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jake-g-lockley · 2 months

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Sunday Naps

Summary: It's Sunday, which means it's time for your favorite weekend activity- an afternoon nap with Frankie. But when Frankie finds himself awake before you with an interesting problem, he knows just the way to wake you up, too.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of y/n, established relationship)

Word Count: 2.6K (The self restraint on this was UNREAL)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (don't do this irl), VERY CONSENSUAL Somnophilia, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, praise kink, this is porn with no plot, reader has no physical descriptions (but pls let me know if I missed any!!)Frankie being a menace but also literally the sweetest man alive, Frankie's a Tampa Bay Buc's fan (idk, if he lives in Florida, this makes the most sense to me, I will not elaborate), napping during football bc me too, girl

A/N: This is my first time writing somno so pls be nice, I am NERVY😭 I hope y'all enjoy, Frankie Morales is forever making me swoon, and I just know in my heart that this man absolutely loves to nap and is the world's biggest snuggler 🥺💕 not beta'd bc that's just how I roll

Before you had met Frankie, Sunday was arguably the worst of the weekend days- looming stress of the work week ahead, mettled with to-do’s and other chores before Monday got the best of you. There were very few times that you had found yourself anxiously awaiting a Sunday, but since Frankie? Sundays had easily become one of your favorite days of the week.

Slow and easy going mornings where Frankie brought you coffee as the sun rose before tangling your bodies between the sheets in a mess of soft and unrushed sex, followed by cuddling and leisurely making your way out of bed for breakfast, awaiting a relaxing day ahead of you.

Now that it was fall, it also meant football season, and while you didn’t really care either way about the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, you enjoyed any time that you got to spend cuddled up next to Frankie on the couch, considering more often than not, it normally resulted in the two of you fucking during half-time, followed by you promptly napping wrapped in Frankie’s arms for the better part of the 2nd half.

This Sunday was no different, you and Frankie had found yourself happily snuggled on your couch under your favorite fluffy blanket, Buccaneers game on in the background, Frankie’s arm draped around you as you leaned against his chest, soaking in the familiar warmth and scent of him radiating from the worn cotton of his t-shirt as you felt your eyelids slowly begin to droop heavier and heavier. With the way Frankie had been mindlessly rubbing soft, gentle circles against your back, his thumb dancing in swirling patterns across your skin, it wasn’t long before the comfort of being held in Frankie’s arms had completely washed over you, and you had found yourself fast asleep well before the start of the second quarter.

What you hadn’t realized, was that Frankie had fallen asleep not long after you, the weight of your body pressed against his, along with the long week he’d had from work and the symphony of melodic snores now roaring from your parted lips and knocked him out almost equally as fast, leaving the two of you in a blissfully happy pile of nap on another lazy Sunday afternoon.

That was, until, Frankie found himself wide awake well before you with a very curious problem.

He was hard as a fucking rock.

Some way or another in your sleepy, napping state, the both of you had rolled over on your sides, Frankie now spooning you with his arm draped over your middle and your ass pressed firmly against his crotch, quickly solving the mystery to the hardon straining at the fabric of his sweatpants.

But if just your ass nestled against your dick wasn’t enough, Frankie looked over to see that you were definitely also dreaming, and the type of dream you were having wasn’t hard to decipher based on the way you were quietly moaning in your sleep and subtly grinding your hips into Frankie’s lap.

“Mmmmmmm… Frankie…..” You quietly whimpered, your voice groggy with sleep as you stirred in Frankie’s arms, now finding himself almost unbearably hard at the sight that he’d awoken to, especially now knowing that the dream you were having was definitely about him. Frankie let out a deep, shaky exhale, now more awake than ever as you continued to gently squirmed your bottom half against him, biting down at his bottom lip as you moaned again.

“Frankie… Oh fuck…..”

“Fuck…” Frankie whispered, now raging an internal war in his head as he debated what to do next, knowing you were clearly turned on by whatever was happening in your slumber, his cock aching with each second that passed with you spooned against him.

Should he just try to get up and jerk off before you woke up? Wake you up and then ask if you wanted to fuck? Or maybe… Maybe, he’d wake you up a different way.

Although he hadn’t done it often, you had made it abundantly clear to Frankie that it had been more than okay to wake you up to sex, and every time he had, you’d absolutely loved it. Frankie had been hesitant at first, never wanting to do anything without your consent, or do anything that would ever make you feel even remotely uncomfortable, but after you had insisted and he had worked up the courage, he knew he had the green light from that point on- And given the state that you were in right now, Frankie was about to make good on your outstanding offer.

Carefully shifting his body out from behind you, Frankie let you gently fall so your back was resting against the couch, caging his broad body over yours as he worked his way down to the waistband of your pants, gently sliding them off your hips before tugging at your underwear and leaving your bottom half bare for him.

Frankie sat back on his knees, in shock and awe of the glistening, wet mess your pussy had already become in your sleep just dreaming of him, arousal coating your folds and inside of your thighs as you lazily shifted in your sleep, your legs seeming to instinctually fall open, just for him.

“Fuck me, baby girl…” He whispered to himself under his breath, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he audibly gulped, his eyes going wide as he locked on to your cunt, already dripping and aching for him. Settling down to lay on his stomach, he carefully lifted up your legs to rest over his shoulders, wrapping his arms around your waist, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your hips while he settled himself face to face with your heat.

With one long, flat press of his tongue, Frankie dragged himself across your clit, savoring the sweet tang of the juices that had been dripping from your hole, lapping them up with one more lengthy lick, before pulling his mouth away just enough to see how you’d react to the new presence between your legs.

As if Frankie wasn’t already turned on enough, your reaction was clearly aiding his cause.

After just one lick of his tongue through your folds, you were already incredibly responsive, your hips instinctively jerking towards his face as a breathy whine escaped from your lips, as if you were already begging for more without having to say a word. A slight smirk began to spread across Frankie’s face as he dove back in again, this time, working himself along your cunt in easy, languid strokes, feeling your body begin to twitch even more with the way he was working his mouth.

“Mmmmmmm…. Yeah…..” You muttered, still sleeping as you kept bucking your bottom half against his face, only encouraging Frankie to give you more with his tongue, beginning to change his pattern to swirl deliberate, steady circles around your clit, putting more and more pressure into each movement.

“Frankie….”

“That’s it, sweet girl…” Frankie hummed, his words rumbling in his chest as his hot breath danced against your core, continuing to coax you out of your slumber, working through your folds and at your sensitive bud with intensifying pace.

It wasn’t long until Frankie’s careful and meticulous work slowly began to turn more sloppy and desperate, feeling the wet mess you were becoming under his tongue driving him insane, wanting, no needing, to make you cum, to wake you up with pleasure flowing through your veins, turning your sleepy mumbles into cries of his name over and over again.

Letting one arm untangle around your leg, he brought the hand to your pussy, gently slipping one finger into your aching core, sucking him in with your warm, wet walls, only giving it a few pumps before realizing you could easily take a second, slipping it in to meet the first and curling the pair to brush against the soft and spongy spot inside you he knew drove you absolutely mad. Almost instantly, he could feel your cunt beginning to clench in response, your tell tale sign that you were getting closer and closer to reaching your high and completely coming undone around him.

“C’mon, querida, I’ve got you, baby.”

Suddenly, your eyes shot open, your heart racing as you felt a familiar feeling building in your belly, the coil inside you already wound so tightly as you let out a ragged moan, lifting your head up to see Frankie nestled between your legs, drinking you up like a man starved.

“Oh fuck, Frankie, fuck- baby, fuck, don’t stop” You whimpered, shooting your hand down to burry it in the messy, dark curls of his hair, tugging at his locks for any sort of relief as you had awoken to the savory sensation shooting down your spine and through your core from Frankie’s lips latched around your clit and fingers pulsing in and out of your cunt.

Frankie had barely any time to register that you were now awake, but as you grasped firmer at his hair and let out a ragged moan as you came, clenching around his fingers and gushing with your arousal, it had become very clear to Frankie that he had done his job, and done it well.

“There’s my good girl. Damelo (Give it to me), Hermosa, fucking soak my face.” Frankie smirked, pulling away to reveal the shiny slick covering his beard, still gently rocking his fingers in the warm, wet walls of your heat as you came down from your high, you chest heaving in low, shallow breaths, mouth hanging open as you let a moan of pure ecstasy fall from your lips.

