#god i love how you write santi
Text
So. I accidentally ended up writing a Frankie x Santiago x reader fic...
I say 'accidentally' because I was all in on writing my Javi P x Tim Rockford fic (which is still happening!), then wanted to write a short drabble for @legendary-pink-dot's birthday - and that's how things quickly escalated. Oops.
Shouldn't be surprised though considering Frankie and Santi are, hands down, my absolute fave pairing.
Right now it's looking like the final wordcount will be near 20K words, so I'm thinking I should break this up into two parts. Also because it's been taking over my entire brain and life living in my head and Google docs for 3 weeks already, and I'm overthinking everything because ngl I'm pretty nervous about posting my first fic. So, endulge me if you don't mind...
FYI, @morallyinept is currently feedbacking the first part - she is an absolute GEM! And I have to give massive props to @sin-djarin @magpiepills @imalrightllama @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin in particular who have been so damn encouraging and patient as I've been constantly running tidbits past them for the past weeks.
Whoever catches the reference in the title wins a cookie, btw.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Nothing That I Didn't Know (teaser)
Frankie watches you across the crowded bar, standing close to Pope as you’re talking while waiting for drinks. Something tickles in the back of his neck, raising the little hairs there, then all over his arms and everywhere else, like he’s been zapped by a little bolt of electricity. He knows he’s had plenty of tequila - probably more than enough for the rest of the night - but still he can’t help but reach for another shot, unable to tear his eyes away from what’s happening in front of him.
The liquor burns deliciously in his chest as it goes down smoothly, sinking into the rest of his body; undoing and releasing way too many safety clips that normally stay bolted down, and he has to work hard to not reach for another shot. Fuck, his head is loud. Much too loud.
Had been that way already earlier, at the beginning of the night, as he’d watched you and Pope at the bar getting shots for the table. Messing around with each other, and he’d smirked when he saw you triumphantly snag away the shot in front of him - you two were always at it. But then the tone had changed, and he knew it was happening before you seemed to register it - he recognized that look on Santiago’s face.
The set of his mouth, the way his chin would tilt up slightly, the little telltale signs right before he attacked. Watched as he’d suddenly grabbed you, sharply pulling your arms behind you as he shoved you against the bar with his body, and Frankie could feel his mind and body immediately responding in a diametrically opposed manner - his brain in loud protest, the "what the fuck, Pope" right at the tip of his tongue even though he was much too far away to even be heard - immediately protective of you. But his body betrayed him, blood suddenly rushing away from his brain as his cock stirred, immediately painfully trapped against the denim of his jeans. Fuck. Fuuuck.
He saw Santi say something against your ear as you struggled, and the roar in his head was suddenly deafening in a way that made him uncomfortable - there was the instant urge to go stop it, pull Santi off you and ask what the fuck he thought that he was doing. But the other part of him, the one that throbbed in his jeans, didn’t even want to consider interrupting this - just wanted to drink in what was happening, what was next, wanting to know how you felt being pressed against the bar by him like that. Wanted Santi to press him against the bar like that.
He swallowed heavily when the realization of that last thought fully hit him, a hot mix of guilt and desire at the same time, then felt the wave of anger that rolled right after it. It didn’t matter whether it was hot to see - Santi had no right to touch you like that. YOU, you had no right to push back against him like that, even if it was just to struggle and break free, as you ended up pressed even closer against Santi’s front - clearly though inadvertently positioned right against his dick.
Don’t touch her. She’s–
Don’t touch HIM.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine mine mine.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Tagging a bunch of you who might be interested in this (or is it tacky to do that when it's your own work? I don't know, man. Like I said, I'm really good at overthinking shit): @linzels-blog @goodwithcheese @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @goodwithcheese @undercoverpena @secretelephanttattoo @musings-of-a-rose @trulybetty @rifflovesjoey @avastrasposts @gemmahale @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @nerdieforpedro @ladybess-a03 @prolix-yuy @whatsnewalycat @ezrasbirdie @thewreckening @marisferasiop @perotovar @max--phillips @wannab-urs @idolatrybarbie @inept-the-magnificent @gasolinerainbowpuddles @alwaysmicado @romanarose @chronically-ghosted @alltheglitterandtheroar @boliv-jenta @covetyou @5oh5 @reallyrallyauthor @radiowallet @writefightandflightclub @exquisiteserotonin @pink-whiskey-woman @anavatazes @youandmeand5bucks @arcanefox207 @fettuccin-e @ghostofaboy @angelofsmalldeath-codeine
Want me to tag you when the first part drops? Leave a comment or rb and I'll add you to the taglist!
119 notes
·
View notes
Note
I've never done a request before! Could you do tummy kisses with a plus size reader? I'm always down for nsfw but you decide where it goes! Please and thank you 😁
- @mandinlore
Every inch of you
Santiago Garcia X Plus size F!Reader
Rating : E / 18+
Word count : 2300 (ish)
Warnings : Reader is plus size, Explicit, Oral (f- receiving), lack of body confidence, insecurities, love bites, one actual bite, quick fingering, soft Santi being soft. And I do mean soft. (Yea it's cliché. I have no regrets)
Prompt/Summary : Tummy kisses/ Santiago helps show you how perfect you are
A/N : Keep the prompts short, she says, ease yourself back into writing she says…. Hahahaha enjoy your 2k ;) I got carried away. @mandinlore
Also thank you for requesting plus size! As a curvy girl myself, I absolutely loved writing this!
Side note - if anyone (who has prompts outstanding or wants to send new requests) wants a specific reader (plus size, short girl, specific job etc) please don't feel shy about asking! I'll do my best to write it!
"Cariño, you gotta tell me what's wrong? We can take things slow if that's what you want. You already know you're in control here. But, is something else wrong?" Santi sighs, sitting back on the couch after you pushed him away, yet again, before things could go too far. You couldn't blame his reaction, not after you had been hot and cold for weeks now.
Everytime he had tried to take things further, into anything that involves you removing clothing, you had made excuses to stop. He'd always backed off without complaint, reassuring you that he'll wait until you're ready, but you know he's starting to suspect there's more that you're hiding. God damn over observant Santiago Garcia. His military training served him too well in that.
The truth was, it wasn't that you didn't want things to go too far. In fact, you wanted very much to have his body pressed up against yours, his mouth against your skin, his cock buried deep inside you.
But for that to happen he had to see your body. And that was what scared you the most.
"Hey." His voice, and his fingers gripping your chin, turning your face to force you to look at him, rips you from your thoughts.
Meeting his questioning gaze you're struck, and not for the first time, by how pretty he is. Especially now — hair tousled by your fingers, eyes bright with lust, lips kiss swollen, cheeks flushed.
It makes you want to drag him back down onto the couch and lose yourself in his kisses once more.
"Tell me where your head is at," he pleads, his gaze soft. "Whatever it is, we can talk about it.
"I don't want to take it slow," you whisper, swallowing hard, sliding your vision away from him, even as he holds your face. You focus your eyes on the coffee table, the empty glasses and half eaten snacks, the movie still playing quietly in the background. You had stopped watching some time ago when you caught him watching you more than the film.
"There's a but coming, right?" Santi prompts when you lapse into silence.
"It's just…"
It's just I don't want you to be disappointed.
It's just I don't look like your exes.
It's just I don't think you'll want me.
You trail off, struggling to find the words to explain your fears.
"It's just, what?" Santi presses, his tone still gentle as ever.
"Idontwantyoutoseeme," you mumble out quickly, flicking your eyes back to him for a split second before you look away again.
Santi lets out a sigh, although it's not one of impatience, or disappointment. It sounds more like he might be… relieved.
"That's what you're worried about? Jesus, you scared me." He gives a small chuckle, shaking his head as he takes your face in both his hands, which forces your gaze back to his. For a long moment, he studies you, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"You are beautiful," he states simply before his hands drop to your waist and he shifts, leaning over you and guiding you back to lie down against the couch, once more taking up his position over you, nestling himself between your thighs.
"Have you noticed what you do to me?" He asks, hammering home his point by pressing the bulge in his pants up against your core, making you gasp, despite the anxiety coiled tight in your stomach.
"With my clothes on maybe," you mumble, unable to quiet the vicious thoughts still seeping through.
"I want to see you. I want to see all of you. You don't have to hide from me," he whispers against the shell of your ear, dipping his head to place a trail of kisses down your neck.
"I don't think you'll like what you see." Even as the fear builds you can't stop the moan that steals its way from your lips as he seals his lips against your neck, sucking a mark there.
"Can I be the judge of that?" He asks, leaning up on his arms to look at you. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes." Your response comes with no hesitation. You don't even have to think about it. You do, wholeheartedly, entirely, trust him. He's done more than enough to earn that trust from you.
"I'm not going to force you into anything you don't want to do, but please trust me when I say I will love every inch of you."
The sincerity in his voice makes tears prick your eyes.
You swallow hard, still arguing with the voice in the back of your mind that tells you you aren't good enough for him, that he won't want you.
Santiago waits patiently while you muddle through your thoughts.
After a long moment, what feels like a millennia of debating, you give him a nod, and watch his smile transform into one of absolute pride.
"If you're uncomfortable at any time, stop me, okay?" He requests, and you nod again, not trusting your voice not to waiver if you answered.
He captures your lips once more in a long, slow, passionate kiss. His tongue mapping out every corner of your mouth, sliding along yours, his teeth nipping at your lower lip, keeping you breathless.
This time when his hands begin to tug the hem of your shirt up, you don't stop him.
He unpeels each layer of your clothes carefully, waiting for you to relax before he moves on to the next, almost maddeningly slow in his actions. Still, you appreciate his patience.
When you're finally fully bared, what feels like an age later, he sits back, dropping your panties to the floor as his eyes roam the flesh laid out before him.
You feel sick, dizzy with anxiety, waiting for him to realise how bad you look, how much he doesn't want you, to make excuses for you to leave.
Santiago does none of those things.
Instead, he lets out a low groan.
"Shit, you are incredible."
You could almost think he was lying, just to make you feel better, but as you look up at him, his eyes hooded, pupils blown wide, licking his lips like you were a meal he's been waiting all day for, you could actually kid yourself into believing him.
You squirm under his unwavering gaze, your hands automatically going to cover your stomach, twisting away from him.
Santi`s eyebrows pull together in a deep frown, shaking his head.
"Don't do that. Don't ever do that again. Not with me," he scolds you softly as he pries your hands away from your body, pinning them down to the couch.
Leaning over you he captures your lips, his kisses tender and loving. His hands wander your body slowly, mapping each curve as he grinds himself against your core. Each slow roll of his hips pushes the zipper of his jeans up against your clit, drawing muffled moans from your lips. Each sound you make he swallows as though they were a vintage wine, something to be savoured.
"Want to make you feel good," he slurs, finally giving you a moment to breathe. "Can I make you feel good?"
Still unable to form words, you nod, probably a little too enthusiastically, causing Santi's eyes to crinkle as he grins.
"Yeah?" He confirms, moving his kisses down to your breasts, peppering them with soft brushes of his lips. "Baby gonna be good and let me kiss her all over?"
You can feel the slick wetness pooling between your legs, the heat blazing across your skin, the blood roaring in your ears, and the ever present anxiety nipping at your thoughts, a constant companion which never seems to quiet.
Well, that is until Santi bites your nipple, turning your yelp at the sharp pain, into a moan as he soothes it with his tongue.
After that, all your thoughts, good and bad, begin to get a little hazy.
"Mmmm I like that noise," he hums, lathering your other breast with the same attention, making you struggle to catch your breath with the pleasure he was already wringing from you.
As his kisses trail lower, his lips pressing against the plush of your stomach, you can't help but try to curl in on yourself, trying to hide as much as you can in the small space of the couch.
It's a pointless endeavour. Santi's mouth pays particular attention to every part you try to twist away, or subtly hide as you move your arms.
He spends an age trailing soft kisses all the way across your stomach, before working his way back to your naval, and then down, leaving tiny love bites in his wake. A trail marking you as his over all the places you hate, before he stops, head between your already trembling thighs, looking up at you.
When your eyes meet his, he grins before he dips his head, holding your gaze as he thrusts his tongue deep inside you.
Your head slams back against the arm of the couch, your eyes squeezing shut, the image of his face buried in your pussy blazing behind your eyelids. You choke back a moan as his tongue loops up around your clit, before back down to taste you again.
"Keep making noises like that and we're going to have a problem," he warns, warm breath fanning out across your already heated skin, making you squirm with the stimulation.
You have no idea what problem he's talking about, and as his tongue slides through your folds, up to circle your clit a second time, you really couldn't care less about it either.
Your back arches as you chase the warm pleasure of his mouth, a groan of his name falling from your lips. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts on your pussy like a starved man.
Curses and praises fall freely from your lips, accompanied by whimpers and moans as he expertly coaxes you closer and closer to the edge, all your anxieties silenced by the overwhelming pleasure that stops you from concentrating on anything else.
Santi groans, a noise that vibrates through your entire core, and pushes you dangerously close to the edge. When one of his hands disappears from your thigh, you can't help but open your eyes to glance down at him, your breath catching.
His eyes are closed, a look of pure bliss you haven't seen before on his face, as his tongue laps languidly at your slick cunt, while he palms his hard cock through his pants.
You throw your head back once more with a whine, unable to continue to watch him as he chooses that moment to seal his lips over your clit and suck, hard.
The vision of him, the overwhelming pleasure, the heat of his mouth, is too much, and you come undone with a strangled cry, your body trembling, and your vision going white as the pleasure crests and crashes over you.
Even through the roaring noise of blood in your ears, and the way your orgasm makes your mind fuzzy, you still catch the tail end of Santiago's gasped curse, followed by a low, broken groan. You can't help but think it sounds suspiciously like….
You don't even get to fully finish the thought before your body shudders in desire. That couldn't be the case when you haven't even touched him.
Then again the look on his face before…
When you can finally feel your limbs again you lean up on your elbows to look down your body at him, as he, somewhat awkwardly, sits back on his heels, a wet patch blooming out on his pants.
"Santi…did you…?" You swallow, trailing off as he looks somewhat abashed.
"Um, yeah," he admits, an unmistakable blush forming on his cheeks.
"Because of….me?" You ask quietly, feeling a strange sense of pride that, even as you are, you were able to do that to him.
"Oh, enjoying this, are we?" Santi laughs teasingly, relaxing a little when he sees your wide eyed surprise and the smile you're trying to bite down.
Putting his arms either side of you, he cages you in, as he runs his nose up the length of your neck. Even the lightest of touches makes your body shiver with desire.
"Maybe…a bit," you admit, a little distractedly as he places a kiss below your ear, pressing his body against yours, clearly knowing exactly what he's doing to you.
"Good," he mumbles into your skin. "Although next time I cum I want to be buried inside you."
He whispers it so sinfully low in your ear, you swear you could cum again just from his words.
Your breath catches and you can feel Santiago's smug smile against your neck, where he's still busy pressing soft kisses.
"I'm a little bit disappointed though," you manage to swallow out, trying to ignore the way his hand is skimming across your sweat damp skin, down the outside of your thigh, before slowly working its way back up.
Santi pulls back to look at you so quickly, you're surprised he doesn't put his back out.
"Disappointed?"
You can't quite tell if it's outrage or concern, that laces his tone, but whichever it is, you can't stop the laugh that bubbles up and out of your mouth, only making him frown more deeply.
"Cariño," he starts, stopping when you put a hand over his mouth to interrupt him.
"I'm disappointed I didn't get to see you."
It takes a moment for him to catch up, still clearly trying to work out what he has done wrong to disappoint you, but the moment it clicks his face transforms into a wolfish grin.
"Well, give me half an hour and I'll show you anything you want," he winks. "For now I guess I'll go back to admiring you." His eyes flicker once more down your body, surveying you like prey.
It makes your pussy clench.
"You really mean it don't you?" You whisper as he tilts his head in question. "You do like me the way I am?"
"I really mean it," he confirms seriously, "you are perfect."
He doesn't give you much time to think too hard about his confirmation, or really anything at all. Leaning back into you he captures your lips in a passionate kiss, clearly working on making you forget your own name.
