear, Conejita?” Pope calls over to you, his voice strained with pain. No doubt his knees and neck are beginning to seriously hurt now with the strain of hauling twice, sometimes triple, Will’s body weight in duffel bags of money. At least he’d be able to afford a good masseuse at the end of this shitshow- probably one he could fuck when she helped him recover. The thought makes you hate him more.
“All clear,” you insist, index finger resting on the trigger of your carbine gun with practiced ease. “How much longer?” You’re not sure you can promise them safety after so much time in the open. The cartels have been searching for the four of them for a whole year. No doubt you had been clocked entering the country. It was almost common sense they would lay in wait in the mountains, letting the group come to them.
“We have one more drop.”
“Make it quick then,” you insist, eyes on the horizon still. You can’t shake the feeling things are a little out of hand. Collecting the bags takes much longer than expected- the nylon fabric has been exposed to the harsh weather of the mountains for so long that some of them had begun to degrade, making them more precarious to carry for Will.
“You good Will? Last one!” Santi informs him, “Benny can finally get that Ferrari he wants so bad!”
“Thought you’d learnt not to count your money until it’s in your pocket, Pope,” Frankie cuts in, stacking another set of bags and tying a rope to them like chain links. It helped to carry large quantities of the bags apparently, a trick they acquired last time they were here.
Turning your head over to Benny, you find he’s watching his elder brother with an anxious expression. You understood the feeling, your heart had nearly fallen out of your ass when he first leaped over the ledge an hour or two ago. No amount of combat training or life or death situations could possibly prepare you enough to be willingly pulled up a sheer cliff with only a rope tied to your waist. There’s a sense of relief as the final bag is pulled over the unsteady edge and Will finally plants his feet on solid ground for the first time in two hours. Fuck that.
The crack of a gun ricochets off the mountain face, and before you even have a moment to register the sound there’s a tearing sensation that rips through the curve of your shoulder. Military experience kicks in almost like second nature, body dropping to the floor heavily. The rocks jab into your abdomen underneath you, but your spike in adrenaline and the pain of your bullet would mean you barely feel it.
“I’m hit!” You call out to the boys with a strained voice while you feel at your shoulder. Blood comes away on your palm, painting the skin crimson.
“Fuck! Are you okay?!” The tinge of fear in Santiago’s voice is just as loud as the hail of bullets that spray toward him. The larger boulders surrounding you all are the only form of cover you can use.
“I’m fine- it just grazed me. Focus on yourself!” You call back, steadying the carbine as you assess the horizon to find the threat. “Five of them, Santiago!”
“We're pinned here, do you have a clear shot at them?” Frankie called out to you, head shielded by a small rock. When you quickly glance back, all four of them are on their stomachs on the rocky floor. They’re relatively exposed, and they’re without their guns after working on the bags of cash for so long. You’ll have to do the dirty work.
“Yeah!” You call back, facing the hostiles once more. Considering the anxiety you had felt waiting for them to arrive, in the face of open fire you found yourself relatively at ease. Balancing the barrel in a crevice on the boulder you hid behind, you prepare yourself to take them out one by one.
The scope makes it much easier to pinpoint them. It’s like painting a red marks point on their forehead, a big fuck off neon sign that reads ‘shoot here’. Popping your head up with perfect timing, you pull the trigger of the gun. The crack of the bullet ejecting is deafening after years of being out of active combat, and the wait for the lead to travel and pierce between the cartel members' eyes feels like hours.
“First one down,” you call out your kills, dropping down behind the rock as a spray of bullets ricochets off the stone with golden sparks. Fuck fuck fuck this was bad. How the fuck had you even ended up in this position anyway? You swore you’d never see active duty again, yet here you were fighting for your life once more. This was the last time you’d help any one of these fucking idiots with their ‘master plans’.
You wait patiently for a pause in the firing before lifting your head again and glancing down the scope. It’s quiet for a few seconds until their heads peer out from the rocks again. Two take the plunge, but you’re ready for them and pull the trigger within relatively quick succession to take out two in one go.