“Frankie… Holy Fuck…”

“Good morning.” Frankie mewled, pulling his fingers out of your pussy, making you hiss at the loss as he laid himself on top of you, swallowing your whimpers in an electric kiss, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips as his tongue swiped across your mouth, silently begging for more. “Must have been some good dreams you were having, querida. You were so fucking wet for me, baby. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Frankie, please, I need you. Fuck- Fuck, I need you to fuck me, Frankie, please. Need you inside me.”

“Needy girl. I’ve got you, Hermosa. Don’t worry. Woke up so fucking hard for you, baby. Didn’t stand a fucking chance with that pretty ass all pressed up against me. Fuck, you’re so perfect.” Frankie sighed, reaching down to shuffle his sweatpants and boxers down off his hips, revealing his painfully hard cock, his tip red and weeping with precum, aching to be buried inside you from the moment he had woken up.

Wrapping his hand around his length, he stroked himself a few times before lining up with your entrance, the two of you letting out a heavy sigh of relief as Frankie pushed inside you, slowly filling you up inch by inch until his tip was kissing your cervix, taking a few moments to let you adjust to the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness.

His forehead dropped to rest against yours, the shimmering sheen of his sweat making his dark curls stick to him and brush against your skin, his broad palm cupping your cheek as he let your lips lock onto yours again for another tender kiss as he slowly began to thrust in and out of you, taking his sweet time with each stroke.

“Fuck, you’re so wet and tight, queirda.” Frankie grunted, gritting his teeth as his hips rutted into you, the weight of his body draped overtop of you sending your mind reeling, loving every second of being engulfed in his broadness. “What were you dreaming about, baby, hmm? What were you dreaming about that had you all worked up?”

Suddenly, Frankie’s arm was wrapping under your legs, pressing your knees to your chest to stretch you open even further, the new position making you breathless as he began to pound into you with more intensity, the room now filling with a mix of your moans and skin slapping against each other.

“I was dreaming- oh fuck- Fuck, I was dreaming about you, Frankie. Shit- dreaming about you fucking me like this, how good you make me feel.” You whined, Frankie’s grip in the soft flesh of your thighs growing tighter as you locked eyes with him, the dark, chocolate brown pooling with lust watching the wrecked mess you were quickly becoming as your cunt began to clench tighter, and the all too familiar tingle in your spine once again began to creep through your body.

Your response elicited a low hum in Frankie’s chest, rutting his hips into you with more intensity as he felt your pussy starting to flutter around his cock, freeing one of his hands to snake between your legs, the pads of his fingers putting just the right amount of pressure on your clit to have you screaming out his name as you felt yourself creep closer and closer to your second orgasm.

“Fuck me. That’s all I want baby, just wanna make you feel good. You gonna be a good girl and give me one more, Hermosa? Cum all over my cock before I fill you up?”

Frankie could feel his own high slowly approaching now too, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and frantic as he pounded against your g-spot and circled your clit, determined to make sure you came again before he did.

“Mmmmmhhhmmmm.” You whimpered, your brain barely even able to form a coherent thought, let alone a complete sentence, given how your eyes were practically rolling in the back of your head as Frankie’s punishing pace split you open in the best way possible, your legs beginning to tremble while you could feel the knot tightening in your core quickly building up to the point of snapping. “Oh fuck, fuck, Frankie, fuckfuckfuckfuck I’m so close, fuck, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh.”

Before you could even finish your sentence, your orgasm crashed through you, euphoria flowing through your veins as you came, every inch of you filling with pleasure as your cunt clamped around Frankie’s length, soaking him in your arousal. Watching you cum was all Frankie needed to follow suit, gritting his teeth as a ragged groan rumbled deep in his chest, pumping a few more times into your heat before burying himself in your warm, wet walls, and milking himself of every last drop as he came, the mix of his spend and your slick leaking and coating the inside of your thighs

Letting his body collapse into yours, he draped himself on top of you, your chests rising and falling in sync with heavy, heaving breaths, the both of you trying your best to regain your composure before Frankie gently pulled himself out, making you hiss at the loss of his fullness as he flopped over next to you, planting a soft kiss on your lips as lay his arm across your stomach, pulling you into him.

“Jesus Christ, Frankie… That’s one way to wake up from a nap.” You giggled softly, raising your eyebrows at him, softly biting down on your lip.

“Was that okay?” Frankie asked, shifting his hand up to gently cup your face, stroking his thumb in lazy circles around your cheek, staring back at you with his sweet puppy dog gaze. “I know I’ve done it before but I just always wanna make sure you feel good and-”

You caught the rest of his sentence in your mouth, swallowing his words in another long, and tender kiss, pulling away from his plush lips to peck a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose, giggling once again.

“God, I love you. What did I ever do to deserve you, Fransisco Morales? Yes, baby it was more than okay. So okay that in fact,” You huffed, wrapping your arm around Frankie’s waist and letting your head fall to lay on his chest, “I think I need another nap.”

@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @jaciejay13 @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @lola8888673 @persephone-girl @copperhalfcent @innerpersonunknown @messinadresss @devineconjuring @endlessthxxghts @cool-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @messinadress @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @ilovepedro @pascalscoffin @missladym1981 @ilovepedro @itsokbbygrl

#WAIT IMMA READ IN A SEC -

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jake-g-lockley · 2 months

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Time of The Month

New boyfriend!Frankie Morales x afab!gn!reader

Summary: You had a date planned tonight, but your monthly visitor makes an early appearance, wreaking bloody havoc on your plans. W/C: 1k (wow, I'm sticking to my celebration rules for once?) Content warnings: Pics are for aesthetic purposes only!! Mature content, but purely fluff and comfort! Mention of reader having period, but no use of any pronouns or physical or feminine descriptors. Santi gets mentioned! Frankie calls you "cariño" and "baby." Some kissing. Honestly, I think that's it! Please let me know if I missed anything. BLOG RULES MAKE THIS 18+! MDNI.

A/N: This is my response to this request made by @sawymredfox in regard to my 1k follower celebration! I hope this gives you all the fluff and comfort you were hoping for!🥹 Also, shoutout to @javierpena-inatacvest for picking out the pictures above — it matches the comfort vibe perfectly. Thank you, bestie, I love you.💚 Anywho, I hope you enjoy. I'd love to hear what ya guys think. All my love. Xx

MASTERLIST || L'S 1K CELEBRATION

You and Frankie have been seeing each other, officially, for a few months now. And even though you two were friends for a little bit of time before that, there was still a charge of attraction then. So, really, your entire relationship started in the talking stage. So, yeah, your guys’ relationship is relatively new, which is why he’s shaking like a leaf at the prospect of letting himself into your home without you giving him the approval to do so—even if you told him so many times before that it was okay. But when you didn’t answer your phone for the third time in a row, he knew something was off, especially since you two had a little date planned in a few hours.

Putting in the code to your garage—no, he doesn’t have a key…yet—he makes his way through, hitting the button inside to watch it fall shut before he actually enters your home. He’s met with complete silence: all lights off, the television off, no sign of life anywhere.

He calls out your name, voice filled with anxiety. A beat passes, and no answer. He walks deeper inside, slowly making his way to the living room. “Cariño?” He calls out. Still, no answer. He really doesn’t want to invade your privacy like this, but part of him can’t just sit in the unknown. Not when his partner is the most communicative person he’s ever met in his life. No, something is really wrong.

He makes his way to your bedroom. The door is shut, but not all the way—enough for Frankie to see your dimly lit space and smell a plethora of essential oils coming from your room. He gives your door a slight knock before entering, and the view he’s met with sends him in absolute shambles. You’re curled up in your bed, fetal position, cocooned in a thick blanket, and your arms are wrapped around something—holding it tight to your lower belly. A heating pad, he thinks.

Your bedside table houses a glass of water, some painkillers, and some chocolate. Then, it clicks.

You’re on your period.

It’s not like Frankie has never experienced a person being on their period before, and it’s not like he hasn’t seen you on your period before (just last month—duh!). But he has never seen you like this. So weak and fragile. So in pain. God, he hates seeing you in any kind of pain. He would take it all away if he could.

The only reason he’s nervous is because he knows every person who gets their period is different; their needs are different. Unique. Some prefer the warm embrace of another at all times, others prefer complete solitude. Frankie was still learning what you were like during your time of the month, and he just wants to be as accommodating as possible for you. He doesn’t want to make you upset, ever, and definitely not when you’re in such a vulnerable state—ready to either cry or rip him a new asshole. Whatever he would have to experience, though, he would endure it, for you.