You wrap one hand around the back of his neck, holding him to you as the other slips down his back to playfully squeeze his ass, drawing a low growl from the man above you.
Santiago is quick enough to get his revenge, slipping a hand between your bodies to brush his fingers against your clit.
You let out a gasp, and shudder with the over stimulation, as his fingers draw tight circles against your sensitive nub.
"You said half an hour," you practically whimper, unable to stop your hips canting up against his hand.
"For me. I didn't say you get a break." He smirks, slipping a finger into your wet heat, drawing another broken sound from you. "I want you to make those pretty sounds for me again… and again… and again."
-------------
If you enjoyed this please, please, reblog and tell me your thoughts! Reblogs and feedback are so important to content creators. It keeps us creating!
Special thank you to my patient, most lovely beta, who puts up with every smutty Santi thought that enters my brain @beldroxramscal
I no longer run a taglist. If you are 18+ please follow my blog and check the master list for updates. More fics are coming 👀
#santiago garcia x reader#santiago garcia x f!reader#santiago garcia x you#santiago garcia smut#santiago garcia x plus size reader#santiago garcia x plus!reader#santiago garcia fanfiction#santiago garcia#tripple frontier fanfiction
215 notes
·
View notes
Note
Congratulations!
Can you do “Why do you need my approval?” W/Santiago Garcia?
Thanks!
100 Follower Celebration: Don’t Be Stupid
Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!Reader
Warnings: Aggressive and Possessive Santi, language, allusions to creepy older men, bad Spanish because I’m a no sabo
A/N: Hello angels!!! I know that this isn’t my typical bread and butter but… this is my guilty pleasure and I had soooooo much fun writing this. A couple of housekeeping measures… I am a no sabo kid. To my non Latinx friends that means that while I am Latinx, and did speak Spanish as a primary language for the first 5 years, I was moved to another part of the country and lost my ability to speak Spanish. So I’m trying to learn it again. It’s hard. For my Spanish speaking sisters and brothers, give me so grace, because I am trying. Secondly, I think I have two more 100 follower Drabbles, and then we can finish Interviews for New Beginnings and the other requests I got! Love you all so much my darlings!! Have a wonderful dayyyyy - Mo 💕
Summer nights in Florida were always far too hot. It was the price of living in paradise. The heat of the afternoon's sun baked into the pavement and stucco walls now radiated back onto your thinly covered body. The surrounding water made the air far too wet, and immediately upon going into the outside air did you feel the thin film of sweat and honeyed air cling to your face, arms and legs. Summer nights were brutal in heaven.
But you would never leave it. Not for a million dollars. And neither would your Delta Force boys.
It was on these brutal nights where you tried to beat the heat and the stickiness by going out to the dive bars in Ybor City, the smaller and rowdier younger sister of Tampa. The crowds were easy to get lost in, and the music was thumping no matter where you stood; which was just the medicine you and your friends needed on a night like this.
In the back corner of such a bar, you were squished between Frankie and Santi, trying to fit in the massive and unruly Ben and Will to this too small table. "Whats good boys!? And baby girl, looking beautiful as always." Ben laughed out with a toothy grin. He was always all too happy to be with you all. And if a night out also involved a couple drinks, he was more in paradise than usual.
You laughed mirthlessly at his flirtatious jokes. He always threw one your way whenever he got the chance. You only wished that Pope would do the same.
Though you met the rest of the boys when you joined the Delta Force, you had actually known Santi since middle school. Your mom moved you both to the apartment next to his back in the 6th grade. When the creepy older men were harassing you on the way down to the school bus, Santi stepped in. And from that day on you never walked to the bus, or rode the bus alone. He kept the creeps and bullies away. You helped him with his math homework. Perfect partners. Best friends. A perfect pair. And God how you were in love with him.
You both had had your flings and boyfriends and girlfriends. But they all came and went. You were there and he was there when it eventually went to out the window. Some times you wondered if maybe he felt the same ache in his chest as you. But you pushed it to the side. He never saw you that way. He never would. You were best friends. A sister to him. It would never be more. And it never bothered you until recently. Maybe it was because you were getting older. Maybe it was because your girlfriends were having babies and in serious and solid relationships. Yet you were still here. Drinking barely cool enough beer with the Delta Force ding bats. You loved them. You loved them more than life and would and have put your life on the line for them. But you were getting older. You wanted to be seen as a woman. Not just another teammate.
Santi smirked and ruffled your head like a child, messing up the hair you had corralled into a pony tail, "Chiqitita muñeca is pissy tonight. Heat is getting too much for her."
You rolled your eyes and pushed him away. Frankie looked up from his ever present hat, "Pissed because she is stuck next to you and you won't let her up. Querida vamos. Let's get you another drink. This white boy at the bar has been giving you eyes all night and I wanna put him out of his misery."
Benny and Will whooped and laughed and your eyes widened, "Fish stop no he's not."
Frankie stood up, stretching out his long limbs and shaking his head, "He is. C'mon you haven't been putting yourself out there and it's dumb."
Frankie was right. You hadn't. In the past 3 years you hadn't even gone on a date because you were hoping, HOPING, that Santi would maybe make a move. That he would do something. But he hadn't. And you were tired of waiting. Frankie pulled you by the hand out of the booth and out of Santi's orbit. You smoothed out your cotton sundress, turning to the rest of the boys in the booth you hold yourself out to be appraised, "Yay or nay? Do I look gross?"
Will gave a thumbs up while Beni gave theatrical worshipping bows, "Hot sexy hot sexy hot sexy. Go get em tiger."
You noticed that Pope hadn't said anything, you turned to him waiting, "Pope??"
Eyes stern and cold he didn't even look up from his beer, "Why do you need my approval?"
You stomach dropped, and your face crumpled. Frankie rolled his eyes, "Coño la madre, don't listen to Pope you know how he gets when he's PMSing. You look nice. C'mon white boy is waiting. "
White boy was indeed waiting for you. His name was Connor. Clean cut. Not a Florida native which you clocked before you even made it up there. Worked in financing in downtown. Loved the Florida lifestyle but was still getting used to it. Super polite. Cute. And wanted to get to know you and buy you drinks and call you pretty. Soon any insecurity you had about Pope was miles away.
Frankie was pleased with himself, and brought back a round of beers to the table. Will and Benny were snickering in their seats, and Santi... well... Santi was fuming.
"What the fuck was that Fish?"
Smirking, he took a sip of his drink, "Que paso? No te queires chiqitita si?"
"Cabron, tu sabes quiero ella."
Benny cut in, "Hey hey hey. Don't let the gringos out man! Pope why are you getting pissed off? Nothing happened?"
Will spoke up, "He's pissed because Frankie basically delivered Chiqi to khakis boy over there."
Benny shrugged, "And??"
Will turned to him, looking as if Benny had grown another head, "And... Pope has been in love with Chiqi this entire time?? And Frankie knows that?? Benny did you get too many punches to the head or something?"
Benny’s eyes widen. The pieces fitting together. Will rolled his eyes, but Santi couldn’t care less. He was enraged with Fish. And Fish didn’t even care!! Fish knew that Santi had been in love with you for years. That he wanted you more than anything or anyone. That he had purposefully cut in on past relationships to keep you to himself. That he had building the courage to finally ask you to be his and only his. And yes here comes Fish. Delivering you to some… to some guy at a bar?
Frankie finished his beer and looked into his best friend’s eyes, “Hermano… I love you man. But you’re being a little bitch. No in fact you’ve been a bitch. Chiqi has been free and available for three years and you’ve done nothing about it. She’s clearly head over heels for you and you have been tiptoeing around it for no reason. You’re stupid. Chiqi deserves more. And if you’re angry about it you can go fix it.”
Frankie held his arm opened, lighting the way to you. He saw you laughing, your smile bright, things that he wanted to reserve for him and him alone. The things he had said were for him. The moment he saw Khaki’s hand brush up on your thigh, he saw red. He downed the rest of the beer that Frankie had gotten for him, and pushed his way out of the booth. The whoops and laughs from his brothers faded into the buzz behind him as he made his way to you.
“So… if it’s alright with you, I’d really like to take you out to dinner. Maybe next week?”
Connor was cute you thought. Not the same breathtaking handsomeness that Santi had, but Connor looked sweet. He looked honest. He would do for a boyfriend. You smiled, about to accept and give him your number, when Santi shoves himself in between you and Connor. “Oye Chiqi. Come dance.”
Connor gets up to look at you, “Hey man she’s with me relax.”
Santi turned around, “She’s not actually she came with me.”
You pushed Santi’a shoulder, “What the hell bro? Connor I’m sorry. This is Santi, we grew up together and he’s stupid protective and drunk. Santi can you please go back with Frankie I’m talking to someone.”
Without looking away from Connor Santi answers, “mm not drunk. I’m just making clear what’s mine.”
Connor looks at you and then Santi. Before he sheepishly smiles, “It was nice meeting you. I hope you guys figure things out.”
Connor walks away and you feel the rage building inside you, as Santi triumphantly turns back to you. You shove Santi’s shoulder, barely moving him, “You’re such a fucking asshole Pope. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Dance with me.”
“I’m not fucking dancing with you.”
He rolls his eyes and pulls you to the dance floor despite your protests, your skin burning in shock and anger where his hand clutches your wrist. You make it to the center, him hungrily grasping at your waist. You’re pissed off but also so confused at this change in temperature. Santi won’t stop looking at you. Those dark lashes attempting to hypnotize you back into his orbit. He brings his mouth to your ear, “When’s the last time you danced with me Chiqi?”
You scoffed, but brought your arms to wrap around his neck as he tugged you closer, chest to chest, “Senior prom. After Michael Vazquez left me for Torrence Sheltzer. And I stepped on your toes all night.”
He laughed, “Michael was such an idiot.”
You stay like that. The bass coursing through your body, right in time with the pounding of your heart against Santi’s chest. He was always a good dancer. Too good of a dancer, it was almost obscene the way he had you moving against him. You don’t know how long you had been spinning, and you had to rest your head on his shoulder because of how light headed you became.
“You shouldn’t have done that Pope. He was nice.”
“He was a wimp. Wouldn’t be able to take care of you.”
“What you’re going to chase away any man who comes up to me? I’m tired of being alone.”
“You’re not alone. You have me.”
“You know what I mean.”
He pulled your face off his shoulder to make you look in his eyes, “I do know. And i know what I said. You have me. You’re mine. I’m yours.”
You feel tears in your eyes. Either from the smoke, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, “Santi stop being stupid. You’re being mean. You know I love you and you’re making fun of me.”
He presses his dry lips to the tear that escapes your eye, then puts his forehead to yours, “I’m not Chiqi. I’m not. Chiqi I’ve loved you since the 8th grade. I’ve hated every one of your little boyfriends and I’ve coveted you for years. I’m not joking.”
“Then why haven’t you said anything? Why didn’t you come get me when I was right here?”
The tears fall more now. And he keep kissing your cheeks to remove them, “Because I’m an asshole. I’m a fucking asshole who was too afraid of you saying no. Too afraid of when you left. I didn’t want to lose you. But I can’t take it anymore Chiqi. I can’t take another boyfriend. I’m selfish. I’m a selfish asshole. I want you for myself. I want you to yell at me and call me stupid as long as it means you never leave my place and you never leave my side. Cmon Chiqi…. Let me call you mine.”
You stared at him. He was telling the truth. He was being raw and real and you knew that this wasn’t some act. This was Santi in his rawest form. He wanted you. You brought your hand around to squeeze his cheeks together, “I want you to take me on a date. A real one. Not the bar or the bowling alley with the boys. I want dinner that you pay for. And flowers. And for you to wear a real shirt.”
He shakes your hand off and smiles, “Tomorrow night. I take you to The Colombia. I pick you up. With roses.”
“Do I get to order flan?”
He smiles even wider, “Only if you let me feed it to you like those stupid romance books you read.”
You shove him and he laughs and pulls you closer, “Kiss me and seal the deal Chiqitita. C’mon don’t be mad. Kiss me and tell me you’re mine.”
You couldn’t keep yourself from laughing, making him work for your kiss. You finally relent, pulling him in for the best kiss ever. The best kiss of your life. Until tomorrow’s
#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfiction#santiago garcia x reader#santiago garcia#Santiago ‘pope’ Garcia#santiago garcia x you#Santiago Garcia x y/n#oscar isaac#Oscar Isaac Characters#100 follower celebration
87 notes
·
View notes
Text
Then and Now
Summary: The boys want a second pass at that fucking money. They need your help. The only problem is that you and Santiago aren't talking, not anymore, not since everything went so sideways.
Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Reader
Word Count: ~15.5k
Warnings: angst, pining, canon level violence, lots and lots of cursing, PTSD and assorted metal health issues, smut (p in v), best friend Benny Miller (yeah it needs a warning), reader has a nickname (Blue) in the same way the others do (Pope, Fish, etc.) sparingly used
A/N: Thank you for reading! Please forgive anything that is militarily inaccurate/inaccurate to the ravine location, I changed some things to fit the story better. I am so very aware I'm basically writing in what is probably a dead fandom for a meh movie. That doesn't matter to me, what matters is all that Oscar Isaac ass and the fact that this is genuinely my favorite movie at the moment. That, and when @velvetofyourheart asks for something, I can't really say no.
Tanya, thank you so much for your wonderful idea and always encouraging my aquarius god-complex. This is your fic, you own it. This is your Santi, never let anyone tell you any differently. I love you. Happy very belated birthday.
Now
Fog is still rolling over your front yard when Benny Miller’s familiar jeep swings into your driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
You sit down your cup of coffee, the many rings lining your fingers clinking against the ceramic, and huff out a breath at his audacity, showing up at your place so early in the day.
The morning is muggy but cool, condensation beading along the porch railing where your feet are propped up, booted feet crossed at the ankle.
The jeep’s headlights go out and the driver’s side door pops open. Benny smiles at you when he climbs out, giving you a big, exaggerated wave before he lopes over, all sweetheart golden retriever energy.
Benny is big feelings and big gestures in a body that would never be enough to trap it all inside, that could never cage all that wild energy.
“Well, fuck,” you say when he climbs the porch stairs. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
You haven’t seen him in a couple weeks.
Benny, who you used to see daily.
But not anymore, not since he came home beat to hell and looking like a lost dog. Not since he told you everything that happened in Colombia.
Not since he told you how Tom died, how everything they did was so fucked.
Wouldn’ta happened if you were there. You keep our heads on straight. He had told you that day, crying like you were kids again on your back deck in the setting sun.
Benny laughs and leans against the banister, a brown folder held in one hand. You eye the folder as you flick open the pack of cigarettes in your lap, knocking out a smoke and lighter. “Whatever it is,” you nod at his hand, “The answer is no.”
“You don’t even know what it is,” Ben says innocently. “And you know they say those things will kill you.”
“Fuck you, Miller, this is my one indulgence,” you say amicably as you light up, blowing smoke away from him.
Coffee and a cigarette on your front porch each morning before work, before driving half an hour into town to serve bitchy local teens still half coked out of their minds from the night before and surly truck drivers just passing through town - that was your indulgence, that was all you could allow yourself, all you could afford most days.
Benny reaches up to pull off his ball cap, runs a hand through his hair and replaces the hat backwards, before he sighs. “We’re going back for that money. We need you there. Can’t do it without you, obviously. First time you aren’t with us and everything goes to hell.”
You scoff, taking a long drag on your cigarette, holding in the nicotine for a long moment before you exhale through your nose, “You’ve gotta be kidding, Benny.”
“Not a chance,” Benny says, weirdly serious, “Not with this. Someone else is gonna find it and then what?”
“Suppose it goes to the next drug lord in line,” you raise a brow at him. “Y’all are really going back for that money? That got Tom killed? Didn’t you fuck it up enough already? Leave it lie, it's cursed.”
Benny winces and straightens, moving to drop heavily onto the wooden porch swing hanging from the ceiling. It creaks beneath him as he leans back and sighs, sounding more exhausted than you’ve ever known him to be.
“Redfly wouldn’t want that money falling into the wrong hands.”
“Yeah he’d want it in his hands,” you snap, feeling only slightly guilty about talking ill of the dead. “Or did you forget what happened down there?”