“For fucks sake, be careful!” Pope hisses. He sounds utterly wrecked, overwhelmed with nerves. Again, you didn’t know him well enough to say with certainty, but it sounded as though Santi was relatively level-headed given the stories you’d heard from Frankie. It was unlike him to be so anxious.
“Just keep your fucking head down!” You snap back, raising your voice over the hail of further bullets, “They must have kept tabs the whole time we’ve been in Peru.” You’re reloading, wanting a full cartridge for the last two hostiles should things get ropey.
There was a large pause between shots, which indicated to you that the shooters were changing position. Your shoulder stings, pouring blood into your thermals. Sure, you’d been shot before, it was like a right of passage in the Delta Force. Maybe it was because you were getting older, but the pain sears down the muscle of your bicep worse than you’d ever experienced from a graze.
Peeping over the curve of the rock, you scope the area for any sign of where the shooters had settled for the final assault. They’ve fallen back slightly by the looks of things, gathering their thoughts and setting up a plan. It allows you a moment to look to Santi, crawling belly down in the rocks to get to you.
“Hand me the gun.” It’s not a question, it’s an order. You’re swift to pass the weapon over, back pressed against the uneven rock surface and chest heaving. You hadn’t even realized you had been holding your breath until the assault rifle leaves your hands.
When the shots sound again, you’re swift to cover your ears with your bloodied palms. Santi is an expert marksman, it doesn’t take him very long to zero in on each of the two shooters and take them out with deafening cracks of the carbine that bounced off the rock face of the Andes mountains. He counts them off one after the other, punctuated by shots that cause your eardrums to ring even with the muffling effect of your hands.
Busted eardrums are disorientating. You’d experienced severe tinnitus following a botched mission in Chile a few years ago, and for weeks you didn’t know up from down- so when Santi grabs ahold of your chin and forces you to look at him you find yourself gazing up at him with what’s probably the dumbest expression you could ever imagine, like a child caught stealing chocolate from the fridge.
He looks enraged, yelling at you with a creased brow and reddish face. The veins in his neck protrude and the force in which he holds your jaw with his fingers is bruising. You can’t hear him, the sound of his voice faded and is overshadowed by the prolonged ringing in your ears. Reading his lips, you can only really catch that he’s calling you stupid, totally on brand.
When his hand reaches for your shoulder, you flinch in pain and the pressure bubble in your ears pops suddenly. The flood of sound is dizzying, the heaving of Santiago’s breath and the rattle of the carbine rifle as it hits the floor. “Fuck, baby I’m so sorry, I should have been more careful-“ he’s stumbling over his words, applying pressure to your wound despite the cry that sounds from your throat.
“Benny, pass me a medkit now!”
“Pope, she’s okay, it’s just her should-“
“Now!” You’re certain he’s hyperventilating, the wheeze of his breath rattling against his ribs as wild eyes assess your expression and the wound at the same time. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m- I’m okay, Santi, I-” you’re trying to reassure him, but he appears to panic further, ripping the fabric of your thermals in a desperate attempt to gain a visual of the damage. Cold sweat covers his brow, and you realize, a little late, that he’s having a panic attack.
Pushing his hands away despite the fight they put up, you grab ahold of Pope’s gorgeous face with both bloodied palms, painting his tanned skin with blood as you try to get him to look you in the eyes. “I’m okay! I am okay, Santiago. Breathe.” You tell him softly, stroking your thumbs across his cheekbones soothingly.
Recognition bleeds across his expression, and his head drops suddenly. Tears are streaming down his cheeks within seconds, grasping onto your wrists with his thumbs pushed into the flesh there. He can feel your pulse, the blood flowing there indicating you were still here. “Oh fuck,” he chokes weakly, straining so hard to keep it all in. He thought he’d lost you, thought he’d find you slumped against the rocks with a hole in your forehead, eyes rolled back into your skull like Redfly. He couldn’t afford another Redfly.
“It’s okay,” you whisper gently, easing him down from that emotional ledge with a soft voice, “I’m okay. We’re okay.” It’s a simple word, but it does exactly what you intend it to as you hold Santiago close. Within minutes, he’s okay too.