Scooting closer to the side of the bed you’re laying on, he slowly kneels, his broad hand feeling your forehead. Warm and a slight layer of sweat from your cocoon and your heat pack. You stir at his touch. “Cariño,” he whispers, trying to get you aware of his presence.

Your eyebrows furrow, a little pout forming, not wanting to wake up. Frankie softly laughs to himself. He brings his face closer to yours, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Baby,” he says a little louder this time, still unbelievably gentle.

One eye slowly peels open, the other following suit. “Frankie?” you say with uncertainty, your voice thick with sleep. Your hand leaves its hold on your heat pack to rub the fatigue out of your eyes.

“Hi, honey,” he whispers, his thumb mindlessly caressing your face wherever he can reach.

“B-baby, what are you doing here? I-” you gasp. “Oh, fuck! Baby!” You immediately rip the blanket off of you, scrambling to get yourself to sit up. “Baby, our date! What time is it? I must’ve fallen asleep- I- I’m sor-”

Standing a little taller now on one knee, Frankie stands between your legs, both his hands finding their homes on your cheeks, pulling you to look at him—to ground you. He kisses your nose, a soft say of your name to get your attention.

“Cariño, breathe, it’s okay, we’re okay,” he says softly. “We planned for 7, baby, it’s 5:30.”

He feels your body start to relax, a soft sigh of relief fanning his cheeks. “Oh,” you whisper.

“The question is, though,” he asks, one hand leaving your cheek to rest across your lower belly. “Do you feel okay enough to even leave the house?”

You track his hand before you meet his eyes. “...not really,” you admit.

“That’s oka-”

Cutting him off with a thick sigh, “I��m so sorry, baby, I just ruined tonight. My period has been wonky lately. I was supposed to start tomorrow, but it ended up being a murder scene a few hours ago, and I’ve been in pain ever since. I didn’t even realize how hard I knocked out-”

He pulls your face into his, your lips meeting each other in a soft embrace, stopping your brain from the 5k marathon it was currently running. He pulls away, your cheeks completely hot under his gaze, Frankie mirroring your bashfulness. “I- I’m sorry, I just-” he lets out a breathy laugh. “I don’t need you overthinking with me, cariño. I promise it’s okay. As long as I’m with you, I really don’t care what we’re doing. Okay?”

“Okay,” you respond, eyes tearing up at how sweet your boyfriend is.

“I just want you. I just need you. Nothing else,” he angles your head down to kiss your forehead. “Now what’s my baby craving? I’ll go get it.”

“No-” you immediately reply, clearing your throat to suppress your eager response. “No… just. I don’t want you to leave me.” You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his kneeling form flush against your sitting one.

“Okay, baby. I’ll just get it delivered then. Pretty sure Santi isn’t doing anything besides being an asshole,” he says, laughing into your neck. “Wanna bother him?”

“Fuck yeah,” you laugh. Frankie beams at the sound.

“¿Qué quieres comer?” What do you want to eat?

“Mmm, can we get…” you trail off, a little shy to indulge. He’s probably hungry and wanting a real meal like what your original plan was for, but here you are, craving nothing but junk and snacks to satiate you tonight.

“Hm? Fries and a chocolate frosty? You want pickles, too, huh? Maybe some mashed potatoes?”

Oh my God. You’re going to fucking marry this man.

“…yes.”

Frankie pulls away from you with a smirk, reaching for his phone to dial up Santi.

Huh. Maybe he already does know you—especially during this time of the month.

End note - I hope this was okay!🥹 There are a few more requests for me to do as part of my celebration!! I'm sorry if it seems like I'm dragging them out lol! Not my intention at all, just trying to balance my excitement with the neediness of school😩 lolol but anyway, I love you all SO MUCH thank you for your endless love.💚

#FRAAAAANKIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE #EEEEEEEE #EEEEEEEEEEEE #EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE #😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#i need #where mine #help

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jake-g-lockley · 2 months

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ARGH I LOVE THIS

Little Trouble

A/N: Republish...ment? of a fic I wrote for @alwritey-aphrodite 's birthday in August. Ilysm! Oh, and today is my birthday I guess, so yeah.

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x reader

Warnings: Fluff, taking songs so far out of context so that they're no longer depressing, confessed love and carnival vibes

Description: I'll tell you that I love you, I'll scream it twice. You ask over the music, "Did I hear that right?"

Word Count: .8k

“You have something on your face,” Santi remarks, sliding his thumb along the corner of your mouth. Your lips part in surprise when he sticks the finger in his mouth, gently sucking off sugar residue and whipped cream.

Luckily, you’re able to make a quick recovery, scrunching your nose as you exclaim, “Ew, Santi, you’re awful!’ You say it with a smile though, and he smiles back with a cheeky and objectively unapologetic shrug as you steal an extra bite of the funnel cake you’re sharing just to spite him.

You’d finally convinced him to go to the fair with you, abandoning his dive bars and angst for some good old fashioned child-like joy. It had taken ages of tolerating Pope’s excuses before he had finally caved, right in time for the event. The sun is shining; Summer is not doing its job of turning into Autumn, the days long and hot. You don’t mind, though, because you’re here, and Santi is here, and a myriad of nearly broken rides and fried food is here, so you truly can’t find any room in your heart to complain about the sun or any UV damage you may be earning.

“You know you love me,” Santi jests, turning towards you with a grin.

You do. But you’re not sure that he knows, and you’re even less sure he feels as unplatonic as you do, so you opt instead to lean in and whisper conspiratorially, “Three carts down they’re selling hard lemonade.”

“Then we have to stage a heist,” Santi responds, echoing your enthusiasm as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You’re right! I have a plan. I’ll give them rectangular green pieces of paper, and they’ll be so scared that they give us all of their wares,” you joke, reaching into your bag for your wallet.

Santi grabs your arm, stopping you. “It’s a good plan, but it’s not gonna work.”

“What?! Why ever not?” You tease in your best Bonnie Parker impression.

“I’m more experienced at heisting than you, it’s gotta be me.”

You snort, shoving Santi’s arm. “You’re awful.”

“C’mon, Trouble, we’ve got a heist to plan.” Santi hooks his arm with yours and leads you to the cart.

It's like that the whole day. You and Santi parroting off of each other's energy and laughter until the sun finally sets and you both have your fair share of liquid courage in you. You can’t bear the thought of leaving yet, though. Whenever you’re with Santi, all you can do is wish that time would stand still. You could spend eternity wrapped in his gaze, his smile, his obnoxious arrogance that has somehow become your favorite thing in the world.

When you see a band playing at the center pavilion, colorful lights shining on their instruments—banjo, and fiddle, and harmonica (the cornbread of the musical world)---It takes you about three seconds of contemplation before you grab Santi’s hand, dragging him to the center of the grassy dance floor.

You’ve danced with Santi before, but not like this. That was all grinding in a crowded room, sweating and laughing as you gave the boys something to write home about. Tonight feels different. Like your heart is exposed, bared to him, and all he needs to do is reach out; To embrace or break it. Lights are strung above the two of you, but their shine doesn’t nearly match the sparkle in his eyes even as he tells you that the music isn’t even that good, spoken in your ear to be heard over the din of the crowd, his warm breath a gentle caress.

“I love you,” you say. You have to yell it over the noise so that Santi is able to hear you, and you do. You don’t know what has possessed you, and you face floods with heat. You nervously look into those big brown eyes, which are doing whatever sort of mental math they feel is necessary to understand the weight of what you have just told him.

It’s Santi who drags you off this time, managing to find a hidden little corner filled with honeysuckle and vines, where the music is that much quieter and the lights more dim.

“What?” He says it like he wants to be sure. Like he’s asking for a pinkie promise that you’ve never wanted to give more.

“I love you,” you breathe. “Do you want me to say it again? I love you, I love you, I love yo—”

He cuts you off, pulling you in by the waist and pressing his soft lips against yours. The kiss is filled with yearning; With the absolution of a promise made to the man who you’ve loved in every past life you might have had. When the two of you break away, Santi leans his forehead against yours as you catch your breath.

“You’re such an asshole,” He says with a smile.

You return it, leaning your head into the crux of his shoulder. “Say it back.”

“I love you.”

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia fluff

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jake-g-lockley · 2 months

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EEEEE MY FAV SCRUFFY MAN 🥰🥰🥰🥰

💌

ehehe i want 🥹

And you shall recieve! (He thinks he's so clever with this card...)