Benny doesn’t say anything for a moment, cornflower blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, he won’t be there this time.”
“So why go back? Pope’s greed eating at him again? You know you guys don’t have to do everything he says.” When Benny doesn’t say anything, you glance over at him, watch the way he sighs lightly and the circles beneath his eyes seem to deepen in real time. “Hey, I’m sorry, Ben. That was cruel of me.”
You stub out your near finished cigarette and grab your cup of coffee, crossing the porch to slide down next to him and knock your cup into his leg. “You look like you could use this.”
He takes the mug from you, drawing a long swig of coffee before he hands it back to you.
He eyes your hands, taps one finger against yours. “You still wear Santi’s ring.”
Santi’s ring.
It wasn’t an engagement ring, no, you’d have to be in a relationship for that to have happened. He’d picked it up at a flea market somewhere, polished it up himself and presented it to you like it meant nothing.
I know how much you like rings, he had said simply, nodding at the many rings that lined your fingers.
You never take it off.
You sigh and lean back, your shoulder brushing Ben’s as you both stare up at the cobwebbed ceiling. “Just because he hates me, doesn’t mean I feel the same way about him.”
He doesn’t comment on that and the silence stretches between you for a long time.
Ben eventually says your name and you roll your head toward him to meet his eyes. You can tell he’s thinking exactly the same thing you are - that you both look exhausted. You’ve known Benny since forever and reading him is like looking at a jumbotron at a Marlins game - so fucking obvious it was painful sometimes.
“You really wanna keep doing this forever? Stay in this shithole town and do nothing? Serve the fuck ups at that diner?” Benny pumps you, poking your sore spots. He knows you hate being trapped, hates the stupid town you live in. “Treated like shit? Making no money? No thanks for the sacrifices you made?”
You roll your eyes, “You sound like Pope. Save it, Ben.”
“Maybe he’s right about some things. Listen, we paid our dues to Tom’s family. We went through hell and everything is still the fucking same. Maybe we deserve that money.” When you don’t respond immediately, he continues, “Think about it. Hard part is already done. Money’s already stolen, we just gotta go pick it up.”
“Actually got a plan this time though?” You ask, knocking your knee into Ben’s. “Shit went so sideways last time.”
He looks away from you, bangs a fist against his thigh and stands, pacing around your porch as you watch, the Florida heat finally starting to creep in for the day. “It’s gotta be easy. In and out.”
“Aren’t Lorea’s men still in the area? Or whoever’s running the place now? Didn’t half the fucking town see your faces?”
“Who says we need to go into that town at all?”
“Ah. So there is no plan.”
“There is,” he nods at the folder he’d left on the swing next to you. “Santiago’s got something started.”
Santi.
An image flashes through your mind, of him standing on this very same porch, the roar of thunder and rain in your ears as a midnight storm passed through, the din of it so loud as Santiago stood there and hollered at you.
“You really won’t do this with us?” His voice had been harsh, a lingering accusation on his tongue. “When one of us bleeds out and you aren’t there, that’s going to be on you.”
You had recoiled, felt that sting like a slap. “Fuck you, Pope.” And you saw him flinch at the use of that name. You never called him that, you always called him by his true name. “Don’t blame your greed on me. Don’t pretend this is about anything else than that money. Lorea is a sideshow at best to you.”
“And don’t you fucking pretend like this life is enough for you! Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t do anything to get out of this fucking town!”
His hair had been damp, sticking to his forehead, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I already did, Santiago. We’ve all been to hell and back already.” You had shaken your head, “And this is my line. I’m not fucking up those communities anymore than they already are.”
Santi’s face hadn’t changed, but his eyes had burned hotter, scorching into you. You’d touched a nerve and you knew it. “You’re a coward. I’m not even asking you to take fire. Not like before. Something happens to one of us, don’t bother coming to the fucking funeral. You’re leaving us a man down and without med support.”
“So that’s all you want me to do, huh? Come with you and play nurse? Fuck off, I’m the best shot of any of you.”
“Yeah and shit at everything else. There’s a reason we stuck you out as the sniper. Keeps you away from anything important. But now you’re leaving us without cover.”
And that, that fucking stung, you’d recoiled from him and said quietly. “Fine. I was useless all those years. My answer is still no.”
And without another glance at you, he’d walked off your porch and out of your life.
Only when Benny showed up after Tom was already in the grave did you find out what happened.
Now, you shake your head and glance at the folder, you can see the edges of a few documents poking out. “Did he send you?”
“No. No one knows I’m here. Except Will.” Of course, anything Benny knew, Benny had already shared three times over with his older brother.
“I think you’ve forgotten, Ben. Pope hates me. It’s all my fault shit went sideways for y’all.” You swallow, “According to him anyways. I left you without cover.”
It’s what you know Santi would say to you, if he’d talk to you again.
“You know he didn’t mean any of that shit. He was just pissed he wasn’t getting his way,” Benny says, still pacing the porch, floorboards creaking with every long stride. “He was just pissed he couldn’t get all of Delta back together. What happened wasn’t your fault.”
But as much as you miss Tom, as much as you had mourned him, you can’t help thinking about how much worse it would have been if it had been Benny or Will.
Or Santi.
Fuck, Santiago could have died, and that would have been on you.
A member of your family had died and you hadn’t been there, you hadn’t even been allowed to mourn.
You roll your eyes now and pick up the folder, sliding the edge of your nail beneath the thick cardstock.
But the pain in your heart lingers as you think about the anger in Santi’s eyes that day. The knowledge now that your absence might have caused a rift in the team, that Tom’s reckless play for more money than any of them could handle and Will’s wounded side slowing them down might be your fault for throwing off team dynamics.
“I get why you couldn’t do it then. But now? No one has to get hurt now. Someone worse finds that money, then what happens?”
You’d grown up with the Millers, met Santiago when you went with Benny into the army and eventually got recruited to Delta.
It had been the only way to make it out of your small town, with no money for college and no scholarship opportunities despite your grades, you’d felt it was your only chance. And going with Benny to the recruitment center to follow Will, who’d left a few years before, hadn’t seemed so bad.
You had stuck by Benny and to your surprise, or maybe to no one’s surprise, both of you were good at it. Good at shooting and killing and clawing bloody tracks into the ground beneath your feet. Good at ruining and destroying, good at being disciplined and regimented and hard. Good at following orders and being better than everyone else.
You and Benny were to become the babies of Delta Force, the younger pair that always seemed to lag a bit behind the other four more mature and experienced guys. If it weren’t for Will, you might not have been placed in the same unit. But Will had been adamant about recommending both of you, about placing both of you with Delta.
And the superiors had gotten tired of fighting with him.
Benny and Will were the brothers you never had, the family you always wanted.
Santiago and Frankie and Tom only pulled you in tighter, only made you cling on harder, gave you something solid to hang onto.
Santiago. God, Santiago.
You wanted him the moment you saw him, with that curling hair that grayed as the years wore on, with those crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled that deepened every year, with the way that he stared at you like you held the secrets of the universe, with a gaze so feverish and consuming it was hard not to be pulled into his orbit, right to the center of his world.
Santiago pulled a little too hard, loved a little bit too intensely. You’d known the second he showed up at your place that stormy night that whatever he had to say to you was about to break you, that he was about to rip the thread that he had wound around his fingers since the second you met him right out of your heart.
Something about Santi was so magnetic, so intense, you couldn’t look away, pull away, if you wanted.
He annoyed you to no end, shielded you from nothing despite your awards and metals for excellency in the field, despite your being on a fucking special ops team, and one of the only women to do so no less. He and Tom had taken one look at your record the day you were reassigned to them, and advocated for your shooting skills, that you worked best at a distance, and had taken you under his wing.
You wanted to slap him and you loved him and he was so complicated that you wanted to cry just thinking about it.
Santiago was also lonely, lonely in the same way you were.
You could be in a room full of people, surrounded by those you loved, and still feel separate, apart, alone.
Santi was the same - and so you drifted together.
You were something undefined for years and maybe that was the problem.
There was a tension neither of you dared address when you were in the service together, not when things were so terribly dangerous at all times, not when feelings could get everyone killed, could have the team that was like a family pulled apart by superiors.
When your time was up and as your honorable discharge along with the rest of Delta approached, things got more real, too real. Santiago was always there at your periphery, like a wraith you couldn’t ignore.
He was the nucleus of your world, the center of your universe, and you wanted to hate him for it.
“You and Miller gonna shack up after all this, hermosa?” He’d asked one of those last few nights together, at a base canteen.
You’d looked up from the beer you were nursing. “Which one?” You tried to joke, but it didn’t land, and the tension between you thickened until you felt you might choke on it.
You had never wanted to kiss someone so bad, Santi tilting his head toward yours until he was all you could see, everything else blotted out, until the smell of his aftershave threatened to drown you or resurrect you.
“C’mon Blue. Ben seems keen on it,” he notes.
“Benny’s got more than he can handle as it is.”
You don’t know why you hadn’t just denied it, you knew there was something between you and Santiago, that he bred feelings in you that you didn’t know what to do with. But it felt too close to the truth, like something too close to your heart. So you didn’t correct yourself, and gave a hollow laugh, like it was all a joke.
It was only when you got home and things got restless and bad that it happened. Will attacked some guy in a grocery store, you had to bail Benny out of jail for bar fights twice. Frankie and Tom disappeared into their families.
And Santi…when you called, he came.
He came and he held you while you cried and wondered where everything had gone wrong. You’d escaped the town, gone farther and faster than you ever thought you would, and yet here you were back again, with a broken heart and a broken soul, and friends and brothers you couldn’t help, a listlessness settling between your bones that you didn’t know how to name.
You were still so young, and had seen and done so much, and had nothing to show for it. You had seen and done things you could never come back from.
And then, you were back in the same town, with the same people, and no prospects.
You’d had half a mind to join Benny in his bar fights, just to feel something, just to make the ache inside your bones go away. But then Will would have had to bail you both out and neither of you wanted that.
The loss of your routine, your regimented military life, sent you and the Millers spiraling for a while.
But you and Benny tended to follow Will, and when he pulled his head out of his ass, so did the two of you - group counseling, hobbies, jobs, - things that gave you meaning and routine, that kept you from spiraling into the worst kind of crisis.
Compartmentalizing became key.
But you never really figured out how to compartmentalize Santi, never knew where to slot him in your mind.
He’d been there for you, the violence and reintegration into civilian life hadn’t seemed to phase him, and maybe that was because he’d never returned to it - working with independent contractors and security services abroad, right back into the fray.
He came and went, but he always came back to you.
When you called, he came.
He had come with groceries or take out, stayed with you for a weekend. He’d refuse to let you back away from the violent feelings inside you, fucking them right out of you sometimes, letting you use him or him use you, depending on the mood.
You were something close to a relationship, but not quite.
Things got better with Santi around, with doing group therapy at the VA, your job at the diner, and taking up boxing as a hobby. Poker nights started up, bar nights, going to Benny’s fights together when he started MMA.
And when Santi was in town - even better.
You watch Benny pace around your porch now, and flip open the file. “I’ll take a look, Benny,” you say gently. “You’re gonna wear a hole through my floor.”
You couldn’t lose all of that, you can’t let your family do something so stupid without you again.
“Think about it, sweetheart,” he says, suddenly dropping next to you on the swing again, causing it to jolt and rattle your teeth. “You could do something so good with that money. Someone else finds it first, it's just gonna have more blood spilled on it.”
You laugh, “Fuck you, Benny.”
“And be set for fuckin’ life,” he says. “C’mon, what’s not to like?”
“Pope won’t like it.”
“Fuck Pope. He’ll get over it. We all miss you.”
You miss them too, and you can’t let them go alone again.
Then
The third time you break down after you’re stateside, you call Santi, because he’s your life line, your hook into reality, your tether to the Earth.
Santi always comes when you call, he always knows exactly what you need.
The first two times you called, he came with takeout, with a movie, and sat with you on your couch for two days straight because you had so much fear built up inside you, you couldn’t move.
Going into the military wasn’t the hard part, you found, it was coming home.
The third time, he finds you in the bedroom of the apartment you rented as soon as you were back in town.
“Hey,” he crouches down across from your place on the floor, curled between your nightstand and the edge of the bed. “You okay?”
“I don’t think I can do this, Santi,” you mutter, feeling like your lungs are collapsing, like you can’t breathe. “Fuck, I don’t think I can. Everything - God, it's so loud, but it's too quiet. Everyone is just going around like everything is fucking normal - like - like - ”
Like you hadn’t killed and bled and fought and cursed and -
Santi nods, “I remember my first time on leave was like that. Just sat in my fucking bedroom for two weeks straight because I didn’t know how to be anymore.”
Your frantic eyes seek his out, his intense gaze that was heavy enough to feel like a weighted blanket against you, soothing the ache inside you a little, before he holds his arms out to you.
You crawl across the carpet to fit yourself into his lap when he falls to his ass with a groan. You breathe hard and fast, his scent like catnip to you, fingers tangling hard into his shirt.
“Thought you were gonna hole up with Ben.”
“Fuck you, Santiago. You know Ben is like my brother,” you grit out, pulling so hard on his shirt that you think it might rip in your fingers. You tuck your head under his chin, feel the slow slide of his touch up your side, listen to the steady beat of his heart.
His touch is warm, it grounds you, makes you feel so very safe.
His comment about Benny reminds you of something, of something you should have told him that night weeks ago at the canteen.
“Maybe I shouldn’t say it now, but Santi I -,”
Before you can continue, he presses a finger under your chin, to tip your head up. He doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, just stares at you - just pins you down with that unwavering stare, brown eyes like chips of amber.
“I know,” he says simply, so gentle and cocksure as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “I know, hermosa. Me too.”
You suck in a breath but whatever you’re about to say, dies on your lips. Santiago presses a hand to the back of your neck, holds you firm and doesn’t let you look away, his eyes flicking down your face. “Tell me you want me, baby. I’ll give it to you. Help you shut out the world.”
You’re so drunk on his gaze, at the way he holds you hard and soft and tight and fucking perfect - that you don’t hesitate when you say, “Please, Santi, I want you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears you.
One strong hand cups beneath your chin, fingers tight against your skin as Santiago kisses you for the first time.
It’s not a gentle kiss.
It’s like breathing in smoke, like choking down hot coal, but you revel in the pain, you take pleasure in the way he fights to consume you, in the way his strong jaw juts forward in a harsh pass of his lips against yours.
He’s rough with you, that first time, because he knows it's what you need, that you can handle it, that you’ve had worse.
But you’ve never had better, will never have better again.
Santiago kisses you like a man possessed, he bites you, he tears his fingers into your flesh, down into the marrow of your bones. He pushes you down into the carpet and doesn’t waste time with helping you out of your clothes.
He shoves his hand down the front of your cotton shorts without preamble, his fingers expert in seeking out your wet heat. His mouth stays on yours as you tug at his hair, pull and pull until he hisses and shoves a finger inside you.
You forget about the world, about how you don’t recognize your town and recognize it all too well - how the ordered madness you were used to sustaining you was gone.
The pain you feel is subsumed by Santiago’s heavy presence, the way he pulls back from you but hardly lets you breathe - his fingers in your mouth, the taste of yourself in your mouth, his hand insistent on the back of your neck.
You claw at his back, raking your nails over him as he licks into your mouth, holding your head still with a hand on your neck, beneath your jaw. He pinches your nipple through your shirt so hard it stings but all you can do is arch up into him.
Santi pulls back from you, a whine you can’t control rattling out of your throat.
“Fuuuck,” he groans into your skin, “Fuck. Fuck.”
He pulls back and yanks on your shorts, “Off.”
You scramble to remove your hands from him, to push your shorts down your legs until they get caught up on your ankles.
Santi doesn’t bother with undressing, just yanks down the zipper of his jeans until he can free himself. He sits back with a groan, knees protesting, so he can yank your shorts off your ankles before he slots himself back over you, his dick slipping against you.
The heat of him clears your mind, the anxiety and the thoughts you couldn’t stop from consuming you before, washing away until your mind is pleasantly empty, a blank white space that only Santiago can fill.