Pressure against your wound keeps you awake at night, the searing pain having dulled to a mild ache with the aid of some strong painkillers. The cool linen of more hotel bedsheets eases the humid nighttime air against your relatively bare skin, having stripped down to a thin T-shirt and your underwear to battle the oppressiveness of the warmth. The team hadn’t stopped for three days until the truck's tires passed onto American soil in an attempt to stay one step ahead of the cartels and avoid further confrontation.
Santiago refused to allow anyone else to get hurt, staying awake the entire time to keep his eyes out for any sign of a threat.
Closing your eyes slowly, you feel the buzz of the painkillers working. Things feel a little slow, your vision taking a few seconds to catch up with you whenever you turn your gaze to the other side of the small hotel room. It’s a surprisingly pleasant, warm feeling and you settle back into the pillows as you allow the sensation to wash over you.
“How are you feeling?”
It takes significant effort for your eyelids to peel open again. Santiago stands in the doorway, hand on the doorknob in a firm grip. He looks exhausted, dark shadows coloring under his eyes, and his stubble having grown further since your observation from a few days ago.
“Still don’t knock, huh?” You drawl, words a little slow to sound from your lips. He chuckles weakly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he approaches the bottom of your bed with careful steps like he’s concerned he’ll fall through the floor. Once again, he leaves the door wide open. Classic.
“Oh come on, don’t start that shit, man,” he grumbles, rubbing at the nape of his neck with his palm with a flat expression. “I thought you’d at least thank me for saving your ass back there.”
A scoff works its way up your throat, bitter and acrid like that fucking tequila from Peru that haunted your every waking moment. “I didn’t need you to ‘save my ass’, Pope. I had it under control before you wheedled your way over and demanded control like you always do. I killed three of them-“
“They almost killed you. Shit, a blind man could do a better job of keeping an eye out than you, you’re lucky that they were such a shit shot!” Typical Santiago Garcia, deciding to have a critical conversation while you’re doped up on meds, exhausted, and utterly fed up with his bullshit.
“Did you even listen to anything I said in the truck?” he speaks firmly, jerking his outstretched palm animatedly while he speaks with a tone that you just know he uses with those inferior to him in the force. “I was trying to keep everyone safe and I could have fucking lost you!”
“Oh fuck you Garcia!” You snap loudly, “I was one person doing a 360 sweep for two hours while you and your fucking pals fucked around trying to get every single dollar you could get your hands on! How the fuck was I supposed to have eyes in the back of my head? Huh?! Besides, I’m not yours to lose!”
“Why are you being such a shit, Conejita?” He grits his teeth, a vein protruding at his temple.
“Because you’re such a shit yourself, Pope! You’re constantly manspreading. Makes it impossible to be comfortable in the backseat with you when you take up so much space. You listen to Metallica on repeat at top volume in your earphones, you might as well play it out loud at that point because I can hear everything,” you count off the infuriating things he does on your fingers, voice raising slightly with each point. “And you never know when to shut the fuck up. Just shut up!”
Santi has crossed the floor so he’s standing in front of you on the bed. He reeks of alcohol and his face is flushed- you didn’t notice before.
“Did you go to the bar and not fucking invite me?” You whisper now, voice a little breathless from your blinding rage. You’d fucking helped these fuckers, got them out of deep shit and they didn’t bother to ask you to celebrate with them?!
It’s Santiago’s turn to scoff, rubbing at his beard and across his mouth. The divots in the skin of his lips, the creases, drag slightly against his touch, and the crackly sound of his knuckles brushing against his stubble permeates the quiet room much louder than it should.
“Alcohol thins the blood,” Pope grumbles, eyes closed with exasperation while matching your volume, “I didn’t want you to bleed any more than you already have, Conejita.”
“God, fuck you Santiago!” You snap, grabbing ahold of the collar of his shirt so you’re face to face now. “Fuck your and your fucking ego- You always have an answer for everything! I fucking hate yo-“
It all happens so quickly that you’re not even sure what happens at first. Santiago’s lips smash to yours in a devastatingly needy kiss, the force in which he kisses you is almost bruising, and you’re scrambling to push him away.