#I LOVE THIS #i wanna squish him #betweenmythighs #JK #BUT I LOVE HIM TO BITS #santiago garcia

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jake-g-lockley · 2 months

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I’m going to go cry now

Once More With Feelings: (Santiago Garcia x fem!reader)

Summary: you, Santi, and Frankie have been best buds since high school, when the three of you would while away your days playing in the world’s most average metal band. But, when Frankie finds an old home movie of said band days in his dad’s garage, some memories -and some secrets- come to the fore. Secrets which recast everything you thought you knew about back then and now… and about one of your dearest friends in particular.

Genre/tropes: fluff, pining, all the good stuff.

Author’s note: this popped into my head and felt too cute not to share. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did! 🧡 Oh, and tell me how I did on the band name? �� 😂 LOL.

Warnings: pining(?), kissing(?), unrequited love(?). Throwbacks to high school. Reader is the same age as the boys but you can imagine this being set when they were all younger (or older) than the canon, if you like, so I don’t think it matters.

Rating: TEEN (but my blog is 18+)

Gif by @nightofthecreeps

Your exuberant peals of laughter bounce off the walls of Frankie’s living room, and you slap your thigh as you fold forward in mirth. Beside you on the couch, Santi’s deep, scratchy chuckle sounds, tears being squeezed and planed from his eyes as the footage rolls.

On the other side of you, however, Frankie looks none too impressed.

The footage in question is an old home movie Frankie recently dug out of his dad’s garage, the VHS tape mysteriously marked only with the date: 1994. Recognising it as one of your old band practice tapings from high school back in the day, Frankie had scooped it up, and now the three of you were preparing to relive your pre-glory days.

You’d brought the popcorn, feeling extremely nostalgic and so ready to relive the golden years of your friendship with these two dumbasses; before they’d scarpered, leaving town -and you- for the army.

You’d rekindled your friendship with them since, and in some ways it felt like no time had passed at all, but you undeniably looked back on your time with them in high school as some of your happiest days (at least, so far).

You weren’t sure exactly what footage was on here (you really hoped that it hadn’t been taped over with Frankie’s parents getting frisky or some shit), but you had been so ready for the trip down memory lane - and so far it was not disappointing.

“Look!” you had exclaimed, pointing at the screen with your arm at full extension, vibrating with laughter as young Frankie had appeared on screen, flipping the handheld back towards his face. “Look at that haircut.” Then, you had batted Santi frantically in the chest with the back of your hand. “Is he wearing eyeliner?! Look at you, Frankie!”

Santi had joined you in the good-natured teasing, until the two of you had become a crumpled, giggling heap in the corner of the couch -surprise and delight responsible, more than anything, for your mirth.

“Alright, alright,” Frankie grumbles now as he rides out your mockery, even as a bright, misty smile of his own takes over his sharp features - as he contemplates his (increasingly far off) youth.

Video Frankie is gangly - his legs had seemingly grown in before the rest of him- and with his more delicate frame, his cheekbones are especially prominent. Even so, with that sharpness - all angles - he looks softer somehow. Still a little baby-faced.

“Welcome to our show!” he announces, in a pre-pubescent voice.

It’s so strange to hear him speak without the now characteristic deep rumble, and your eyes fill with sentimental tears, your hand clasping against your chest. “Frankie, you’re just a baby. So fucking adorable. I want to pinch your little cheeks.”

“We are…” -Video Frankie continues, leaving a dramatic pause for effect- “…Master of Muppets.”

Okay. Yes. In hindsight it’s not the coolest band name, but you remain defensive about the name to this day, and you personally won’t hear a bad word said about it.

From off screen, you hear Santi’s unmistakable voice - a little more gruff and deep than Frankie’s already, but definitely still possessing an adolescent timbre. Not as rich and confident as it is now. A little more goofy. “We’re not doing that today, pendejo.”

The sound of him - voice echoing in the vacant space of Frankie’s dad’s garage - makes memories of your childhood come flooding back. Things you’d long forgotten. Feelings and sights and smells and sounds.

Video Frankie swings the video camera around with little skill, the rest of his announcement pointing upward to his nostrils. “Oh yeah. Shit.” You can imagine the look he’s getting from Santi right about now - that kid took the whole band thing just a little too seriously. “Formerly of Master of Puppets, tonight we have our breakaway solo act. Santiago Garcia.” Frankie delivers his best rock face to the camera, waving his rock fist around chaotically and sticking out his tongue.

In the real world, the three of you exchange fond, face-splitting smiles.

“This is fucking beautiful. Though, I guess I’m not in this one, boys.” You pout in disappointment and Frankie pats your back in commiseration, reassuring you there’s a whole case of tapes somewhere- he’ll try and dig it out next time he visits home.

“How are you feeling in the crowd tonight, Carolina?” Video Frankie yells, before feigning distant crowd noise, and you can’t help but laugh with delight all over again. You turn towards him in the here and now, and you ruffle the pilot’s hair affectionately as he watches through his hands out of sheer embarrassment.

“I thought I was so cool.”

“It’s okay. Wait ‘til you see baby Santi,” you rib gently, earning a hey of protest from your left.

“Look. We all know I was the only cool one,” you snigger.

After a scuffle and a lot of footage of Video Frankie’s worn sneakers, the camera flips.

There Young Santi is, hopped up onto a tall bar stool, his acoustic guitar slung around his neck. The body of it is settled atop of one bent knee, his foot kicked up on the stool, and the other leg stretched out in front to steady him.

You squeal in delight when you see him, even as you hear him cringe and laugh and curse beside you.

Now, it is Frankie’s turn to revel in the throwback, a throaty, chaotic chuckle sounding to your right.

“Look at you! Both you boys are too precious for words.” Feeling emotional, you reach out and smooth your hand back and forth over Santi’s thigh as you continue to survey the screen. 90’s Santi, too, is more slight in frame compared to his older counterpart. Aside from a questionably shiny red leather jacket, he’s dressed in all black - a very era appropriate button down with a long, pointed collar and raw stitching, various beads and chains and possibly a cross or a shark’s tooth or something slung around his neck. His hair is long and lustrous, raven black and middle-parted, cascading curls framing that sharp, angled face. As ever, his strong brows and nose and jaw give him a striking, slightly surly appearance, balanced by those big brown eyes which are full of light and warmth and innocence.

It makes you tear up, honestly, and you weren’t all the way ready for it.

That kid on screen got you through a lot during your teen years. Frankie too, but Santi especially. More than you think you’ve ever had a chance to thank him properly for.

“Those eyebrows!” Frankie exclaims as Young Santi sits pensively on the stool, apparently full of teenage angst and knitting said full brows together.

“Eyebrow, more like,” Santi chuckles lightly - a little self-consciously. “Still a handsome fucker though. Kid’s got potential. Gonna really hit his stride around 40, I reckon.” He pats his own gut - a little fuller these days. He’s not wrong though - he does only seem to get more attractive with age.

You laugh warmly at here and now Santi’s commentary as you watch Young Santi strum and tune up.

“Oh, honey,” you say with a rush of deep affection, reaching out and scooping his hand up into your own and giving it a squeeze.

Meanwhile, Frankie laughs chaotically, as he studies the footage. “Why so fucking serious, hermano?” he mocks, given the kid’s sheer intensity.

“Fuck me. I don’t remember, do I? Maybe you were getting on my last nerve, huh?”

You hastily shush them both, waving your hands wildly as the Video versions of them pipe up again.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Young Santi asks tentatively, ducking his head to let his hair flow from where it is tucked behind his ears, allowing it to obscure a good portion of his face as he grows ever more bashful.

You crinkle your nose in confusion, shovelling popcorn into your mouth. “She? Who’s she?”

You turn to real-life Santi, and you catch him looking mildly horrified all of a sudden, his expression just as serious as his counterpart from the past. You flick your gaze to the right to see if you’re missing something, but you find Frankie obliviously shovelling popcorn into his mouth, a hapless grin still plastered on his sweet face.

“Dude, I’ll give you fifty fuckin’ bucks if this works,” Video Frankie offers.

Here and now Santi’s voice cuts in, urgently, confusing you even more. “Turn it off, Frank,”

“Oh sure. Now that you’re done teasing me? You can dish it but can’t take it?”

“Frank,” Santi emphasises through his teeth, and when that plea is to no avail, he reaches (almost dives) across your lap to make a play for the remote - Frankie managing to scoop it up first and keep it just out of reach.

“What is going on?” you puzzle. “Jeez. Don’t tell me you had a crush on my mom or something. Gross.”

“Frankie,” Santi emphasises again, pointedly, and with no clues at all from the present, you try to tune back into the past for clues.