The town doesn’t exist, the past doesn’t exist, none of the things you’d done exists, you are purified, you are only the tips of your toes and the edges of your fingers, one long nerve ending.
His mouth is back on yours and you curl your hands back into his hair again, groaning into his mouth when he roughly yanks up the hem of your shirt to your armpits, large calloused hand palming your tits roughly, his mouth skating down your throat to your chest, until he can pull one stiff nipple between his teeth and tug.
You can only moan, fisting your hand into his hair to jerk his lips back to yours.
“Santi,” you murmur against his mouth. “Santi.”
“That’s it, hermosa. Say my name,” he breathes into your skin as he notches his cock at your entrance. “Say my name,” he demands when you don’t immediately answer.
“Santiago,” you whimper, pathetically needy, the air punched out of your lungs when his hips snap forward. He’s fully seated within you in one hard push, your thighs burning, the stretch of him so painful you cry out. “Don’t,” you hold onto his arms, force him to stay where he is when he starts to pull back. “Fuck, don’t, feels so good.”
Santiago doesn’t need anymore encouragement, hips drawing back just far enough to slam into you again, pushing you up the carpet.
He sets a brutal pace, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, the burn easing and the pleasure settling in.
Santiago whispers to you in Spanish and even though you speak the language well enough, you can’t make yourself understand what he’s saying.
The heat builds inside you until you feel like you might scream, until you feel like your body might give out on you.
But Santi always knows what you need, always knows you.
And so he slows the pace of his hips, dips his mouth to your neck and presses a finger through your folds, tracing circles around your clit until you come with an earth shattering force.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering against the sweat slick skin of your throat, the only thing real in the whole world to you in that moment him. “Look at you, fucking soaked my cock, baby. So perfect.” And then he’s whispering in Spanish again, something about so fucking perfect, all mine. You’re fucking mine.
You don’t let Santiago pull away from you, the hot weight of him against you drowning out every horrifying thought in your head. You feel him seeping out of you, feel the grip of his fingers against the fleshy part of your hip, tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck.
He doesn’t move, doesn't try to, and stays buried inside you. Santiago whispers sweet as sugar words right into your hairline until he’s hard again, and then he fucks you so softly - you’re sure its what love should feel like.
~
And so, for a while after you come home, that’s all your life is, fighting and fucking and hating the world for chewing you up and spitting you out, and not being strong enough to fucking take it.
~
The fucking is by far the best part.
You feel best when Santiago is with you, when his cock is buried so deep inside you it’s the only thing you can think about - when you’re cockdumb and sex drunk.
That’s when things feel normal again.
That’s when your brain finally shuts the fuck up.
But then Will pulls it together, starts getting real help, and inevitably you and Benny follow suit.
It doesn’t stop you and Santi from fucking like rabbits, but it makes it softer, it lets you round out the edges of your heart against his.
The thing between you stays undefined, but it comes somewhere close to ownership. Santi is yours and you are his, though it’s never said out loud.
He dances with you around your kitchen, spars with you in your backyard when you put a down payment on your house, cooks you breakfast, and asks for input on his consulting jobs.
Santi tries to get you to come with him, back to those places you’d left behind, back to the fight, back to the guns and blood and drugs.
But you can’t do it, at least not yet.
For a moment in time, you are content, content with that small town, your little job.
Will starts giving speeches to recruits, Benny starts MMA, Frankie gets married, Tom spends more time with his daughter.
You and Santiago - your worlds revolve around each other, when he’s in town and when he isn’t, how quickly he can drive from the airport to your house, how he catches you in the front yard in his arms and spins you around.
Sometimes, you don’t even make it inside.
You have no neighbors for several miles, and the front porch steps were a good a place as any to fuck.
Unfortunately that’s the same day that Will decides to swing by with your new boxing gloves you’d asked him to get you. Will gets a full view of Santi’s ass, but he never pulls out, never stops fucking you.
“He’s seen worse,” he laughs into your ear, nipping at your skin as heat pools embarrassment around your bones, the man who was like your brother doing a one-eighty to hightail it back down the road. “Don’t worry about him, cariño.”
It’s then as he laughs and kisses you, kisses away the annoyed groan, that you realize that you love him, really love him.
And that you’d probably never love anyone else.
Now
“Hey, there she is!” You hear Will announce as soon as you slam the door of your truck shut, parked against the curb outside Santi’s place.
“Hey Blue,” Frankie calls when you approach the group sitting around a picnic table, a canopy of emerald green shielding them from the sun and prying eyes. A cooler of beer popped open, burgers on the grill.
You smile and accept the hug Frankie offers you, moving quickly to Will and then Benny, despite seeing the Millers often enough, now that you and Ben were back to seeing each other daily.
Santi can’t even be bothered enough to turn from the grill. He says nothing and a fissure of pain cracks open your chest, your heart bleeding all over again, just like that.
“How’re you Frankie? How’s the baby?” You slide into the open space next to him on the bench, accepting the beer he reaches down into the cooler at his side to hand you.
Will automatically starts constructing a burger for you, disregarding the onions and adding extra pickles and an extra slice of cheese, without you having to ask.
It makes your heart hurt to be with them. These were the people you’d been through so much with, who knew so many little things about you.
No onions, extra pickles, extra cheese.
You feel the absence of Tom suddenly, like a hole in the middle of your little family.
Santi’s disregard does nothing to help the feeling.
“Good,” Frankie says. “They’re okay.”
“That’s great-,”
“So,” Benny interrupts, ever tackless, “We gonna talk about this thing or not?”
“Jesus, Ben,” Will says. “Let her settle in.”
Benny raises his brows and looks at you, “You settled?”
“I’m good,” you nod, “Always.”
“There ya go, girl’s all settled up. Let’s talk.”
Santiago joins you at the table then, plate of freshly grilled burgers deposited in the center of the table.
Will passes you the burger he’d assembled for you.
Silence descends, awkward and piercing for a long moment as you look around at them. Pope holds your gaze when you meet his eyes, and for the first time in years, you can’t read the look in them.
You glance away, back at Frankie who you haven’t seen since forever and Will who you infrequently saw these days. “I missed y’all,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.
The heckling that immediately follows breaks the ice surrounding the group of you, Frankie cooing sarcastically at you as Will laughs and Benny breaks open a bag of chips that you know he won’t share with anyone else.
“Fuck you guys,” you say without venom.
“We missed you too, kid,” Will says, Frankie throwing an arm around your shoulders.
“Yeah, sister,” Frankie intones, “When are you finally gonna come meet my kid?”
You take a sip of your beer, “As soon as you invite me, Fish.”
“So you take invitations now?” Santiago’s voice cuts through the chatter, his eyes are still glued to your face when you look back at him, the coolness in his voice matching the ice in his eyes.
Something in your chest crumbles and you can’t make yourself keep his gaze this time.
You glance away.
“Pope,” Will warns, a threat lurking in his voice. “You wanna start us off?”
Santiago finally looks away from you, his jaw clenching, before he rattles off the strategy he’d devised - a one day plot to get the money.
You sit and listen without looking at him, thinking of all the ways this plan can go sideways. Again.
Thinking of all the ways you could lose another one of your boys, how the group might not survive losing another member.
You hear the others take up threads, concerns - namely how you would get the money out of the ravine, how it could be transported without notice to the beach. They would hire the same boat as the last time, to transport the money off the coast and out of the country, to the same bank setting up the off-shore shell accounts.
“Can you approach the ravine from any other way than through that town?” You ask.
“Not unless we’re goin’ over the fuckin’ Andes again,” Benny answers you. “And I’m out if that’s the plan.”
“No,” Santi confirms, “Through the town is the only way.”
You consider quietly, biting into your burger as Will details the town’s layout, where you could expect areas that would probably cause issues for you.
“And weapons?” You inquire. “We need to be armed.”
“There’s a shipping freight -,” Santi offers.
“Oh, fuck, you’re not seriously considering arms trafficking on top of everything else, are you? That’s so fucking tracable.”
“You got a problem you can fucking go,” Santi bites back at you. “We don’t have the benefit of time to go scrambling for arms sourced in-country.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and consider for a moment wondering if you should offer or if Pope would just bite your head off again. “No,” you say quietly. “I think I might be able to help there. Contact that might be able to make a drop for us. Something locally sourced.”
Will is nodding, smiles at you, “So no arms trafficking. That’s something.”
Santi reluctantly nods, shoulders loosening.
You might be at odds at the moment, but he does trust you with things like this, knows you would never suggest something that might put the team at a real risk. “I’ll reach out and let you know when it's confirmed.”
Pope saws a hand over his chin and nods, and you recognize that gleam in his eyes, that intensity that said he was starting to believe in this plan, he was starting to see the fruits of this labor.
It's akin to the way he used to look at you, when he would make promises to you that he eventually broke.
The rest of the conversation passes you by, rappelling gear and fuel and rations and passports and how to move the money once it was out of the ravine - but you can’t stop looking at Santi.
He’s always been beautiful, since you first met him all those years ago, when you and Benny had just passed the ASVAB and were then recommended to join Delta by Will.
Anything to keep the siblings together.
He’d been beautiful then with wild dark curls and brown skin darkened by sun exposure, solid and sure and steady.
But now, with the pepper of gray in his hair and the darkness in his eyes, the kindness that he showed every stranger, the slightly startled way he always laughed, his creaky knees - well, he’d only gotten more beautiful.
Age suited him well.
The conversation closes - with you assigned to the arms issue and Will sorting out local transport, if the money was even possible to retrieve.
Benny pokes you in the side as he helps Frankie ball up the used paper plates and gather empty beer bottles, and tilts his head toward where Santi stands fiddling with the grill.
You roll your eyes and shove him back but take the hint and stand.
Santi doesn’t turn when you stop next to him, watching as he meticulously cleans the grill.
“We gonna hate each other forever?” You ask, stepping close to him, his shoulders going stiff beneath his t-shirt.
“I don’t hate you,” he mutters, glancing up but not quite meeting your eyes as he drops the scrub brush in his hand, folding his arms over his chest.
“No? Sure seems like it,” you muse. “Didn’t even invite me to Redfly’s funeral.”
Santi says your name, a sigh that makes your stomach curdle. “We didn’t want you implicated. Everything had went so fuckin’ bad and you knew way more than I should have told you.”
You nod, like it makes you feel any better. “Yeah, I get it.” You almost don’t ask, but you can’t help the question that slips out, “And after that? Why didn’t you come home after that?”
Santiago finally looks at you, his intense gaze locking onto yours and you freeze, pinned down by that heaviness, that stare that is so soft and piercing. The ice in his eyes has curiously melted down into a warm brown, his brows tugging together. “I’d done enough damage.”
And he leaves it at that.
~
Santiago always comes when you call, and you call him for the first time since he left your porch that last night before things went to hell.
Benny’s already at your place, parked on the couch in front of the TV with a beer in his hand and a bag of cheetos spilling onto the worn fabric.
“Hey Benny boy,” you hear Santiago say when he comes in the back door. “Our girl around?”
Our girl - something all the guys used to teasingly say, something that had annoyed you to no end because you just wanted to be, be a part of the team and the family. It was only after a year being with Delta that you’d realized that was exactly what it meant. That you belonged.
“Blue’s in the kitchen,” you hear Benny say through a mouthful of what you’re sure is toxic orange cheeto dust drifting down onto your couch.
Santi laughs and his footsteps sound on the linoleum, tracking closer to you. “Hey,” he says. “Benny’s fucking up your couch.”
“Yeah nothing new there,” you say, turning from the counter where you’ve just finished rolling out premade pizza dough onto a tray. “It’s a Friday tradition at this point. Beer and fucking up the couch with crumbs.”
Santi stands in the doorway, gazing around with a stricken expression for a moment, and you wonder if it's jarring for him - to be back in this house with you, after spending so much time in it and then leaving it abruptly behind.
You’d quit each other cold turkey, and the separation had not been easy for you. Especially not when traces of Pope lived all through the house, not when he’d fucked you in every room, made you laugh in every room, carried you from the couch to bed, cooked meals together, danced together.
But when Santi meets your eyes, his gaze goes intense, assessing, like he’ll never know everything about you. But sometimes, like now, that ferociousness also feels like it's concealing something, hiding something.
“You had an update?” He prompts, leaning against the door jam with his arms crossed, ball cap shading his eyes as he scuffs a booted toe against the floor.
“Yeah, thought I probably shouldn’t be sharing over the phone,” you wipe your hands on a dishtowel and try not to feel his gaze lingering on you from beneath the bill of his hat. You turn to the fridge and dig out the pizza sauce you’d made earlier in the week with the tomatoes that Santi had once planted in your backyard, various cheeses, and the toppings Benny had brought over.
He had a bizarre palate that you didn’t try to understand - so one side would be Benny and the other just cheese.
“My contact got back to me. He can make the drop. But only to me,” you hip check the silverware drawer closed after grabbing a spoon and turn back to the pizza, spooning sauce onto the dough.
“I’m thinking this,” you continue, “I go into the town alone, do the weapons pick-up, get the transport Will is arranging, meet y’all down the coast and we go around and up into the mountains. I know it's a way longer route but it's probably worth it for you guys not to go through the town. In the meantime, you guys just have to sit tight in that cove's cave.” You nod at a folded map at the end of the counter. “If we can get enough fuel arranged, there’s a way around that I mapped out. Roads shouldn’t be too much trouble this time of year.”
He doesn’t move to pick up the map.
You finish with the sauce and start sprinkling cheese, feeling Santi lurch away from the doorway and approach you slowly, until he’s beside you and every muscle in your body is tense and hot. “Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“It’s a good plan,” you say, tearing some fresh mozzarella. “Keeps you boys outta the town. Gets us weapons that were sourced in-country, fuel, and a ride.”
“And puts you right in the firing line. You’d haveta land and be without weapons until the drop. What if your contact doesn’t show?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m the only face that won’t be recognized.”
Santi rolls his eyes, “They’ll know you’re a foreigner and that might be enough.”
“I’ll be careful.”
You can feel Santiago’s irritation building. “Why are you so gung-ho to do this now? You’ve always been shit at infiltration. There’s a reason you’re the sniper.”
Since one of you died! You want to shout.
“Fuck off, Pope,” you say instead as he takes his hat off and tosses it down, leaning his forearms onto the counter next to you before ducking his head and running his hands through his hair. “You know why I didn’t want to do it the first time around. And now -,”
And now you were terrified that if you didn’t go, another member of your family would come home in a bodybag.
And you wouldn’t even get to go to the funeral.
And this time it could be Santi or Benny or -
You clench your eyes shut, the heat of Santiago next to you too much suddenly. You suck in a sharp breath and try to get the panic bubbling up under control.
“Hey -,”
His voice is too soft, too close.
“Whatever,” you cut him off. “What-fucking-ever, Pope. I’m shit. I was never valuable to Delta. I get it, okay? But this is your best shot. Unless you wanna go coordinate shipping arms into some backwater town through cartel territory.”
Santiago stares at you, his gaze wide and shocked, so unlike the hard stare he usually sported. His mouth softens a fraction but you turn away, adding the gross shit Benny wanted onto his side of the pizza.
“Yes or no?” you ask. “This is it. This is how we do it.”
“One of us stays with you. We split two-three.” You open your mouth to retort when he continues, his voice strangely quiet. “I understand you have to go to the drop by yourself, everything else doesn’t haveta be. You need someone watching your six.”
You heave a sigh, picking up the pan with the finished pizza to stick in the oven. “Jesus, what the hell does that kid eat?” Santi asks, noting the toppings.
“Shit,” you answer, snapping the oven door closed. “Who?”
“Frankie. He can make up for your shit Spanish.”
You quickly catalog another thing you’re deficient in, swallowing thickly.
“Fine.”
Santi nods and keeps staring at you, staring at you standing in the middle of your kitchen with your arms crossed.
And you feel the sudden urge to cry, to break down and scream.
Your breath is heavy in your chest, and the weight of Santi’s eyes on you doesn’t help.
“We should talk about it,” he says.
You shake your head, grab a beer from the fridge and walk out of the kitchen, down the hall and past the living room where Benny was invested in a baseball game, and out onto your back deck.