“What the fuck Santi?!”
“Just shut up, for fucks sake,” he grits his teeth, pulling you in again. Santi’s palm is at the nape of your neck, and the rage you feel for him bubbles over before you’re reciprocating with equal fervor almost instantaneously. You can taste the tequila on his tongue, along with the slight hint of salt and lime. It’s almost as intoxicating as if you had downed half a bottle on your own.
Pushing your fingers through his short trimmed curls, you settle your grip on the hair at the base of his skull, pulling at the strands with a harsh tug. He groans low and deep, the sound causing your abdomen to spark with arousal as he pushes his palm roughly into your lower back so your chest is pressed impossibly closer to his.
Jesus, you hate him. Hate the way his teeth push into the flesh of your lip, despise his hands for grasping their way down your waist with ardor and squeezing at the pliant flesh at your hips. It’s infuriatingly sexy, the burn of his stubble against your chin as he kisses you with such zeal that he’s practically bending you backward.
You fall back against the mattress once more, yelping into his mouth as your shoulder makes contact with the mattress.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he groans against your lips but doesn’t make the effort to stop. You don’t want him to, he’s climbing over your body that’s now splayed across the mattress, one hand pressed into the bed above your injured shoulder and the other trying to feel at the hem of the shirt you had been trying to sleep in. You know he wants to rip it from your body, but he’s careful to go slow so that he doesn’t hurt you, dragging the fabric over your waist and tracing his thumb across the expanse of your ribs before pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it across the room.
“No you’re not!” you gasp weakly, pulling away from him to press the base of your skull into the mattress, but he’s chasing your mouth and pressing burning kisses to the corner of your lips.
“No. I’m not,” he repeats, eyes dragging over your bare chest before lowering his head so he can sink his teeth into your clavicle. You cry out at the sharp pain that blooms through your skin, hips rocking upwards. He’s a fucking prick, laughing condescendingly as he’s sucking at the indentations his teeth leave so a bruise definitely blossoms in its place.
His body is settled between your thighs as you hook your ankles at his lower back, sobbing out weakly as his stubble scratches down your chest, mouth biting and sucking a path down to your nipple before dragging the flat of his tongue over your hardening bud. Meanwhile, his hands are exploring the flesh of your thighs, groping hard as he pushes his fingers underneath the fabric of your underwear and squeezes at your ass with a feverish need.
With the hold he has on the lower half of your body, he’s lifting your hips off of the mattress so they grind into his own, his hardness pushing into your clothed cunt and practically winding you with the sudden intensity of how quickly a typical argument has turned into dry-humping your best friends colleague in a hotel room at four in the morning.
His cock is straining against his cargo pants, twitching against the fabric as he swirls his tongue around your nipple. Fumbling with your hands, you reach down between your bodies and grasp shakily at the brass buckle of his belt. It’s a struggle to undo, given Santiago is grinding his hips into you while you fight with the metal prong.
“Fuckin’ stay still!” You snap, desperate to have his cock out of his pants. The only response you get is a particularly vicious bite around the skin of your breast, causing your hips to rock up in shock. “Fuck!”
Finally, despite your blind arousal, the buckle comes loose, and you’re pulling it out of the loops of his pants with such vigor you can hear the thwip sound of the leather coming loose. The metal clatters to the wooden floor as you throw it blindly into the darkness of the room, but you’re too engrossed in battling with the button and zipper of his trousers now.
Again, Santi is laughing at your struggle, skimming the sore skin of your breasts with the flat of his hot, wet tongue. He blows at the saliva that paints your skin and the sensation is icy cold, causing goosebumps to settle on your skin which is now littered with all forms of color from crimson red to deep purple.
Somehow you work his pants open, immediately slipping your hand past the fabric to palm at his erection through his boxers. Fuck he’s throbbing in your hand, a groan ripping through his throat and causing his hot breath to fan across your sternum. Got him.