“You actually press record this time? If we get this done we can mail it to her tomorrow,” Young Santi says, clearing his throat and preparing to play as Frankie plays with camera angles - zooming and panning in a way which suggests he’s taking this approximately 20% as seriously as Santi is.

“Sing songs, get bitches,” Frankie yells enthusiastically.

Here and now Frankie, however, sucks air through his teeth at that. “Christ. That’s no way to talk about a lady, young man. You clearly still have some lessons to learn,” he scolds, and the contrast between the two versions of him amuses you greatly.

Still, you sense there’s something you’re missing here. With nothing forthcoming from your buddies, however, you opt to continue watching, captivated as Young Santi starts singing. You expect a chaotic heavy metal thrash -as that’s what he usually favoured- but this is something else altogether.

This? This is a schmaltzy ass love song.

You watch as Young Santi strums and picks his guitar gently, his voice sounding out, pure and innocent and smoother than it is now as he works through the delicate notes and falsetto of the song; clumsily, but with feeling.

With so much feeling.

“I’m serious. That’s enough now, Frank,” Santi pleads to your side, with an intensity that doesn’t quite match with what you’re seeing. It’s not that embarrassing. You’ve seen Santi do worse. Recently. At karaoke. In front of people.

You ignore him for now though, concentrating on how damn earnestly Young Santi is singing. His eyes -you can see when Frankie zooms in for an ill-timed close-up- are positively shimmering with emotion. His mouth is curling up into a gentle smile around the words as though he means each and every one so fully.

God. It’s a relief you weren’t there for this at the time, as you know this performance would have ended the 15-year-old version of you. He’s looking at the camera how you wished he would have looked at you, way back then. When your carefully buried crush on him was most out-of-control.

And now, remembering all of this, you just have to know who he was feeling this way about, while your were feeling this exact way about him. You have to know the reason you and he never-

“-For real. Who was she?”

Who is he singing about? Singing to? In all the years you’ve known him and all the relationships he’s had, you’ve never seen him look quite so smitten.

“Alright. I’m not doing this,” Santi grumbles, standing and marching out of the room in a strop. You call after him but he bundles through the house, out towards Frankie’s rear porch. And he doesn’t come back.

You turn immediately to Frankie for some explanation, completely lost off now - especially as Frankie seems so damn casual about the whole affair.

“Errr,” Frankie moves some pieces around in his head. “That’s the summer you went away with your dad, I think?” he says breezily. “Yeah. Explains why you’re not in the video. God. Santi had reached peak pining levels by then. He was so smitten with you, remember? He was fucking insufferable the whole break.”

Wait, what?

“Frankie?” you say, aghast, shaking your head and not quite understanding. Wondering if you’ve misheard him.

When Frankie looks at you and reads your expression, the ball finally drops and his expression drops in turn, to match your own. “Shit. You didn’t know,” he realises.

You swallow. You need to be very sure about this. “Didn’t know what, Francisco?”

Frankie’s mouth drops open and closes wordlessly. He looks at you helplessly, leaving Video Him and Young Santi to answer the question for you.

“It’s never gonna work man. She’s just not into you.” Video Frankie states from behind the lens.

Young Santi is still captured in the frame, the camera zoomed in almost comically close, yet somehow it isn’t funny any more. It is zoomed in close enough that you are able to capture every nuance and micro-expression fleet over his face. Every shred of fear and hope and insecurity and adoration becomes wildly apparent to you. “It has to, man. It has to. I love her, so much.” Then, as if only just realising he’s still being recorded, he looks right down the lens, a nervous, giddy, pure smile taking over his face. “Fuck. Turn that off, dipshit.”

Meanwhile, your eyes flit around the room and you feel suddenly adrift, a million and one emotions swimming in your stomach. Even all these years later, this confession -the one you had always hoped for back then- is like a punch in the gut.

Some things -looking back- suddenly make a hell of a lot more sense. Many more pieces drop into place, and so, with a rush of nerves and adrenalin, your gaze flits between Frankie, the screen, and the door. “I didn’t know,” you confirm flatly.

Frankie runs a hand through his scruff, all of a sudden looking sheepish. “Well, shit. I probably should have turned this off.”

You simply give him a look.

***

When you make your way out to the back porch the air is balmy and still, no sound but crickets lightly chirping in the yard, and now, the sound of Santi’s deep sigh as he hears you approach, the wind chimes tinkling as you swing the door.

Santi is folded over the wooden porch rail. His forearms are leaning on the bar and his hands are laced together, his head dipped down so it almost meets them - as if he wants to hide from something.

Maybe from you.

You approach him tentatively, folding your arms around your middle for comfort and keeping your footsteps light so as to be less intrusive. As if that will make up for the question you’re about to ask. A question that feels Earth-shattering, but which comes out in little above a whisper.

“You were in love with me?”

You weren’t expecting the break in your voice, but maybe that’s the thing which finally gets Santi to stand up straight and turn towards you, his eyes turbulent and mouth pinched small with some kind of emotion.

He scoops a hand over his jaw in a self-comforting gesture, before sniffing once and nodding his head almost imperceptibly - in barely there confirmation.

Okay.

Your brow furrows as you adjust to this new information. As you reconfigure just about every memory you share with him -around that time- in your head. Your eyes grow busy with a multitude of questions; but the order doesn’t seem to matter so much, and you land quickly on your first. “Since when?”

Santi swallows. Tugs in a deep breath. His expression becomes apologetic and a little more boyish, as though you’re taking him right back to those days. Making him feel awkward and lost, when he’s usually so confident. You know he won’t enjoy that. In fact, he rubs the nape of his neck nervously. Shuffles from foot-to-foot a little. “Pretty much since that first time you sat next to me in home room and passed me a stick of gum,” he confesses. “Orbit. Peppermint flavour.”

Emotion tightens in your chest at the fact that he would remember that. You don’t remember that. Your face crinkles. “I thought we met for the first time at Frankie’s house party?”

“No,” he corrects gently, with a soft and wistful smile. “That was just the first time I actually managed to speak to you.” You smile fondly. Who knew Santi was ever shy? Around you? “I spent about four months before that learning guitar to impress you; then I was finally ready to choke out a respectable hello.”

You smile softly at this new information.

“You sucked at guitar,” you tease fondly, and he finally looks up at you instead of at his boots. Against the odds, you manage to stoke a small smile at one corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. Well,” he shrugs, tilting his head to the side in concession.

You think for a moment, processing. Landing on your next question. You can’t place why, but you feel increasingly nervous, like you’re 15 again too. Like you’re barrelling towards something inevitable. Something that will shake the foundations of everything you thought you knew. “Why didn’t you send the tape?”

Santi pauses again, as if every small confession is an effort. “None of the takes were good enough.” He frowns. Always was a perfectionist. “Besides. You came back from summer break on Brandon Cheng’s arm, remember?”

You stifle an amused smile. Santi should be over this by now, right? All these years later? But his voice still contains a hostility for Brandon which sounds every bit current. Damn. You guess the man really does hold a grudge.

Still, despite his bitterness, he looks so vulnerable in this moment. So vulnerable that you are desperate to reach out to him - and yet you can’t make your feet move from the spot.

“Oh yeah,” you nod in understanding, clasping your hands in front of yourself. “Right. I forgot about Brandon.”

Your friend pumps his eyebrows indignantly, like he really didn’t. No wonder Santi had always been so snitty with the poor kid.

God. You see it now. You see it still lingering there. The same emotions and micro expressions from the video flitting over his face in turn. You really must have hurt him. He really must have loved you, for it still to linger.

“Santi,” you breathe, finally taking a couple of gentle steps closer to him, trying to capture his gaze with your own and lift it from the floor.

“Alright,” he breezes - a clear attempt to seem non-chalant. To hastily put an end to this. “That’s about enough nostalgia for me for one day. Shall we head inside and watch Predator now?”

You watch him push everything back down.

And, now that you’re looking for it, you suddenly realise how many times you’ve watched him push everything down, even if you wouldn’t have recognised it at the time. You guess he got real good at doing that. You guess he started early. Practised hiding it from you until it became second nature.

It’s all beginning to make sense.

Santi turns to go then with a whole lot of bluster, and yet you feel like something isn’t quite done here. You feel like there’s a little more of this thread to unravel, and so you capture his arm with the gentlest of touches, looping your grip around his wrist. Apparently that’s the barest encouragement he needed to stay, and you halt him in his steps.

“Santi,” you repeat, searching his eyes and finding old pain hiding there. “Why? Why did you never say anything?