Santiago follows you, snapping the screen door closed after him. “C’mon.”
“No. You left it the way it is. We don’t need to talk about it,” you knock the bottle cap off the beer with one well placed smack against the edge of the deck railing.
But you can’t find it in yourself to drink it and so you set it aside.
Santi’s jaw clenches and he runs an agitated hand through his hair, pacing a line back and forth before he stops and cups a hand over his chin. “Don’t be stubborn about this, Blue.”
“Fuck off, Pope.”
He rolls his eyes and approaches you, stepping right into your space, crowding you against the banister, bracketing his arms around you, palms against the railing behind you. He tilts his head over yours, his nose nearly touching yours. “I missed you. I wanted to come back. I didn’t know how.”
You scoff. “It was easy. You could have walked through the door.” You grit your teeth, “Would you have even told me Tom died? Or would I have seen it on fucking Facebook from his widow months later?”
Santi flinches at your accusation but doesn’t back down, his eyes still boring into your, his voice quiet. “Yes. You’re our family. You know one of us would have, if Ben hadn’t.”
“Right,” you say disbelievingly. “It hurt the most that I didn’t hear from you. Did I ever really mean anything to you? Or was I just a liability to the team? Another whore to get you through the night?”
“What?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Santiago. You never came home. And I know you were fucking people when you were out of town. I always knew.”
His eyes are so dark they read black in the fading evening sunshine. “Is that what you think? That I was sitting around here playing house with you for fun?”
Your belly lurches. “Get away from me,” you snap, shoving at his shoulder. “I don’t need you to call me stupid in my own house. I got it, Santi. I wasn’t good enough for the team and I wasn’t good enough for you. I get it.”
He makes a noise of frustration and doesn’t move. “Stop being so fucking hardheaded.”
“Okay,” you sniff. “Go ahead then. What do you want to say? About that night, about why you never came home? About what you said to me?”
Santi gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to just give into him, “I - I -,” he flounders.
“Yeah,” you duck under his arm, snatch up your beer, and head back inside, “That’s what I thought.”
~
“You never went out there to see her? Fuuuck man, no wonder she’s pissed,” Benny says, offloading their tac bags into the sand of the cove from the dinghy, the walls of the cave-like outcropping reflecting in the shallow water.
Will moves the bags further up the sand and doesn’t say anything.
And Santiago - he doesn’t know what to fucking say about any of it.
Going back to that house, back to you, after everything he’d said to you, after he’d implied that any injuries they got would be your fault, after he told you that you were a weight to their team even though it was the farthest thing from the truth.
He didn’t know how to go back to you.
He didn’t know how to make things right, and so one month had turned into two had turned into six.
“She never said anything?” Santi asks Benny, almost afraid of what the answer might be.
“Not like we sit around talking about you, man. I wasn’t out there all that much for a while. Going through my own shit,” Benny says, jumping out of the boat to work on tying it down.
Santi thinks about Benny going out to your place, dumping all his shit on you and leaving. Of Will and Frankie visiting infrequently, because they were, as Benny so eloquently put it - going through their own shit in the aftermath of that mission.
All of them wrongly assuming that Santi had been to see you, that he was still seeing you.
All of them thinking that you were okay because Santi was always with you.
Fuck.
Fuck.
No wonder you felt abandoned. No wonder you believed him when he’d said -
He can’t think about that right now.
You must have felt like you lost all of them for a while.
“Check-in with Fish and Blue,” he snarls at Benny instead. “I want an update. They landed yesterday and should already be on their way here.”
Benny glances at Will but neither of them say anything as he fiddles with the comms.
Santiago makes a point of not looking at either of them, pointlessly cataloging the shit they did bring with them, mainly rappelling equipment, rations, and protective gear.
The comm in his ear statics and then Benny’s voice is reaching out for a status report.
Your voice comes back after only a few minutes. “Hey Ben,” you say, your voice clear but with a rift in it, a thick line of tension. “Heading your way. Should be there around 1900 hours. Sit tight.”
“Roger. Sitting tight.”
Santiago opens his own line. “Report,” he barks out, not satisfied with the way you sound, that slight crack in the edge of your voice.
“Cargo en route, Pope,” is the only response he receives.
“Roger, Blue,” he says. “Any trouble?”
There’s a long silence before you respond. “Minor incident. Intercepted in vehicle retrieval. One dead. No witnesses. Minimal injuries.”
“Injury report.”
“Fuck, Pope,” Will mutters, “They’ll be here in a couple hours. Leave it.”
“Fish is fine,” you say and Santiago’s heart seizes because that means - “I was grazed. Minimal impact. Over and out, see you soon Delta one.”
Your line clicks out, the static retreating.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck.”
“C’mon, Pope,” Will says, “Quit thinking with your dick. We’ve all been shot. She was only grazed. They’re fine and heading to us.” He sits back on the sand, Benny following suit.
He knows.
Fuck, he knows.
He tucks the information away - compartmentalizes it and hopes like hell it works.
~
You and Fish show up exactly when you say you will, radioing out to them when you were a couple klicks away.
Santiago and Will head up to help you hide the truck you arrive in, grab the duffle bags full of weapons.
The cache you’ve been provided with is well stocked and Will whistles when he sees it. “Fuck, Blue, you’ve got one hell of a contact.”
You smile tightly at him, limping around the front of the truck.
Santiago’s breath catches when he sees you.
It’s hell to see you looking like that again. Although you’re in jeans - the rest of the getup is similar enough to the fatigues you used to sport that it makes his chest tighten. Your hair is tucked back, a backward ball cap on your head, and he recognizes it as one of his, one he must have left at your place. Sunglasses are hitched up above your brow.
You have a strip of cloth tied around your upper thigh, and Frankie has one concerned hand under your elbow.
Santiago never wanted to see you like this again, never wanted to have to think about you being shot at again.
You ignore his stare and say to Frankie, “C’mere and help me calculate this fuel shit. We need to be sure it's more than enough to get us there and back with room for detours.”
Frankie opens the back door and lets you rummage around in another bag before turning back with a scrap of paper and pen.
When Santi just stands there staring at you, you turn and tilt your head. “Gonna help Ironhead with that shit, Pope?”
He flinches, can’t help himself when he hears you call him that, it takes him back to your porch, to the words he can never take back.
Santiago doesn’t say anything, catches Frankie roll his eyes as Santi turns and grabs a couple bags to drag down to the cove.
A few minutes later you and Fish make your way to the cave. “-wish we had a bit more but that should do.”
“It’ll be fine,” Fish assures you, sounding a lot less concerned than you.
“Uh huh,” you say, dropping next to Benny on the sand to take the canteen he offers you.
Will turns to look at you, his eyes flicking over the bandage on your leg. “What happened?”
“Exactly what I said. Some guy caught us grabbing the truck. He shot first, Fish took ‘im out.”
All cold practicality, Will answers, “Clean it properly.”
Fish laughs and raises a brow at you and Santi knows he had already told you to do it.
You roll your eyes and glance at Benny with an exasperated huff of breath.
Before, when you served together, Santiago would have read that look all wrong, would have seen something more than what it was. Now, he sees it for what it is - two younger siblings exasperated by their older brother.
You and Ben have been attached at the hip since the third grade, and have done nearly everything in your life together. You were best friends and nothing more than that. In fact the idea probably repulsed both of you.
He wonders what it was like for you then, when Benny suddenly wasn’t around anymore after the failed Colombia mission.
Santi hooks one of the hand guns into the holster on his hip, grabs a first aid kit, and crosses to you. “I got it.”
He holds out a hand and you hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand and letting him haul you up. He leads you a little way from the group while they continue sorting the weapons out, nodding for you to lean back into the edge of the beached boat.
“Shit,” Santiago mutters when he crouches down and peels the makeshift bandage off of your thigh. “This is more than a graze, you got ate, mi vida.”
“Only a little. No bullet in me.”
He shakes his head and briskly cleans the wound, dresses it with a proper bandage and a wrapping of gauze around your thigh. He slides his knuckles down to your knee and glances up at you. “Fuck, Blue, please. Be careful.”
“You think I got shot on purpose?” You ask, amused rather than pissed for once, as he stands.
He licks his lips and plants his hands on his hips, not able to keep his eyes off you.
Fuck were you pretty.
Even in fatigues and sweating from the humidity, you were so fucking beautiful.
And then he notices the rings on your fingers, notices the ring that he gave you years ago now, and his mouth goes dry, his heart pumps like it’s trying to break the cage of his ribs.
“‘Course not. Just saying. Be careful.”
“Okay,” you agree. “When should we head out? Frankie -,” you call and the other man glances over at the two of you. “We thought 0400 hours, right?”
“Right,” he confirms quietly, “Early enough that we’ve got a bit of light but it's still dark,” he agrees.
“There ya go, Pope,” you say.
He doesn’t look away from you, can’t quite manage it. “You’ve got my hat.”
“My hat now,” you snip. “Left it in my house.”
“You ever gonna forgive me?” He doesn’t know why he asks, it's not like he deserves it.
“Dunno, Santi,” you say. “You ever gonna apologize?”
He clenches his jaw and walks away from you, announcing, “We’re out at 0400 hours. Sharp.”
~
The sun is only really starting to blaze alive when you park the truck at the edge of a canyon. “We gotta walk from here, y’all,” you say, slapping the map down between Will and Santiago in the front seat.
“Hooah,” Benny intones, popping open his door so you can slide out behind him.
When the truck is hidden in the foliage and you’re all geared up, you say, “So, I was thinking, I can split with you guys here, follow the ridgeline up so I can see farther-,”
“We aren’t splitting up again,” Santi says, lowering protective glasses over his eyes. “You’ll be able to see plenty in either direction from the ravine.”
“Are you sure-,”
“Yes,” he grits his teeth. “We’re wasting time, let's go.”
So you wrap the strap of your rifle around your neck and go.
You don’t talk as you move through the canyon and through the mountainside, up the steep rocky crags, Santiago at the head with a GPS and the coordinates.
Finding the correct ravine is surprisingly easy, and you peer over the side to see a mountain of snow at the bottom. “Looks like you guys will be digging.”
“Wonderful,” Frankie says. “You wanna trade? I’ll man the horizon.”
You smirk, “Nah, I’m good here.” You screw a silencer onto the end of your rifle and walk away, scouting for a position where you could easily see in all directions to cover them while they worked.
“Not too far,” Pope says into the comms and you don’t bother to turn, waving a hand above your head to show you heard.
You settle down, between two rocks, adjusting the scope on your rifle to make sure you have a clear view.
“Blue, check-in,” Frankie’s voice comes over the comm. “Pope can’t see you and has his panties in a twist.”
You chuckle and respond, “That’s the idea. Present and accounted for. How’s it going, boys?”
“Benny and Santi rappelling down now.”
You don’t respond, focusing instead on your task, wondering how long it would take them to get all of it out of the ravine, if they would have to dig it out of the snow, if it was even still there, how long it would take to haul out to the truck.
Two hours pass in which the horizon in all directions is clear, and which the boys stay silent in your ear.
And then - “Fuck yeah! Money’s still here baby!” Benny nearly deafens you and the others. A long string of curses and hyena-like laughter follows.
“Shut the fuck up, Ben! Jesus,” Will mutters. “Just get it the fuck up here.”
“Keep your head on straight,” you say into your comm. “We’re not taking more than we can handle, got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Santi says. “Of course.”
“I’m serious. I will leave you here, Pope.”
“I’ll leave him here,” Frankie adds.
The rest of the day passes by slowly, and without incident. Occasional comments come through but nothing that warranted a response until near sundown, “Come on back, Blue,” Will says.
“Done already?”
“For tonight.”
When you approach the camp, duffle bags are strewn around.
Many more than you expected.
“Jesus, you sure this isn’t all of it?” You assess the amount of bags. “Think we might have to be okay with this.” You shoulder your M16, “We should start moving it to the truck now.”
The guys glance at each other. “C’mon,” you whine, annoyed with them. “Y’all really gonna let money go to your head again?”
“You don’t want any?”
“Any is more than none, which is what I have now,” you say. “And no, Ben, I don’t need a Ferrari.”
They all glance at each other, then, “One more run tonight and then we’re done. We’ll move the cash in the morning, and be on the boat by the afternoon.”
You roll your eyes, “Fine, whatever.”
Benny hoots and goes about getting strapped into the harness again, Will following suit.
“That was kind of you,” Frankie says, coming to stand next to you with arms folded across his chest. “We coulda used your level head last time.”
You feel your heart sink, surprised Fish would say anything about it to you. “Yeah,” you say softly, watching Santi help Ben and Will start down the cliffside. “I know it's my fault that it went down the way it did. I’m sorry.”
Fish is silent for a few minutes as you watch the boys, before he suddenly turns to you, “Wait, what? Your fault?”
You press your lips together, Will and Benny finally disappearing as the last light faded from the sky. “Threw off the team. Wasn’t here to-,”
“Hold on. We’re grown fucking men and you had the choice to say no. No one’s holdin’ that against you.”
You don’t answer, watching Santi, the broad line of his shoulders, the firm set of him as he keeps an eye on the ropes.
“Not everyone thinks that.”
“What, Pope?” When you don’t answer he continues, shaking his head. “God, if I know anything about Santiago it's that he’s upside down, head over heels, makes him look stupid, in love with you. And he has been since you and that fucker Ben rolled up to Delta like you already belonged.”
You swallow, not sure what to say, your throat dry as you rub your hands together and then stuff them under your armpits to keep them warm in the cooling air. “Oh yeah? Helluva way of showin’ it. He said I was fuckin’ useless. Called me a coward. Said anything that happened to y’all was my fault. And then Tom died. And you all were never around anymore, not even Benny.”
“Shit, honey,” he says softly. “We thought Santi was still going out there to see you every chance his dumbass got.” He pauses and then looks over at you, shifting to cradle his weapon in his arms. “As for that other shit, Pope says some shit when he gets mad, and no one gets under his skin better than you. You know nothing that happened down here was your fault. It was our fault, our choices.”
You bite the side of your cheek. “Thanks, Fish.”
“You can call it stupid if you want. It was.”
“It was stupid and you’re all greedy bastards,” you say, knocking a shoulder into his.
He smiles, “Yeah. But it might just work out this time.”
~
The night passes easily.
You don’t start a fire, and the guys are curiously silent about the prospect though you know it's smarter not to start one and draw attention to your position.
Benny takes the first watch and you end up sandwiched between Frankie and Santiago.
It takes all your willpower not to curl into him, the smell of him exactly as you remember, the heat of him, the press of him against you.
Right when you’re about to fall asleep, you feel Santi’s fingers curl through yours and squeeze gently, his lips at your ear. “I’m so fucking sorry, mi vida.”
~
The next morning, at first light, with most of the cash already transported to the truck, you spot movement on the ridgeline, and when you lift your scope to your eye and see bodies traveling down the rocky mountainside.
You call out a warning just as the first shot slams into the ground several feet from you.
You duck for cover before coming up on a knee to squeeze your own trigger, the silencer muffling the sound of the shot.
Santi turns and watches a distant body fall to the ground, as he too falls behind one of the many boulders.
“Hey, hey, what the fuck are we shooting at?” Ben yells at you as you grab him and yank him down beside you.
“We gotta go,” you spit out over the comms as Benny lifts his body away from yours to take a couple shots of his own, clearly felling his targets by the look on his face, “Looks like somebody patrols this area now. Probably because of you fuckers.”
“Frankie, Will, stay where you are,” Santiago says over the comms.
“What’s going on?” Will snarls back.
“Fuck just -,”
You pop off another shot, using hand signals to tell Santi to start moving his ass toward the treeline. He’s closer to your exit route than you and Ben. “They’re all down the fucking mountain - we’re about to be cut off. We need to go,” you say into the comms. “Grab that shit and let's go,” you say to Benny, pointing to the last duffle bag at your feet before gripping his tac vest as you start moving forward together against the rocks as fast as you dare.
You look ahead and note that Santiago isn’t moving, instead standing his ground and shooting back at the ridgeline, covering the two of you.