“Hah, cat got your tongue, Pope?” You tease breathlessly as his eyelashes flutter against the bare skin of your chest. His cock is drooling in his boxers, a wet patch forming in the fabric. You focus there, brushing your thumb against the tip of his cock through his underwear. Jesus Christ, it’s like he’s in heat. He’s grinding his cock up into your hand, chasing the pleasure that’s settling in his stomach. You allow yourself a moment to imagine how embarrassing it would be for Santiago if you got him to cum in his boxers, how empowering it would be for you, and how you could hold it over his head for the rest of his life.
“Fuck!” He practically growls, violently ripping his body from your touch. He’s no longer gentle with you, grabbing your thigh and hooking it over his shoulder. The position is a little awkward, hips lifted off the mattress and focusing all of your weight into your shoulder blades. Yes, the ache of your bullet wound settles deep in your flesh, but the sharp pain of Santi’s teeth sinking into the flesh of the junction of your inner thigh, nose pressing into your panties and brushing against your clit as he does completely throws you off complaining with anything more than a wordless yelp.
His digits work your now soaking panties to the side, groaning as your cunt is exposed. “Fuck, Conejita. You’re dripping.” The slick sound of his fingers passing through your soaked cunt is mortifying, and you’re squeezing your eyes shut to escape your embarrassment. It means you’re not prepared for the feeling of his tongue swiping through your folds, nor the loud cry of shock that accompanies it.
Pleasure rocks through your lower body and you find yourself mindlessly chasing it. You use your heel in his back to push your hips further into his face, forcing your palm into the curve of his head. He’s ruthless with his mouth, nipping at your clit and swirling his tongue to ease the sparks of sharp pain. He’s humming at your taste coating his tongue, the vibrations rushing through your pussy.
You sob brokenly, back struggling to arch at this awkward angle. You can see his eyes peeking over the curve of your sex, dark with need as he watches your expression twist in ecstasy. You must look stupid, hair a mess, and jaw slack. Even as it begins to get intense, your eyes welling with fat tears, he doesn’t let up.
“Santi- Santi, oh fuck, pl-please!” You barely recognize your own voice, the pitch is all wrong. Cramp tightens your calves as your toes curl into the flesh of his back and you’re struggling to see straight. “Oh god- Oh god Santi please don’t- FUCK SANTI!”
You didn’t mean to yell, you really didn’t, but Santiago is pulling his lips from your cunt the moment your orgasm begins to crest. The pleasure wound up so tightly dissipates almost as quickly as it had been built, and your tears spill down your temples as you mourn the loss of what could easily have been the best orgasm of your life.
Meanwhile, Pope is moving to his feet and pushing down his cargo pants, taking his boxers with them. His cock is weeping precum now, the clear substance slipping down the top of his purple-tinged cock.
“Act like a bitch and I’ll fuck you like one,” his voice is gruff with arousal when he grabs your hips, pulling them to the edge of the mattress so he can angle you *just* right.
“Oh god!” You sob loudly, the lewd sound devolving into a scream of bliss as Santiago pushes the head of his cock at your entrance and pushes all the way in with one particularly harsh thrust. He’s splitting you open with gritted teeth, punishing your cunt for your shitty behavior. “Fuck Santi! Fuck!”
The brutal pace he sets liquifies your brain. You’re reaching over your head for something to hold onto, to either side of your body, but there’s nothing for you to find purchase and you find yourself sobbing louder. His grip on your hipbone is bruising while using his grip to bring you down harder on his cock as it spears deeper into your cunt.
You knew Santiago seduced his informants, knew he fucked the information out of them, but none of this knowledge could have prepared you for just how skilled he was at coaxing mind-blowing pleasure from you. Within moments of him finding his preferred angle, his perfect pace, you’re biting down so hard on your lip you can taste blood as you whimper his name pathetically.
“Santi-“ you hiccup, tears once again settling in your waterline, “Santi I can-I can’t!”
“You will,” he growls, moving forward to hold the crown of your head with his palm. This way he can feel your tits bounce against his chest with each brutal snap of his hips. “After everything you’ve put me through these past few days, you fucking will.”