“It doesn’t matter,” he says flatly, a break in his voice now too. Cracks beginning to form. “It was a long time ago, right?”

It does matter though. You can see plainly that it still matters. This clearly hurt him - and you have never wanted to hurt him.

Maybe that’s why you ask your next question. You feel like if you can map this all out, maybe you can do something to fix it. Tell him how you were pining for him too. Do something to heal the same old wounds that you carried too in secret.

But, if that’s the reason, it doesn’t explain why your heart is beating in your neck as the words slip past your lips. It doesn’t explain why you’re so nervous to hear the answer. “How long, Santi? How long did you feel that way?” The words catch on hooks in your throat, and you’re inexplicably tearing up. “W-When? When did you… stop?”

When did he stop?

Santi’s eyes snap suddenly back to yours then, his eyes wide with nerves and fear and confession. His jaw writhing and mouth pinching together with tension. His head shaking imperceptibly like he’s begging you not to go there. Begging you not to push this. Not now. Not any further.

And then, it hits you.

Hits you like a ton of bricks.

He never did stop.

He tries to turn his face away from the knowledge in your eyes, but urgently, your palm captures his cheek, feeling the rough grain of stubble beneath your fingers, and your eyes searching his with one -and only one- remaining question.

Is it true - is he in love with you, still?

Santi, for his part, reaches up gingerly upon seeing that his game is finally up, placing his warm, rough hand on top of yours where it rests on his cheek. A gulp trails down his throat and he sniffs again, his eyes shimmering with apprehension and apology, but at the same time glowing with something deeper too. He begins to nod ever so slowly, tiny movements of his head which silently answer your question as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes big and beautiful and earnest. “I… I didn’t stop.”

It is only when he finally says it out loud that you are able to gasp in a breath, your palms coming to clamp over your mouth, your eyes brimming with tears as you reconfigure… everything.

You take two steps back from him. From your friend. From your best friend. Who all this time…. All this time has been…. Who you’ve….

Fuck.

All this time.

Your hands trembling, you lower them from your mouth and you search Santi’s face again. That handsome, oh so familiar face.

For a moment, you have absolutely no idea what to say.

“Fuuuuck,” he says hoarsely, his voice small and thin. “Please say something.” And then: “Actually, you know what,” he shuffles from foot to foot. “Don’t say anything. I… Fuck. Just forget I said that.”

But it’s too late for that, isn’t it? You see it now.

How he’s looking at you.

How he’s always looked at you.

And suddenly, even though you feel like the porch is spinning a little from these spiking nerves, like you need to reach one arm out to hold on to the rail so your trembling legs do not give out from under you, it becomes eminently clear to you.

You know exactly what it is you want to say.

“Tell Morales he owes you fifty bucks, idiota.”Santi looks at you blankly for a moment, blinking rapidly in confusion and trying to catch up. “Your song worked, Santi,” you explain softly. “You got the girl.”

Then it’s happening.

With a gasp of air all his own, Santi wastes no more time. He reaches his palm out to your cheek, and as soon as his touch is on you everything ignites. You close the remaining distance, then with a surge and a crush his lips are slanting against yours, his tongue leading and slipped into your mouth in a way that makes your toes curl and your legs weak. His broad, gentle hands are clutching at your back and he’s kissing you urgently yet tenderly. He’s kissing you like he’s already loved you -and longed for you- for a lifetime.

In truth, he has, and it turns out that’s just how long you’ve loved him back.

With his practised tongue, Santi opens you up, his plush lips working diligently against yours and sending an insistent warmth blooming through your whole body.

His song worked. A few decades too late on delivery, but still. Maybe back then would have been too soon for you both. Maybe you had some lessons to learn first; but either way, it could not feel more right that it is finally happening.

So, when Santi pulls back to look at you, spent from that toe-curling kiss, tears of pure joy are smattering his cheeks. You swipe them away tenderly with the pad of your thumb, awed that you get to finally do this with him. To show him how you feel. Awed that it means so much to him too.

You worry it’s still hurting him somehow - that maybe he’s thinking about all that time wasted. However, just as you begin to grow concerned, and before anything sad can creep in, Santi’s face splits in a joyous, self-satisfied grin. “Who’s laughing now, Brandon Cheng?”

You laugh brightly, his comment entirely unexpected, and you loop your arms around his sturdy middle. “Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking of right now?”

Santi’s eyes glow gently with awe as you hold him in the way he’s always dreamed of, and as your happiness envelops him. “No,” he admits, his hand moving to cup your cheek with an unprecedented tenderness - one which makes you ache. “I’m thinking how you were so worth the wait.”

Happy tears shimmer in your eyes but before they can fall, Santi kisses you again. And again. And again.

You have so much lost time to make up for, and you’ll be happy if he never stops.

Turns out, he never did stop; loving you.

#YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE #i love love #😭😭😭#santiago pope garcia x reader

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jake-g-lockley · 2 months

Text

This is basically me on a daily basis ⬆️

WHERE IS MY SANTIAGO GARCIA 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

- 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.

"San-"

"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."

#santiago garcia x reader #MAN MORE CUTE STUFF 😭😭😭😭

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jake-g-lockley · 2 months

Text

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH DEAR GOD WHEN IS IT MY TURN

⬆️ HAHAHAHHAA I CANNOT (Benny definitely was of influence)

Under cotton and calicoes

A/N: Y'all should know me by now. I see Santiago Garcia and I immediately think of the softest, most domestic scenarios. This one was requested by the lovely @campingwiththecharmings, I really hope you like it!! Title comes from The Hozier song "Would That I".

@flufftober - Day 16 Singing one another to sleep

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x reader

Word count: 917

CW: As we established before, domestic Santi is a warning.

Flufftober masterlist

You had been tosing the sheets for what felt like a thousand times, and on the 101st fight against the sheets, the clock showed only 40 minutes had gone by since you last checked the time. You sat up, feeling defeated and exposed to the cold night air on your skin. Your head dropped into your hands in a futile attempt to prevent your eyes from burning with exhaustion.

It was then that you felt Santiago's gentle hand caressing its way up your hip to your lower back. It should not have surprised you, and neither should the soft glow of the lamp on his bedside table as it turned on. “What’s wrong?” The sleepiness in his voice stirred your heart with a touch of guilt. Santiago didn't always got to sleep soundly, and here you were, disrupting his peaceful night.

ou whispered, knowing that your words were as effective as speaking to a wall. Santiago sat up beside you and planted a tender kiss on your shoulder, making you yearn to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. "I can't sleep," you confessed, your voice tinged with exhaustion, and Santi chuckled in sympathy.

“I figured that out.” His lips traveled to your jaw, his arms enveloping you in a warm embrace. You found comfort in the warmth of his skin beneath your hands. “Maybe I can help?”

“Unless you are planning on giving me a sleeping pill I’m not sure anything could help.” You say in a lousy effort at humor at 2:40 a.m.

Santi laughs again, pulling you down to bed next to him. It’s easy to fit against his body, with your head in the crook of his neck and your hands over his chest, almost soothing enough to put you right to sleep as his fingers trail up and down your back. To finish it all, he started humming a song, a melody you are familiar with but can’t quite place it, your brain nothing but fog after being awake for so long.

Finally, it clicked as he reached the chorus of the song. In your groggy state, you asked into the darkness, "Are you seriously singing Guns N' Roses to help me sleep?"

Santi doesn’t answer, instead, he changes the humming to singing the lyrics with an audible smile in his voice. “She’s got eyes of the bluest skies, as if they thought of rain, I’d hate to look into those- HEY!” your hand slapping his chest interrupts him.

“How’s that song supposed to help me sleep?” You asked in between a fit of laughter.

“Well, if you’d let me finish you would be asleep by now.”

“Not with freaking Guns n’ Roses! What’s next, Metallica?”

"Okay, fine. I have a better one. Come back here." His arm extended over the pillows, and you cuddled back against his side with a playful warning glance. After a few seconds, he starts singing: “When you try your best but you don’t succeed.”

“Santiago! That’s just mean!” You push him again, laughing out loud without a care of the late hour.

“That’s the calmest song I know.” He defends catching your arm to not let you go far. “I’m sorry I don’t know any of your boring songs.”

You gasped in feigned indignation, a playful glint in your eyes. "Don't you dare disrespect Hozier like that."

“Okay, okay, fine. What if I learned one?” He was already standing up, rushing to the living room to get the guitar he never really uses but still keeps around.

“Right now? You are going to learn how to play a song at 3 am?” You rested against the headboard on your side, looking at him opening up his laptop to search the chords of a song.