It’s a stupid fucking move. There were too many of them, too many shots for it to make a difference. But he’s clearly waiting for the two of you, the babies of Delta, to make it back to him before he moves off. The rest of them had always been overprotective of you and Ben though none of them would ever admit it. They know you’re both more than capable but that didn’t stop them from double and triple asking if you were sure you wanted to do something, or making it a priority to intervene when one of you were in trouble, especially Will when it came to you and Benny.
And while you hadn’t been here before, you know.
This is where Tom died. This is where they lost everything.
Santiago doesn’t like to lose.
“Fuck!” You can hear him shout, directing Benny to stop with a raised fist, moving back toward you instead away from you.
They’re close enough now that you can hear shouts, and you meet nearer to the trees, all three of you pressed behind a rock.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Benny is screaming, the noise muffled in your ear, your concentration fastened back on the moving targets, the bodies, the people. You take a steadying breath and line up your shots. “You’re going to get us fucking killed!” Benny continues. “What the fuck, man! We had it!”
You always were the best shot of Delta, and the people closest to you fall.
You can’t tell if they’re dead.
The clip is empty and you take a moment to reload, slamming the cartridge into place with more force than necessary.
“You really must think me fucking useless if you think I can’t move six feet without you!” You shout at Santiago, who grabs the two of you and shoves you ahead of him, crouched down low. “You fucker!”
“Fuck! It’s not about that-,” he starts, but you ignore him moving quickly over unsteady ground.
You and Benny are younger than the rest of the team by years, and it shows now, Santi panting as you run and cuss without a hitch in your breath. Ben cursing in front of you the whole way.
“You stupid fucker,” you snarl again, Benny echoing your sentiment as you pause again, bullets richoching around you.
Santi pants as he leans back against the rock for a moment, letting you rage against him, fear eating your heart because he had just ran at you. He had ran back to you for no fucking reason and now he might die with you and Benny. You raise yourself up to shoot back again, Benny taking shots to the right.
“They’re closing in, we need to move,” Benny says, radioing over the comms to warn Frankie and Will to have the truck ready and waiting.
You and Santi are silent, taking coordinated shots.
“Fuck! Why are there so many of them?” You grit your teeth, the recoil of the gun against you starting to bruise.
“They knew we lost that money, they’ve been waiting for someone to come poking around for it so they could get it,” Santi says, his breathing even again. “Probably set up patrols here after we came though.”
You glance over at him to ask why he hadn’t shared that thought before this moment, and feel your heart stop. Up the rockside and to the left, there at the edge of the rocks, a kid stands with a gun sighted up on Santiago.
“Santi,” you whisper, voice hoarse. And then so loud, you hurt you own ears, “Santi!”
He starts to turn but you reach over and grab him by the back of his neck, jerking him down, and using the leverage to haul yourself up above him. The kid shoots at the same time you do.
Your bullet lodges between his eyes, but the shot that would have split Santago’s skull in two, lodges deep into the fleshy part of you between your shoulder and your clavicle. You wobble and then crash back between Santi and Ben, not entirely sure what just happened.
You look down at yourself, where the bullet perfectly caught right at the edge of your skewed tac vest, just above your heart
Panic surges up through you suddenly and your vision clouds as you grit your teeth against the pain.
Santi grips your jaw hard, those dark fathomless eyes boring into you, shouting something at you.
But you can’t get enough breath into your lungs to feel like you can respond. “Fuck,” you whisper, touching the blood on your hoodie. One of Santi’s old hoodies, you hadn’t realized until now. “I think I’m hit,” you say as Santi slaps your hand away from the wound.
Blood gushes out of the hole in waves. “Blue, look at me,” Santi says, a sudden pressure on the wound making you bite down a howl. His hands are covered in red. Blood, it must be your blood. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“Okay, Pope,” you whisper, the edge of your vision fading, “Fuck I think it hit my heart.”
You don’t hear his answer, the last thing you know is Santi and Ben leaning over you, dead panic on their faces but you can’t quite figure out why.
~
Carrying you to the truck, your eyes unfocused and glossy, feels a lot like carrying Tom’s corpse home.
Santiago doesn’t scare easy, but cradling your head in his lap while Ben cries his eyes out and snarls at Will to drive faster, scares him.
Frankie’s worried eyes turning back to assess you, scares him.
Will’s stoic silence, scares him.
But nothing comes close to the fear he feels at the prospect of having to carry home your corpse.
And suddenly that money, everything in the world, nothing matters to him but you - and it’ll be his fault if you die now.��
He leans down over you, presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. There’s blood caked on your neck, crusting along the edge of your sweatshirt. Your ball cap and protective glasses are on the floor of the truck at his feet, stained a crimson that his brain can’t make sense of.
The graze of the bullet against your thigh was god’s warning to turn back, and he hadn’t heeded it.
Ruthless.
He’s always been ruthless.
And now maybe that ruthlessness really would get you killed.
He can’t really make himself understand it, why you would jump up like that and pull him out of the way.
“Santi,” you murmur, your breath sweet against his skin, your bloody fingers scrubbing against the stubble on his cheek. “Santi,” you whisper against his skin, the copper smell of you making him sick, makes him want to fucking vomit.
“Hold on, cariño,” he says gently. “We’re gonna get you home safe and sound.” But your skin is ashen, your lips chapped already and he knows there isn’t a chance in hell of you making it to the States alive without them addressing the mess that is your shoulder.
“Fuck,” he snarls when your eyes flutter closed again, your body going limp as you pass out. “Benny, grab that med pack. We’re gonna have to sew her up before she loses any more blood. She’s not gonna make it if we don’t.”
Pope rips back the straps of your tac vest, rips your sweatshirt open as Benny goes cool with determination, grounded and levelheaded even as tears slip down his nose. There’s no exit wound and so Benny passes over the supplies Santi needs to dig the bullet out of your shoulder.
He stuffs cloth in your mouth when you lurch and give a blood curdling scream, forceps squelching deep in the wound until he can finally rip the metal out of your shoulder.
He forces you to keep it in your mouth so you don’t break your teeth, bite your fucking tongue off, when they dump peroxide over the wound.
Benny holds you still after he hands Santiago the threaded needle, closes his eyes and takes a breath, before he unsteadily and messily sews your shoulder closed.
By the time he’s done with you, you’re so still he might as well have killed you himself.
Then
“Hey, killer,” Santiago says when you thrust open the front screen door with a toe.
“Hey yourself, old man,” you snipe at him, “Wanna help me out a little?”
Santi finishes wiping his hands on a dishtowel and moves to hold the door open for you.
You’re wearing ratty gym clothes, boxing gloves spilling out of your duffle bag, a couple of grocery bags fisted in your other hand.
Santiago gently takes the groceries from you and dumps them on the kitchen table as you wave out at Benny’s retreating jeep.
Ben obnoxiously lays on the horn all the way down the road, but it makes you laugh and so he doesn’t roll his eyes too hard at it.
“You weren’t here when I got in last night,” Santiago says when you beeline into the kitchen and dump your bag on the floor.
He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else because you kiss him, your palms against his cheeks, the line of your body against his. When you pull away you smirk at him and peer at the breakfast he has started on your stove.
“Don’t you have your own house to go to?”
“My own house isn’t where you are.”
You laugh, bell bright, but he knows you think he’s just fucking with you. “You stay at Ben’s?”
“He lost last night and was pouting about it,” you say, unloading the grocery bags. “Me and Will stayed with him. Re-watched Predator for the millionth time. Knew we’d end up at the gym in the morning together anyways.”
Santi tucks his arms around you and drags you back against his chest, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck and then the shell of your ear. “Left me high and dry here, honey.”
“Oh, I’m sure you managed to entertain yourself, Santi.” You turn your head and bump your forehead against his temple. “You’ve got a hand don’t you?”
He scoffs, “That’s fuckin’ cruel. Expecting pussy and getting a hand.”
You turn in his grip and wind your arms around his neck, smiling and stretching against him like a cat. “Lemme shower and this pussy is all yours, babe.”
“Shower, breakfast, then pussy,” he says. “I know you didn’t eat this morning.”
You roll your eyes, “Hurts my feelings when you ignore me like this Santiago.”
“The last thing in the world I’m doing is ignoring you,” he says, cupping his hands under your ass to lift you onto the counter.
You settle back against the cabinets and he slots himself between your legs, running his hands up your thighs, beneath the fabric of your gym shorts. “You’re so pretty. Have I ever told you that?”
A grin splits your face, one he’s glad to see, one that had taken a year of counseling and fucking and boxing and bar nights to coax back out of you. “Sure,” you say.
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Santiago licks his lips, takes your hands in his, the dozens of rings that line your fingers grazing his.
It was one of the things you’d started wearing to feel more like yourself again, to recapture your identity outside the military, outside Delta.
He traces the rings carefully for a moment when your voice reaches out to him again, your hand touching his jaw. “Santi?” you ask.
“I brought something back for you,” he says, squeezing your knee gently. “Stay here.”
He looks up and meets your eyes, searching the gaze he knows so well, and still coming back empty, still confused about what it all means to you, what he means to you. “Okay,” you say, “What is it?”
Instead of answering, he ducks out of the kitchen to rifle through his own bag that he left in the front hall the night before.
When he returns to you, you have one heel up on the counter, a cup filled with coffee at your side, picking bits of food out of the pan on the stove.
He knocks your heel down, jolting you, “Feet on the counter? Really?”
“It’s my fucking counter, Garcia,” you snap at him, but you smile when you say it.
“Fucking counter, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“I mean I have fucked you there enough times, haven’t I?” He asks, watching you roll your eyes, tracking your every movement, unable to glance away from you.
You lift that same foot and shove at his shoulder as you sip your coffee. “Fuck off.”
Santi catches your foot, presses a kiss to your ankle and lets it drop again so he can slot himself between your legs again, holding up the ring he has pinched between two fingers in his other hand.
Your eyes lock onto the gold, lips parting. “Found it at a market in Bogotá. Polished it up on the way back. Thought you’d like it for your collection.”
Gingerly, as though the ring is made of smoke and not metal, you reach out to take it from him. “It’s beautiful,” you say, examining the stones embedded in the gold.
Santi takes it back from you, and examines your hands, the many, many rings that stack on your fingers. “Which finger you want it on, mi vida?”
You wiggle your right ring finger and he slips it into place. It's a perfect fit.
He looks up at you, he means to tell you in that moment, that there’s no one else, that there’s only you, that this thing between you is solid and real and he wants no one else, ever. That you’re his and he’s yours.
That you are his girl.
But the words die on his lips as soon as he looks at you, and then you’re sliding off the counter and kissing him so hard, he feels like he might bruise.
“Why don’t you shower with me and we can kill two birds with one stone?” You ask. “I get clean and you get pussy.”
He holds you so tight he feels you exhale a sharp breath, tilting his head over yours, brows pulled together as he watches you, watches the widening of your eyes.
“All for a ring?” he undercuts his own fucking plan, his own feelings.
“It’s a pretty ring.”
Now
They have to leave you in the hotel they check into, to meet with the bank, to deposit their fucking money.
Fifty million and it feels like nothing.
Benny and Will wait with you while he and Fish go to the bank first, and then switch places.
You’re awake when they get back and Santi wants to cry. Fish pretends there’s something he forgot in the lobby and leaves.
Santi pulls up a chair next to you and takes your hand. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He murmurs.
“Was thinking I didn’t want your brains all over me,” you say, weak fingers tightening on his. “You did a shit job stitching me up, by the way. But I think it saved my life.”
Santi says your name quietly, picking up your hand, your skin clammy against his. “Well our combat medic was out.”
He closes his eyes, gritting his jaw, trying to wash away the image of your prone body on two different boats, carrying you with Benny away from the line of fire like you were already gone from the world.
“Why?” He asks again. “Fuck, why would you do that?”
You grip his hand weakly, “Because. Because you - probably the same reason you ran toward me instead of away. Because I knew you were about to die and couldn’t let that happen.”
“And what if you fucking died, huh?”
“Guess I’d be dead then.”
He winces but doesn’t let you look away from him.
You swallow, “Help me sit up? I want some water.”
Santi hurries to help you sit up, listening to the way you groan tightly before he fetches a bottle of water for you and unscrews the cap.
Your hand shakes when you lift the bottle to your lips, and he has to cup the bottom of it to hold it steady for you.
When you’ve drunk your fill, you handle the bottle back and yank down the strap of your sports bra to look at the gauze webbed around your shoulder, the blood that slowly begins to stain through because of your movement.
You sigh and then fiddle with your rings, his ring on your finger, where it's never moved since he placed it there. “Santi,” you murmur. “I know we never said it - but I love you. That’s why it hurt so goddamn bad when you left. It just confirmed that it really never mattered to you. And this - this stupid fucking money - I know how you get. I couldn’t believe - couldn’t believe you just dropped me like that. I told myself you didn’t mean it. That we’re both mean sons of bitches when we’re pissed but then you never came home.”
You take a long stuttering breath, and his heart feels like it's stopped beating, like god has a boot on his chest. “I never woulda done that to you. You left it up to Benny to tell me what the fuck happened. I didn’t just lose you, I lost all of you. You know what that’s like? To have your best friend, who you’ve never been apart from for more than a couple days, just drop you? To have - to have you - for better or worse, the man I fucking love - abandon me?”
Is this what it takes to get him to spill his guts to you?
Having you half dead in his arms, your eyes lined with circles, your skin tone off by several shades, telling him things he already fucking knows?
He cups your cheeks in his palms gently, swipes away the tears that fall. Santiago hasn’t seen you like this in years, since you finally started coming back to yourself.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispers. “Fuck, mi vida, I’m so fucking sorry.”
~
Santi curls his arms around you, shifts you on the bed until he can lie down with you, the pressure off of your injured shoulder as you turn on your side to fit yourself against him.
“I can never take back those things I said to you. But you have to know - I didn’t mean a single word of it. Nothing that happened on that mission was your fault. Not a fucking thing. As soon as things went sideways the first time, the only thing I could think was thank god she’s safe at home.”
He presses a kiss to your forehead and you feel more tears leak down your cheeks. “You are the best shot we have - proved that a couple times over yesterday, I think. You were never just a medic, you know that. You’ve beaten me in hand to hand more than enough times, all the rest of those fuckers too. You’re the best of us, honey. I was just so goddamn scared you’d never forgive me for the things I was about to do - you had it right about Lorea and the money and my motivation.”
You feel the movement of his throat against you, arms tightening by a fraction, before he says, voice hoarse, “And I’ve always loved you. Always. I never knew how to say it. You’ve been my only girl for so fucking long.”
You shove his shoulder gently and feel him stiffen but you only bring his forehead to yours, peering into those eyes that were always so intense, that missed nothing, and read you like a book.
You scrub a hand over his stubbled cheek, the pull of the hair against your hand soothing. “You know I love you, Santiago.”
“I love you,” he answers sincerely. “Sorry it took so goddamn long.”
You pull him down into a kiss, your shoulder aching, a biting pain that lances across your chest. “Me too,” you murmur, gingerly unbuttoning his jeans, careful of the very messy stitches in your shoulder. You hiss through your teeth and Santi stops your hand.
“No, your shoulder-,”
“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. You just have to be careful with me. You just have to be gentle.” You peer up at him, into those brown eyes that feel so like home to you, like the warmth of a summer forest. You touch the hinge of his jaw, “Just be gentle with me.”
Santi’s eyes clench closed and then he’s nodding and kissing your forehead, all resolve gone. You thought the strings of your heart had been wrapped around his fingers all these years. You never imagined that you held his too.
He pulls away from you to undress, since you won’t be able to do it for him in your state, and you use the opportunity to push your shorts and underwear off with your good arm.
And then he’s back, naked against you, one arm under your neck to support your head, the other curving around your knee to hitch over his hip, pressing so close to you. You feel the ridges of his cock against your pussy, already wet.
“Just like this,” he murmurs to you, never breaking his eyes from yours, his gaze just as steady and intense as it always has been, but now there’s a thread of vulnerability that makes you duck your head to press a kiss over his heart. Your good hand against his cheek, the other carefully skimming along his abdomen, the thick muscle and padding he carries.