You can’t help it, can’t stop the debauched moans of pleasure that he forces from you. They punctuate each of his thrusts, rising in volume each time he hits that perfect spot inside you that has your thighs shaking violently around his hips.
“Yes, that’s it,” he breathes, focusing so that he tortures that spot inside you every time he works his hips forward, “That’s it, I want them all to hear. Let them all hear it, baby, come on.” He’s begging you now, coaxing you to cum on his cock.
The coil of pleasure that he’d spoiled a few minutes ago was working up again, this time quicker than before. Your knuckles are white as your nails dig into the flesh of your palms, but you can’t feel the pain where they cut in and leave four crimson crescent moons, because Santiago is grinding into you with such obscene precision that all your mind and body can focus on is the way it teeters on the precipice of a blinding orgasm.
“Come on baby girl, come on. That’s it~” You hear Pope whisper in your ear, his own voice unsteady as he reaches between you. His fingers manage to brush shaky circles over your clit once, twice, three times.
You cum so hard your voice cracks when you scream his name. Intense pleasure works its way through your abdomen and leaves utter devastation in its wake. Shocks burst up your spine, causing your body to twitch violently as you grasp onto his short curls.
Uncertain just how many more times Santiago thrusts into you, all you know is that when he cums, he gasps your name brokenly. Your real name. Cum seeps from your cunt with each thrust, soaking the inside of your thighs while Pope finally comes to a halt, resting his head against your sternum with a shaky groan.
Panting heavily, you lay perfectly still underneath him. It’s mortifying to admit, but the idea of moving an inch resulting in him leaving you alone in this bed terrifies you. The afterglow of your orgasm buzzes through you, skin sticky with sweat and cum, but you refuse to adjust.
As you scan the room, you note the mess you’ve made. The bedsheets had somehow slipped from the mattress and fallen onto the floor, pooling at the base of the bed. Pope’s belt lays haphazardly across the wooden flooring, and you find your cotton t-shirt balanced on the lampshade on the bedside table. It’s only now, as you scan the room, that you notice the door is still wide open.
“… Do you think they heard us?” You whisper, hoping that at least talking isn’t enough to convince him to move. Pope lifts his head, gazing up at you with a shit-eating grin that’s wide enough for you to want to break his perfect nose.
“Oh, they heard us. Benny banged his fist against the wall a few minutes ago.”
Horror runs through you at the concept that you had been loud enough for one of the boys to complain, your face heating up at the thought of even having to face them in the communal kitchen tomorrow after everything they’d heard Pope say. They were never going to let you live it down. “Oh god!” You hadn’t even heard it!
Santiago laughs, pressing soft kisses to the hickeys that paint your chest. He seems entirely unbothered, far too preoccupied with easing you both down from your post-orgasm haze to feel guilty about ruining his colleagues' sleep.
“How is your shoulder?” He asks with a whisper, sitting up in order to assess the bandages that cover the wound. When you tilt your head down to check with him, the gauze is still a cream color, lacking the crimson blotches that had stained the previous dressings.
“It feels okay,” you admit, watching as Pope reaches over to gently ease the pillow behind your head to support your shoulder. He’s extra delicate, far more tender towards you than he had been previously.
When you note that it doesn’t appear as though Santi plans to leave the comfort of your arms, you finally allow your tense muscles to ease beneath the weight of his body. Closing your eyes, you listen.
“Where were you thinking of going with your millions?” He murmurs as he continues to press kisses against your skin now that you’re comfortable, fingers brushing down the curve of your waist.
“Oh funny! That’s where I was thinking too!”
“Fuck off, Pope.”
🏷 Taglist: @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @crystalchrysalis19 @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart t @buckys-other-punk
I just found this absolutely chaotic photo from the Triple Frontier set. (tap for better quality)
Oscar is drowning, Charlie is freaking out, and Pedro is having the time of his life...
...and Garrett is the most chill. Man is posing because he knows Google Earth is always taking pictures.
oscar’s wife calling oscar and pedro her wives ✨
Santiago "Pope" Garcia & Frankie "Catfish" Morales
Poe Dameron & Din Djarin xx