“I’m already up, it’s not like I have anything better to do.” Guilt gnawed at you at his statement. He had been snoring no more than twenty minutes ago, sound asleep, as you should be too.

"You should sleep, Santi. I'll just go to the living room and scroll through TikTok until I fall asleep." Santiago caught your wrist as you attempted to move, preventing you from going.

"No way, no one gets left behind in battle," he declared, ever the army man, evoking a smile of tired appreciation. “Now, let’s get this started.”

You watched from your comfortable spot against the headboard, sunken in pillows and cushions as he scanned the chords displayed on the screen, dancing his fingers along the frets and strumming softly as he went through the first few lines of the song time and time again. His soft voice, mixed with the gentle melody, began to work its magic. Your eyelids grew heavy as you continued to hear Santiago's voice like a distant lullaby.

“...I fretted fire but that was long ago.” Santi finished singing the first strophe with a triumphant smile, setting his fingers back to the first chord. “Honey, I think I got it! Check it-” He turned to you, seeking your approval, but instead found you curled against the pillows, breathing softly, finally asleep. “I guess I’ll show you in the morning.” Santi gently lowered the guitar and turned off the light, casting the room into darkness again as he wrapped himself around you.

"Thank you," you mumbled, pressing a sleepy kiss to his collarbone as you settled in.

You were the reason he could sleep now, who was he not to help you whenever you needed to rest, too.

✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂✨🍂

Thanks for reading! Pleasae reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

#THIS WAS SO CUTE 😭#santiago garcia x reader

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jake-g-lockley · 3 months

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HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA BYE 😭😭😭😭😭

Santiago Garcia- Delta Babysitters Club

Summary: Frankie, Will, and Benny come over to hang out with Santiago and his toddler son.

Contents: fluff, baby fluff, pregnancy talk, language, afab reader, reader has hair long enough for a baby to play with. (~3k)

based on a lovely anon ask for more dad!Santi

which is based on an adorable ask that turned into Santiago, Baby

-----------

Santiago Garcia is constantly surprised by how much he loves family life.

As he sat in his backyard on a sunny day, bouncing his toddler on his knee, with Frankie, Will, and Benny, in Adirondack chairs around a full cooler, he really wondered why he hadn’t calmed the fuck down years ago.

“Santi,” you yell out the back door, “I’m leaving.”

Oh yeah, he remembers. He hadn’t thought of settling-down, because he hadn’t met you yet.

He pushes his sunglasses up to rest on the top of his head and waves to you. You look beautiful, just jeans and a t-shirt. Since the baby, your clothes are just a smidge tighter, just a touch curvier in places that are incredibly distracting to him.

Then again, he got a little hot looking at your ankle last night, sticking out from under your Eeyore pajama pants.

You’d been pressing him for a weekend away, just the two of you. He’d been surprised you wanted to leave the baby for a whole weekend, but if you wanted to shack up with him like old times, then who was he to say no twice? Maybe he could convince you to pack just your toothbrush. Somewhere out in the country, where you could be as loud as you wanted-

Frankie kicks his foot, bringing Santi back to reality. “Quit looking at her like you want her clothes to melt off, man.”

That’s a visual Santi will be saving for later, thank you Francisco Morales.

“…and I should be back by dinner,” you yell.

“Not a problem. We’re going to grill and I’ll save you a plate if you’re not here,” Santi yells back, hoping it’s an appropriate response.

You weren’t walking over to say goodbye because you didn’t want your son to have a meltdown when he sensed you leaving.

The guys all wave to you.

“I love you, Santi,” you yell.

“Love you too, sweetheart. Drive safe and text me when you get there,” he yells.

Benny makes a kissy face at him and Will slaps the back of his head.

“Call if you need anything. Bye guys. Have fun.”

As you pull your car out of the driveway, you worry a little, smile a little. Any of those men would lay down his life to protect your baby, but, the fact that they all looked so relaxed is what bugs you.

Even Santi, who knows your kid is going to notice you're gone at some point, who knows the baby still fights his naps like they were death itself. A precious cherub who is going through a phase where he’d rather throw food and be stubborn and …. oh no. Was your kid turning into a spoiled little punk?

Well, whatever, you can always say he got it from his father.

You drive off, radio on blast, windows down.

*****

“Just the boys,” Benny says with a big smile. “I have so much to teach that kid.”

Will gives his brother a patient look. “If you try to give that baby any advice, ever, I don’t care if he’s one, or eighty-one, I will put you in a headlock until you pass out.”

Santi looks at his son. “I don’t know. He could do worse than us, right?”

Frankie’s eyes widen. He takes off his cap thoughtfully and runs a hand through his shaggy hair. “He could probably do better, though.”

The men all silently agree.

Santi kisses his son’s forehead. “So what do you want to do first, buddy? Head to the range? Pick up a date at the mini-golf place? Straight to the bar where I met your mom?”

Your son blows his tongue out between his lips and tries to put Santi’s watch, wrist and all, in his mouth. He looks at his dad, seeing if he can get away with it. He can.

Frankie leans forward to the grocery bags he’d brought. He gets out a little container of cookies and starts opening them.

“Can he have these?” Frankie asks Santi.

Santi shrugs. “Sure. Package has a baby on the front. Why not?”

“My kid used to love these,” Frankie says wistfully.

“Oh here we go,” Will mumbles, reaching into the cooler for beers.

“Treasure these times,” Frankie says almost sadly to Santi. “It goes by so fast. And then one day, your kid’s going off to pre-school, and they don’t even look back when they go in the door.” Frankie’s face scrunches up and relaxes a few times. “Like you’re not even important anymore.”

Santi reaches over and pats Frankie on the back. “S’okay, Frank. You can come over and play with this one any time you want.”

Frankie nods, hands a cookie to the baby, overjoyed at the look of utter bliss on his face when he shoves it into his mouth and starts gnawing.

Will offers Santi a beer, but he declines, passing the bottle to Frankie. Someone has to be able to drive in case of emergency, and Frankie clearly needs a drink more than anyone else here.

The baby throws the cookie on the ground and reaches out to Frankie for another, which Frankie happily provides.

Benny reaches forward into the cooler, then a little further for the discarded cookie laying in the grass.

It’s halfway to his mouth before Frankie snaps his fingers loudly.

“Benjamin! Put that down!” He yells.

“What? Why?” Benny pops the whole thing in his mouth and chews.

“It was on the ground. It’s covered in dirt,” Will says, disgusted.

“Don’t worry about it,” Benny says, chewing off to one side. “I wasn’t going to feed it to the kid. But I’m not going to let it go to waste. Tastes like fucking sand. These are gross.”

“Well, they’re not really for you,” Frankie says, “asshole.”

The baby looks up at his father, second cookie forgotten in his lap, eyes and mouth open slightly.

Santi looks down with a big smile. “What’s up, buddy?”

The baby reaches out and puts his chubby hands on Santi’s scruff. “Asshole,” he says clearly and loudly.

Will spits out his beer laughing.

“Oooooh shit,” Benny says with a big grin, “you are in trouble now.”

Frankie’s big, brown eyes are so wide he looks like he may never blink again.

Santi presses his lips together briefly, shaking his head. “She said that was going to start happening. I was hoping he’d learn the first swear word from her and I’d be off the hook. But thanks to Uncle Frankie, we’re all gonna take the heat.”

“I’m sorry,” Frankie says.

“Asshole,” the baby says, picking his cookie back up and playing with it. “Asshole asshole asshole.”

Frankie starts laughing, which makes Santi laugh. “Come on, you guys. We gotta teach him something else.”

“That never works,” Will says.

“How would you know?” Santi fires back, holding his happy son up so he can push his little feet into Santi's thighs.

Will shrugs. “Babies aren’t stupid. He knows he gets a reaction out of us. That’s why he does it. I’m familiar with the concept.” He points a finger at Benny.

“Well, nobody swear anymore,” Santi says, looking each man in the eyes. “Whoever does, picks up the check the next time we all go out.”

“Deal,” Frankie says. “You know my kid’s first word was dada. Now, they’re in school, learning letters and numbers.” He sighs and Santi pats him on the back again.

Santi leans back in his chair and snuggles the baby up against his chest, sensing that he might be sleepy. He will never get tired of the warmth and weight of this little body. The little thigh rolls and fat arms. The impossibly small fingers with an impossibly strong grasp. The way he giggles when his dad kisses his little cheeks.

Oh God, he’s starting to sound like Frankie.