You both watch as he slides into you, watch your bodies join slowly, the stretch of him so fucking good and heavy.
Your breath leaves you in a gust and Santi pauses, more gentle with you than he’s ever been. “Fuck. You have to tell me if I’m hurting you. Okay?”
You meet his gaze, rolling your hips against his, “Santi.”
He moves then, meeting the slow thrust of you. “Yeah, baby, tell me what you need.”
Instead of biting something out at him like you usually would, you cup both hands against his cheeks as he tightens his arm around your waist, bringing you that much closer.
Santi leans his forehead against yours, and neither of you shut your eyes. You can’t, you have to know he’s there and real and everything that he’s said the last few minutes is true.
He’d always been better at doing than saying and now is no different - his gaze unwavering, making love to you so softly you feel a tear bead and slip down your nose.
Santiago swipes it away with his thumb as he shifts the arm beneath your neck so he can cup the back of your skull, fingers digging through your hair.
The pleasure in your belly builds slowly, but that almost feels secondary to the other things you’re feeling - like you finally belonged, like you were no longer adrift, like you finally found your home.
You press your hand flat over his sternum and feel the thrumming of his heart against your hand.
“It beats for you,” he says, closing his eyes briefly to press his nose into your hair.
You almost want to laugh, at how corny it is, if you didn’t know for certain that he’s never said anything more sincerely.
Sweat beads along his salt and pepper curls, the smell of him like his cologne and cheap hotel soap and sweat.
You move your hips more frantically, Santiago matching you thrust for push, when you bury your nose in his neck and inhale sharply.
“I’m close,” you murmur. “Please, Santi.”
“Look at me, baby,” he says. “Lemme see those pretty eyes when you come for me.”
You meet his eyes, trace the long sweep of his lashes with your gaze when the pressure in your belly snaps and you cry out.
Santiago captures your lips, swallowing down your moan, as he presses a hand to the back of your neck, fingers slowly sliding down your spine. His thrusts become sloppy and slow and his brow is furrowed.
When you whisper, “Come for me, Santi,” he exhales sharply into your mouth and comes inside you, hips slowly stuttering to a stop. “I love you.”
“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, if I don’t love you more than I deserve to.” He tugs you close, careful of your shoulder which aches more than you’re willing to admit in that moment.
But you’ve been shot before, and it's not as bad as it could be.
“Yeah,” you coo. “But I want it anyway. I want all your fucked up love.”
Santi laughs and it sounds like a sob, and you curl your fingers through his hair tugging lightly. “I meant to - the day I gave you the ring. I meant to clarify that day that we - ,”
“Mhm,” you hum against him. “Is that what this ring means? You claimed me?”
“Means we belong to each other.”
You nod, “Move in when we get back.”
“I’m gonna put in a pool in your backyard, that deck is begging for one. Gotta have somewhere to keep the boys entertained when I need to fuck you.”
You laugh and then wince at the movement in your shoulder. “Backyard is all yours.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Just then someone knocks at the door. “We have the contract for you to sign if you’re done fucking,” Frankie calls, loud enough that the whole hall probably hears.
You groan but Santi just keeps gazing at you, lips pouted, “And a dog. We gotta get a dog. And a new couch, I’m done sitting on Ben’s cheeto dust.”
“Anything. As long as you’re there.”
His breath catches and he looks like he can’t quite breathe. “Yeah,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “As long as you’re there.”
Your heart beats so hard, you think it's trying to break free from your chest to join with his.
#santiago garcia x reader#santiago garcia x you#santiago garcia#santiago pope garcia#santiago pope garcia x reader#santiago pope garcia x you#triple frontier#triple frontier x reader#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier fic#oscar isaac
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Coming soon...
Hi everyone! This winter break I'm hoping to get a lot of writing done and wrap up some series!
Special thanks to @hon3yboy or helping me sooooo much with this series!!!!
That being said, once I feel more caught up, do I have a series for you...
Untitled Triple Frontier cult fic
Dark below the cut
Years after the world fell apart, various communities have established themselves, one of which is ran by four men who claim to be divine.
When they decide it's time to and heir to be born, they chose a virgin from their cult and make her their wife. Reader is offered a choice, of course. She doesn't have to marry them. But if she doesn't, the savior won't be born. She choses to become the Madonna. She is wed to all four of them, and moved into their home where her body is open to use whenever her husbands desire (free use au), in the hopes of getting her pregnant. It doesn't matter whose baby it ends up being, because they are all part God, so it doesn't matter... right?
M/M dynamics
Santiago Garcia: The leader, their Pope, son of the founder, mommy issues (duh), obsessive with his men and with his wife, reader. Pope is particularly obsessed with his right hand man, Frankie. Was told his whole life he was a god-like figure, and acts like it. Dangerous.
Francisco Morales: Right hand man. Quiet, not particularly thrilled with the plan but can't speak out. Only participates in group sex or when Santiago involves him. Is in love with Benny, but can't say as much because of how volatile and possessive Pope is.
Benjamin Miller: Charming, charismatic, slut. Benny is part of the reason they have a lack of virgins to choose from, he's fucked most of them. Insatiable in bed, fucking like a dog in heat. Outside of bed, however, he's fun, nice. Except when he's drunk or high. Loves Frankie.
William Miller: Soft. Gentle. Will treats her like a queen, like their Madonna. He loves her. He says so, after all. Will helps keep her safe, help's her navigate Santi's mania and Ben's addiction and Frankie's coldness. He's just there to take care of her. He promises.
Meet the OC's
Reyansh
Rey is one of the home's security, living in the servants quarters. Reyansh works a lot in the stables and the landscaping, a gentle soul the horses love. Rey befriends our Madonna and although she is initially suspicious of him, she learn that he is trustworthy. Reyansh is in love with the housekeeper, Iris, and they hope to have a family together one day. Faceclaim is Dev Patel
Jonah
Jonah is the head of the guard. He still answers to Will for military decisions, but for the most part he leads the men. Jonah is in charge of keeping the house and the Madonna safe, so he assigns Reyansh to look after her, knowing he's harmless, but capable. Jonah is the father of Iris, but their relationship is strained. Jonah becomes a father figure to Madonna, helping her navigate the world she's found herself in. Faceclaim is Timothy Olyphant
Iris
Iris is the housekeeper and cook for the house. Being stuck as a servant and working long hours in a dangerous household where one wrong move can mean your death, Iris has learned to keep her head down in the hopes that if her and Reyansh behave, they may be allowed to have a life together. She is not fond of reader. She does not think she is the Madonna and thinks she's stupid for getting caught up in the men's lies. She worried that her friendship with Rey will cause problems for them, not because she doesn't trust him, but she knows how possessive and controlling all the men are.
Hoping to debut in January, when after I at least wrap up BBTF and at least 1 or 2 stories on my main.
Comment if you are intested!
Warnings not a ful list, but here are themes and content you should be aware of before start
DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT
DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap.
A lot of themes and dynamics accidently ended up as kinda a fanfic of Charnellhouse's Watch Your Step, which is now taken off tumblr and AO3 but she's publishing it as a book now so I'll be promoting that book too.
Comment if you are intested and I'll tag you when the first chapter comes out!
Name still TBA ;-;
#Triple frontier#dark triple frontier#benjamin miller#dark benjamin miller#william miller#dark william miller#santiago garcia#dark santiago garcia#Francisco morales#dark francisco morales#frankie morales#dark frankie morales#non con#dub con#yandere#yander triple frontier#santiago garcia x reader#benjamin miller x reader#frankie morales x reader#william miller x reader#bisexual santiago garcia#bisexual francisco morales#bisexual benjamin miller#bisexual william miller#FishBen
95 notes
·
View notes
Note
Could I request a little ‘A got roped into a blind date by their friends. They don't want a new relationship and plan to make themselves as unlikeable as possible to dissuade any further possible setups. All of that goes through the window when they see how gorgeous B is.’ with Santi as person A
(if you get this twice I’m sorry I can’t remember if I sent this irl or not because I saw the post when I was hazy and delusional at 2 AM)
Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader
Word Count: 912
A/N: Just opened up my askbox for some requests! First time writing for Santi, very very excited about this one! (And don't worry ab requesting twice, hun! It was a very inspiring prompt)
Warnings: fluff, santi thinks he's unlovable, a bit angsty ig?, frankie morales is a good bro, poorly edited (author has BDE)
Santiago really didn’t do the whole dating thing.
The flowers and the small-talk and the footsies over cheese-stuffed appetisers.
He had a long-term relationship with running away, that strange, filtered aeroplane air making him feel closer to home than any of his mother’s cooking could ever hope to do.
Better put, he wasn’t relationship material.
It wasn’t a deliberate choice from his end.
It sort of just…happened.
Life had morphed Santiago into the jagged, crooked, ugly thing that he was now.
In all of his attempts (three) at the real thing, all his tries at the dart board called love, it usually always ended in the same fashion. He’d take her to meet his friends, she’d realise sooner than later that she’d drawn the losing hand out of the four of them, and it was downhill from there.
One of them had been kind enough even to enlighten him to exactly what he lacked.
You just need to be more…Frankie, Santi.
Though it hurt, it was good to get out in the open like that. The plain, mumpy truth, in all its glory:
Santiago wasn’t relationship material because of the amount of ‘Frankie-ness’ that was lacking in his blood and DNA, because he was the losing hand, the cracked skipping stone in the middle of a torrential river on the way to the safety of land and love, true love.
And so, in what would be considered a sociologist’s dream case study, Santiago did what he did best, self-fulfilled then self-destructed.
He was the intermediary for girls before they managed to find their Frankie, Benny, Will.
It was a tough truth to chew, left a bitter taste in his mouth, that he’d only been created for people to recognize their self-worth and move on. There was a disagreeable insinuation behind it, if he thought about it too long.
Which was precisely why he didn’t.
And he ran away instead when things got too hard, too painful. Like a thumbtack in the heel of his foot.
But Frankie on the other hand, Frankie thought about it long and hard. Too hard and too long, no matter how often Santiago told him to quit it.
From his seat behind the driver’s wheel, Frankie was able to watch everything with a keen, honed eye, his two ears moving back and forth like a great-horned owl’s.
And nothing was able to go past Frankie’s eyes without him picking it up and giving it a thorough inspection.
Which is why Frankie's been adamant about it. A real pain in the ass.
Santiago was the bachelor of the group now. The only single one left.
And Frankie was set on changing that.
No matter how much Santiago protested.
Will and Benny gave in to Santiago’s reality with a simple nod, the former’s eyes sad and sombre, the latter’s teasing a little light-hearted and half-hearted.
But Frankie and him had the strongest bond he’s ever experienced. Saving a guy’s life a couple times does that to you.
Santiago knows, if anything, that whatever happens in this god-forsaken world, that Frankie will always be his rock, the one constant in a world of possibilities and probabilities.
But it also meant that Frankie had some sort of gall that the others didn’t.
And tonight, he meant to put an end to it, swiftly and surely.
The sibling of a friend of a cousin.
That still doesn’t mean Santiago wants to be here.
Detached enough from them that if it all went to shit, the ripples would be minimal. Attached enough to them to make the small talk a little less small-talkey.
“You’re frowning.”
“That’s because I’m mad, pendejo,” he grumbles back at the baseball cap.
Frankie huffs and though he can’t see it, he hears the eye-roll.
He feels like a petulant child, like he’s being babysat to make sure he won’t act out.
Which is what he is precisely planning to do.
He’ll take care of it quickly. Despite his cynical, eighty-year-old with three cats schmick he’s settling into nicely, he still has a bit of heart. And whoever the poor person was that had been roped into this will be roped out just as quickly. No harm done and Santiago’s Frankie problem fixed once and for all.
With another huff, Frankie leans back in his seat and fixes him with beady eyes, “At least, try to be a little agreeable.”
He only grumbles in response.
It’s a white-and-red chequered tablecloth kind of place. Corny, romantic, candle-lit.
Santiago was hoping he’d never have to set foot in such a place again.
The door jingles open.
Show-time.
Frankie sends him another one of his glares, and Santiago sends it straight back, letting it settle on his face, deep into the grooves of it.
There’s rolls and rolls of nervousness fading off of you.
But you look nice-
Beautiful.
Gorgeous.
The air’s been swamped out of his lungs.
This wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan. This weird, fluttering thing that’s been going on his body since he laid eyes on you.
Santiago’s vaguely aware that you’re talking with Frankie, thanking him for arranging it all.
And there’s a lull in the murmurs.
He hastily gathers himself up, the angry little press of lines on his forehead all but gone.
He scrambles for the flowers Frankie made him buy you and holds them out, swallowing thickly, “Hi, I’m Santi.”
He hopes that this’ll make for a hell of a first-date story.
Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.
Masterlist here, requests here.
#santiago garcia#santiago garcia x reader#santiago garcia x you#santiago garcia x y/n#santiago garcia x female!reader#santiago garcia fluff#santiago garcia angst#santiago garcia fanfiction#santiago garcia fanfic#santiago garcia fic#santiago garcia x f!reader#santiago garcia imagine#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier#triple frontier imagine#triple frontier fic#oscar isaac
253 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol 23
Howdy y'all!
If you're new here this is every new (to me) fic I read this week and some of my silly lil thoughts about them.
I did some catching up on series this week and also did some writing so I've only got 12 fics for you this week! I read a lot of dark shit this week, but that's October for ya. There's still some sweetness in here somewhere if you aren't into dark stuff and I've made sure to mark everything appropriately (I think).
As always you can find all my previous fic recs here.
Recs below the Pedros!
Apple - a Frankie/Santi/Will one shot by @romana-after-dark
You are married to Santi and you have a CNC kink he very happily obliges. You set up a thing where Santi, Will, and Frankie pretend to be home invaders and they gangbang you. Stuff goes a lil sideways and it ends up being NC/DC. This was wonderfully unsettling. I love how there's this strand of believability that they don't intentionally overstep her boundaries. It's dark and scary and feels very real.
sam and diane, eat your heart out a Marcus Pike one shot by @chronically-ghosted
You've been working with Marcus for a while and finally wrapped up the case you were on. You've almost given up ever getting what you want with him when finally!! You both admit your feelings for each other. Cue steamy office make out sesh with thigh riding. I loved the will they won't they shit in the beginning. The frustration makes the pay off so good.
i am touchin', i am grabbin', everything I can't be havin' - a Dieter one shot by @chronically-ghosted
You show up at the doorstep of your long time but estranged family friend Dieter Bravo, soaking wet and with nowhere else to go. You've known him so long you call him Uncle Dee, no I'm not kidding. I almost didn't click on this bc like UNCLE?? But he's not really your uncle and I cannot express enough how fucking hot this was. Like Dieter is just so fucking good this OH MY GOD. If you love Dieter, read this. You'll love it.
Recovery Road - a Dieter series by @chronically-ghosted
Dieter finally gets his shit together, he's clean and married and working on a new project. His costar (you) is a cunt fr. You're on drugs, you're a brat, and you're a mess. And Dieter can't stay away from you. When his wife gets fed up with him and humiliates him in public, you're there to catch him... and ruin his sobriety, his marriage, and maybe everything else. I have a couple chapters left of this but OH MY GOD. I was so MAD at Dieter, but also so sad for him. Don't take that as me saying I didn't love this because I did. I do. It's so beautifully written. The pain and angst and desperation and everything is so powerful, this hurts to read. And the smut? Mind altering actually.
a revolting development - a Joel series by @chloeangelic
Your new step dad is really hot... and that's gonna be a problem. I've been reading so many step dad fics lately (not just Joel!) and I'm so into it and what is wrong with me?
The Rogue Who Coaxed You - a Joel series by @atticrissfinch
You're Joel's secretary and you suck him off while he fields a phone call from his wife! We love an infidelity fic round these parts, we really do. Reader is filthy, Joel is mean, there's a lot of degradation, the works. I'm so obsessed with this dynamic I can't wait to read more.
When the Gallow-Grass Gives - a Silva one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles
Silva rescues you (m!reader) from the gallows, walks you home by the rope you were supposed to hang by, and then tells you that you remind him of someone he used to know. I love a good gay cowboy fic and this is a GREAT one. The historically accurate lube made me cackle. This was so well written and so HOT and managed to maintain that wistful sadness Silva seems to have hanging like a cloud around him.