“I better put him inside for his nap,” Santi says, but as he stands up, the baby fusses and starts crying a little.

Will stands up too, holds out his hands. “Give him to me.”

Santi looks suspiciously at Will.

“Fucking relax,” Will says, then winces, remembering about the swearing. “Damn it. Just give me the baby. I can hold still while he sleeps. He won’t wake up for three hours.”

Santi looks at Frankie and Benny.

“Two hours. Fifty bucks,” Frankie says.

“He wakes that baby inside of forty-five minutes,” Benny says with a lopsided grin.

“Betting on my own child,” Santi says, gently handing the baby over to Will, “I should call CPS on myself. And I think it’ll be an hour ten.”

Will talks in low rumbles to the baby, cradling his head as he sits back down. His big hands and fingers move gently over the baby’s back and head, settling him into his lap comfortably.

“Nothing to it,” Will says with a confident smile. “Babies are calm when you’re calm.”

Benny rolls his eyes.

Frankie holds up his phone, stopwatch already running, and sets it on the arm rest. “You still need help with those shelves in the garage?” He says to Santi.

“I remapped out the whole thing. I’m going to use French cleats, should be able to put a lot more weight on them and I can take my time putting everything up. Spend a few hours every weekend on it. You should come over, bring your crew. Good excuse to hang out on Sundays,” Santi takes a pull from his water bottle. “We used to carry loaded weapons and a hundred pounds of gear through the desert, just to go after one guy. Remember that?”

“My back couldn’t take that anymore,” Frankie shakes his head.

“You all sound like old men, by the way,” Benny says.

Will glances at his brother. “On our way over here, you told me your doctor told you to add more fiber to you diet.”

Benny gives his brother an angry look. “You’re a fucking Judas, you know that?”

Will chuckles silently, making sure not to disturb the baby in his arms. He hasn’t been around babies much. Frankie’s kid had been a little older by the time he’d been introduced. Surprisingly, Will finds that he really likes babies.

Of all his friends, he’d thought he’d be the first one to find a nice girl, get married, smooth out his rough edges. But he’d had to put his mental health first. It had taken a long time. Lately, he’d felt solid enough to start thinking about a family again.

He feels Benny tap his arm and looks up. Benny winks at him, like he knows what his brother’s thinking.

“Looks good on you,” Benny says supportively.

“Thanks man,” he says quietly, his gaze sharpening, “but I haven’t forgotten you bet against me in the nap thing.”

Benny shrugs casually. “I’m not going to pass on taking a hundred fifty off of you guys. Besides, if the baby wakes up, I get next.”

Will’s eyes widen slightly.

Benny sets aside his beer, looking at the sleeping baby. “Just because I’m not sure if I’ll have any, doesn’t mean I don’t like them. We all know Frankie’s kid likes me the best. And this one will too.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure my kid likes me the best,” Frankie says, holding up his beer and then taking a drink.

Will’s instincts hum and Santi catches his gaze, both of them sensing it.

The baby starts crying before he’s even really awake. He pushes against Will as he opens his eyes and looks for around for you, his cries getting louder and louder.

“Now I actually do feel bad taking the money,” Benny says.

Santi rushes over and takes the baby from Will. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here. Daddy’s here.” He walks to the outside of the chairs and starts walking around. The baby finally recognizes Santi and his crying slows a little, even though he’s still tired and unhappy. As he passes Frankie, he hands Santi a bandanna.

Santi cleans up his son’s face and presses his mouth against his chubby cheeks, blowing air and gently tickling him until his cries turn into laughter.

“The famous Garcia charm. Even works on babies,” Frankie says. He grabs his cell phone and looks at it. “Forty four minutes, twelve seconds. God damn, Ben, that was impressive.”

“I’m more than just good looks,” Benny says. “Let me hold the kid, come on.”

Santiago takes one more lap, until his son’s eyelids start getting heavy again. Benny gets up and quietly takes the baby in his arms, resuming Santi’s laps around the chairs.

Santiago sits back down, digs into the grocery bags for some chips. “A couple of weeks ago he wanted to walk everywhere, couldn’t stop him,” he says as he opens the bag. “Now, he just wants to be held again all the time. And he’s still on his sleep regression shit.”

Will leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees. “Good thing you’re used to operating on no sleep. I think you’ve gone soft on us.”

Santiago gives him the finger. “I could still out-think you any day of the week.”

Will leans back, folding his arms, “oh, Pope, you have no fucking idea. I’m so far ahead of you on this one, you can’t even see my dust.”

“On what?” Santi says. He passes the bag of chips to Frankie. He’s missing something. He can see it in the slight warning look that Frankie shoots Will. It’s infuriating that he can’t figure out what, though. Something at the edge of his brain tingles.

“Ironhead, leave it,” Frankie says, concentrating on eating chips like it’s as complicated as flying an overweight helicopter over the fucking Andes.

“Don’t leave it,” Santi says, looking between his friends. “We’re not keeping secrets. Not anymore.”

Frankie heaves a gigantic sigh, leans back and folds his arms in a mirror image of Will.

“Your wife usually disappear for two hours on a Thursday afternoon?” Frankie asks.

And that’s all it takes. Santi feels his face go completely slack.

Needing time for yourself, but only from 1500-1700 on a random day of the week.

You’d wanted to get away, just the two of you, to talk and have some quiet time, you’d said.

Your body was just a little more… more, the way it had been before you’d started showing the first time.

And if there was a first time, then naturally-

“She’s having an affair?” Benny says as he passes behind Santi.

“No,” Frankie says, outraged.

“You’re an idiot,” Will says, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Well she can’t be pregnant again. This one’s not even two yet.” But his eyes widen and he looks at Santi. “I think our boy’s malfunctioning.”

Santiago is staring into blank space. Inside, he is jumping up and down screaming. He wants another baby so badly, but he didn’t want to bring it up yet, didn’t want to put any pressure on you.

He’d been so focused on the day-to-day, trying to get his son to sleep again, recording all the new foods you were feeding him, doing the dishes, making sure the bed was made, stopping for groceries on the way home from work.

He’d missed the bigger picture. Him. Santiago Garcia.

Frankie, Will, and Benny experience something they’ve never heard in their long years of knowing each other. A solid hour of Pope’s silence.

Santi had taken his baby back from Benny and paced around the yard until he’d heard your car pull into the driveway. He’d made an immediate beeline for it, the boys hot on his tail. Busybodies.

Santi tried to move quickly and evenly, but the baby wakes up anyway. He spots you and immediately reaches out with a big smile, which you return happily, setting your purse down on the hood of your car to take him. He pushes a wet kiss onto your face and grabs your necklace to chew on.

“Hello, my baby. I missed you so much.” You shift him to your hip, looking at Santi and the men standing behind him. “Weird energy. What’s going on?”

Santiago’s handsome face looks almost blank, a little shocked. You lean forward to kiss him on the cheek, but he backs away.

Your face must flash the hurt you feel because Santiago reaches out and holds your elbow. “Give the baby to Frankie for a sec. Let’s go inside and talk.”

You hold your son tighter. “Is something wrong?”

Will pushes Santiago’s shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong. Pope just needs to get it together.”

Santi rubs the scruff of his chin, his gaze melting back into that warm brown that you can never look away from. His jaw relaxes and his eyes crinkle a little bit at the corners. “You want to tell me where you were just now?”

The baby pulls on your necklace, his other hand tangled in your hair, as you weigh your options.

“How did you know?” You ask Santi, who only shrugs. “I was so careful. I didn’t want to say anything until I went to the doctor. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Or, I don’t know, maybe you don’t even want another one. Not so soon.”

You feel tears start to well up in your eyes. Cursing your hormones, you wipe them away. Frankie pulls the baby gently from your arms, but stays close by so he doesn’t start crying.

Santiago gathers you in a huge hug, lifting you up on your toes. As soon as he sets you down, you’re relieved to see he’s smiling too, a sheen of tears in his eyes.

“So it’s okay?” You ask, your son reaching for you from Frankie’s arms. You take him automatically, resting him between you and Santi.

“Okay?” Santi says, laughing. “Baby, it’s more than okay. It’s a dream come true.”

You nod, smiling, as the guys congratulate you both and your son touches your wet cheeks with his hands to comfort you.

“So,” you say when things calm down a little, “how’d the guys do as babysitters?” You ask Santi.

Your son’s tiny face looks up at you lovingly. “Asshole,” he says.

Santiago winces. “I promise I was going to tell you about that.”

**masterlist**

#THIS WAS SO CUTE 😭😭#santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader

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