Desires and Complications - a Marcus Pike/Dave York series by @ezrasbirdie
Sweet little Marcus Pike wants to please you better in bed so he calls up your ex, Dave York, to show him how to be a dom. It goes a little differently than any of you imagined when Marcus turns submissive for Dave. This fic is so hot. I read up through "plead" and it looks like maybe there's some throuple dynamics forming!!! I'm so excited to finish this AHHHGHGHG
Ripping Sunrise - a frankie one shot by @idolatrybarbie
You accidentally take an edible and Frankie takes care of your high ass. And then once the high wears off he really takes care of you... This is so sweet and hot, I love it so much.
I Might Kill My Ex - a Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters
Joel leaves you for Tess and that... well that's just unacceptable. We got dark!reader, asshole!Joel, murder, dub con for Joel, the works. This fic is so good. It's dark and gives you a fascinating look into reader's crumbling psyche. I love the ending so much also
------------------
I wrote Ouroboros and Eat You Whole. Dave York x f!reader fics set in the same universe, canon divergent but some canon stuff still happens in the background. Love as consumption/Love as violence type thing. Basically you and Dave are two touch starved, miserable people with nothing left in this world and you have crazy sex about it. There’s some softness in there too.
-----------------
Here's some series I've been reading (not a comprehensive list): Hot and Heavy (Joel), Muddy Waters (Joel/Ez), Stepdad!Joel, Exile (Javi P), New York or Nowhere (Joel), Feral Woman (Joel), Yearling (Joel), a lover's pinch (joel), the world tipped on it's side (Frankie), and Pretend Alleyways (Marcus/Dieter)
(In order: @tieronecrush @bonezone44 @toxicanonymity @jksprincess10 @beskarandblasters @gasolinerainbowpuddles @justagalwhowrites @hier--soir @idolatrybarbie @radiowallet)
-------------
Happy Reading!
#fic recs#the spreadsheet digest#fanfiction recommendations#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro fics#pedro pascal character fanfiction#ppcu
70 notes
·
View notes
Text
last line (and then some) tag game
Thank you my bby Al @schnarfer for the tag <3 rising from my pile of marking and planning and essay writing and just generally getting shagged in the arse by work to post this and FINALLY get round to reading some good fucking fic tonight
it's slow going over here. still working on watch, dragging my heels with writing so much smut (turns out i am indeed not god's strongest soldier)
cw: daddy kink
You clench around him, painfully, try to mumble out how close you are, but you can’t even summon the words. In this room, he is all you can see, all you can hear, all you can feel. The slickness of it, the heat, the burning pleasure rising inside you as you writhe beneath him.
‘I know, baby, I know,’ he murmurs, ‘You’re close already, huh?’ You hum, body tight, so close, so close, head so empty. ‘Yeah, you are. Fuck, love when you get all stupid on me like this. You like getting fucked dumb on daddy’s cock, baby? Can you feel me all the way in here, sweet girl?’ he asks, moving the hand on your waist to press against your lower stomach. You clench harder as he presses down, the coil tightening, spiralling, and you’re right there - ‘Wish you could fuckin’ see yourself right now, baby. Wish you could see how pretty you look getting fucked. You like being watched, don’t ya, darlin’? Yeah. Want Santiago and Francisco to watch again, baby?’ You moan at his words, vision blurring, the build up scorching, impossibly long. You can't even fucking nod. ‘Sure you do. Or do you want Santi to fuck you again, make you scream while he’s inside you?’
‘Yes, daddy -’ you breathe, pussy fluttering around him, hurtling towards your orgasm. Joel groans and pants above you, his curls darkening with sweat. He nips at your bottom lip as you watch him with wide, shining eyes.
‘Santi?' he presses, 'Or is it Frankie, baby girl? You want his mouth on you, want to feel him stretch you? He’s big, isn’t he? Wanna see how he feels, if he fits like me?’
‘Shit -’ you gasp, ‘Shit, Joel, I’m -’
‘Come, baby girl,’ he tells you. ‘Come all over my cock. Get it nice and wet, just how daddy likes it.’
np tags (and sorry if you've been tagged already!): @janaispunk @morallyinept @magpiepillsjunior @swiftispunk @5oh5 @hellishjoel @dustydaddyyy @pascalpvnk @endlessthxxghts
p.s. thank you for all the love on mutual, and sorry for being mega slow on catching up with things this weekend. life is life-ing. love you all so much xxx
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
Life In The Fast Lane
Chpt 1.
Characters - Frankie Morales x Reader
Summary - What could be better than being stuck in rush hour traffic in the middle of summer? Oh yeah, how about getting your truck rear-ended by the prettiest girl you've seen in years and being late for game night with the boys?
Word Count - 2.9K
Warnings/Tags - 18+ only Minors dni. Typical canon language, Swearing, Fluffy!Frankie, Flirty!Frankie, use of pet names, mentions slight smut but nothing explicit, mentions of blood, wound cleaning, I think that's all?
A/N - I have wanted to write a series for Frankie for ages but didn't know where to start, so here it is! I hope you all enjoy! As always a massive thank you and all the love to my bby @pedgeitopascal for being the most supportive & lovely human! <3
Feedback is always appreciated!
Divider credit to @saradika
Frankie was on his way to meet up with Pope; he had arranged to pick him up and then head over to Will’s place as it was his turn to host them for tonight's big game. From what he had seen in the group chat before he got in the truck, Benny was already there, and Tom was heading over once he dropped Tess off at her friend's house.
Staring absentmindedly out the windscreen, waiting for the lights to change, Frankie lets out a loud groan, glancing at the clock. He would never hear the end of it if he was late picking Santi up.
A loud thud pulled him from his thoughts as the truck lurched forward. Standing on the brakes to avoid hitting the car in front of him that had just started rolling forward as the lights changed to amber.
He quickly glanced in his rear-view mirror and saw a woman behind the wheel of a car with a look of absolute horror on her face; it was almost comical the way her mouth hung open in a small O.
"Mierda, C’mon! I don’t need this today!" Letting out an exasperated sigh, he carded his hands through his hair as he placed the faded, well-worn baseball cap on his head, hiding his curls.
Based on what he could see from the rear-view mirror, his truck dwarfed your small, beat-up Volkswagen Polo, so there wasn’t likely to be much damage, to his truck at least.
He took a deep breath and opened the driver's door of the truck. He tried to remind himself that accidents happened all the time in the city, and it’s not as if this was anything serious. Doing his best to remain calm, he slips out of his truck and walks to the driver's side of the offending vehicle.
The woman is still sitting in the driver's seat of her car, frantically glancing between Frankie and where the two vehicles are now joined, as he approaches her window with a small, polite smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Frankie can see that she is visibly shaken, frantically trying to get her seatbelt off with trembling hands. Once she manages to remove the seatbelt from its holder, she begins frantically trying to unwind her window.
After a moment when the window remains fully closed despite her best efforts. He reaches forward and slowly opens her driver’s door. The sounds of the Eagles greeting him;
"He was a hard-headed man,
He was brutally handsome,
And she was terminally pretty.
She held him up, and he held her for ransom.
"In the heart of the cold, cold city."
"Are you okay?" Frankie asked, his voice soft and gentle as he fully opened the driver’s door. He left his forearm hanging over the top of the door and leaned his hip against it.
He could see the worry in her eyes and immediately felt the urge to do anything he could to help her feel better—to reach out and stroke the stray strand of hair from her face so he could get a better look at her eyes.
"What the hell, Frankie?" "Get a hold of yourself, Pendejo," he scolds himself mentally.
"Uh yeah, I'm... yeah, I'm fine, I think," she stammers as she wipes a finger and thumb across her plump bottom lip, in apparent disbelief of what has just happened.
"God, I am so sorry about your truck, sir. I saw the lights turning and was getting ready to accelerate, and the car lurched forward and... into the back of your truck...but you already knew the last part." The words were flying out at a mile a minute in a guilty voice.
As if she had just been pulled over by the cops or something.
The words weren’t registering in Frankie's head; all he could think of was how beautiful she was and how pretty her mouth was when she chewed on her bottom lip. A flood of images raced past his vision—all the things he could do to those lips and what those lips could do to him.
"Sir? Are you okay?" She questioned, making to step out of her car. Her arm reached out to place a hand on his arm in concern. He met her eyes for the second time and saw that the worried crease was still very much in place between her soft brows.
"What?" Frankie asked, dazed as he shook his head to try and erase the explicit scenes in his head.
"I said, are you okay, sir?" She repeated—was he imagining the emphasis she was putting on the last word? He did his best to ignore the tingling heat making its way up his spine. Glancing down at her hand, which was resting lightly on his bicep,
"Yeah, I'm great, thanks," he said with a grin, and instantly he was kicking himself. What a stupid thing to say after someone tailgates you!
"I mean, I'm not hurt, I'm fine," He chuckles lightly, "We should probably get off the road though, and exchange information?"
He asked with a raised eyebrow as he gestured to where the two of you were standing in the middle of the road. A steady stream of cars queued behind hers, beeping and honking impatiently.
Oh, yes, of course!" The woman responds as if shaking her own thoughts out of her head.
"I have to warn you though when I pull forward, I'm taking your bumper with me," Frankie advised grimly, rubbing a hand across his face.
"I think that’s only fair after I crashed into you, don’t you?" She replied with a giggle and a warm smile, which lit up her oval face.
"Fair point well-made, Chica," he laughed, and he couldn’t help the grin snaking his lips upward.
Both returning to your vehicles, Frankie took the lead and slowly put his foot down on the accelerator and inched the truck forward. He winced, wrinkles forming at the sides of his eyes as he heard the screeching and cracking as the woman's bumper protested.
His truck was finally released from her car, and he drove a little way down the road into a layby. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he could see the poor battered car - missing its bumper - creeping slowly to park behind him.
He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he watches her running her hands through her long, wavey hair and shaking her head to herself as she puts the car in park.
Frankie leaves the truck once more, eyes glued to the woman bending over her driver's side to grab a shoulder bag from the passenger footwell of her car. She stands and smooths the black sundress over her ample figure, the dress hugging her in all the right places.
He clears his throat and tears his eyes from her as she walks towards him, not watching her footing as she digs in the bag for something. She doesn’t notice the steep curb when she trips, taking the weight of the fall on her knees.
"Ouch, oh for fucks sake!" she mutters under her breath, loud enough that Frankie picks it up clearly. He loves a woman with a foul mouth. Someone who doesn’t care about being prim and proper. He wonders briefly just how dirty her mouth can get, but stops that thought in its tracks.
"Shit, are you alright?!" He asks as he rushes to help her on the sidewalk.
"Yeah, I'm good. I'm just waiting for the ground to swallow me already." She admits being clearly mortified by the whole ordeal. Swiping the dust from the sidewalk off her dress and looking down at her, Frankie can see the way she scrunches her nose.
He is certain it is the most adorable thing he has ever seen.
"I'm Y/N... Y/N Y/L/N. I am really sorry about all of this," she huffs a laugh and gestures at her car and then at herself.
"Well, Y/N, I'm Frankie Morales, and it is a pleasure to meet you, even under the circumstances," he chuckles. "Are you sure you're alright? Your leg is bleeding." He asked concern more evident in his tone than he realised.
"Oh shit" Y/N groaned as she looked at her knee, blood quickly trickling down her leg and pooling at her white ankle sock.
"Hold on, I have a first aid kit in the cab!" Frankie sprang into action, quickly retrieving the basic first aid kit he kept in the cab of the truck in case of emergancies.
Like pretty women getting scraped knees...
He rounded to the truck bed and pulled the tailgate down and motioned for her to sit on it. Trying to hide his snicker as she struggled to hoist herself up. Watching the look of determination on Y/N’s face, he lost it, and he couldn’t help the belly laugh that broke through his lips.
"Do you need a boost, pequeño?" Still chuckling, he made his way over to stand in front of her.
"I don’t know what that means, but I'm sure it is rude to laugh at someone when they’re gravely injured." She scolds him playfully.
"It means little one, and you're right—that wasn’t very gentlemanly of me. I apologise Here, let me help you." He can see the blush creep up her neck as he reveals the meaning of the nickname.
He places two big calloused hands on either side of her waist, making eye contact before hand to check if it was okay for him to touch her, and she nods her head yes. Frankie lifts her gently onto the tailgate. She is hiding behind her hair, but he can tell she is grinning.
Y/N’s legs were dangling comically high from the back of the truck. Frankie stands in front of her, unzipping the first aid kit, locating the antibacterial wipes and a bandaid, and then zips the bag closed once more.
"May I?" Frankie gestures towards her bleeding leg, which thankfully has slowed.
"Yes, thank you," Y/N answers in a shy voice with a small nod of her head.
He lifts her foot with his left hand and softly begins to clean the blood from her ankle to her knee with his right. He does his best to ignore how good it feels to hold her soft calf in his large strong hand but he can hear her breath quickening, and he is unsure if she is in pain or if it’s caused by his close proximity.
Throwing caution to the wind, he asks, "Are you in pain, Y/N?" Voice deep and gravely. Looking into her eyes, he notices for the first time that they are the clearest shade of (Y/E/C), glistening brightly in the summer sun. Momentarily stunned, his hand stops cleaning the wound.
"No, no, I'm not in any pain, you are very gentle." She compliments him, and he grins back, satisfied that the wound is as clean as it is going to get. Frankie places the plaster over the graze on her knee. He can’t help but rub the pad of his thumb back and forth over the material a few times before pulling back.
"There we are, almost as good as new." He smiles brightly, pleased with his handy work.
"Okay, now to the nitty gritty before I have a chance to embarrass myself again. I will give you my insurance information," she mumbles as she finally reaches for the notebook and pen in her bag. She flicks through the pages until she finds a blank one and delicately jots down her first and last names.
Frankie looks back and forth between his truck and Y/N’s car; there truly was no damage to the truck, a few minor scratches where the bumper had caught, but nothing that didn’t fade to the background with the rest of the dings and dents in the old girl.
"How about we forget about the insurance? You came out of this a hell of a lot worse than I did. Physically speaking also," he says. He chuckles and gestures to the sticking plaster on her leg.
"Why don't we just exchange numbers? I know a guy that can fix your car up for cheap, and I could maybe take you out to dinner tomorrow if you would like." Frankie didn’t know what had come over him.
The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying, and he was truly impressed that he didn’t stumble over them in some sort of verbal vomit like a nervous teenager.
"Are you sure? I scratched the shit out of your truck; I want to get that fixed for you!" Y/N insisted. Frankie's heart sank as she brushed over the dinner invitation, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly.
"No, it’s honestly fine; there are that many scrapes and scratches on this waggon, and I like to think of them as character-building." He laughs, trying desperately to hide his disappointment.
"Okay, I still feel awful, but if you could put me in touch with your friend, I would really appreciate it." Y/N nods seriously as she finishes writing on the piece of paper
She folds it in half, tries and fails to jump down from the truckbed herself, and sighs out a half-hearted laugh. She looks up at Frankie with a "Help a girl out" look and a small grin playing on her perfect lips.
Frankie places his hands on her waist again, shocked by the heat of her skin radiating through the thin fabric of her dress, and places her steadily on the sidewalk.
"Thank you for not being an asshole about this and for fixing my leg, offering your friends help, and, well, just thank you for everything. It’s been a day from hell." Y/N laughs, and the sound tinkles through Frankie like a lullaby.
"Sure, it's no problem, pequeño" he grins at her deep blush, "if your free tomorrow I can get my buddy to take a look, I can put your bumper in the back of the truck if you like?" He offers.
"Oh yeah, that would be perfect! I have no plans for tomorrow, so just whenever works best for you, Frankie." The way his name rolled off her tongue so innocently had Frankie clearing his throat nervously.
Okay, I will call you tomorrow then?." He asked in confusion; she still hadn’t given him her information.
"I’d like that." She smiled shyly back at him, the most tempting pink creeping across her cheeks.
"Um, you have to give me your number for me to call it Y/N." He chuckled, scratching at the back of his neck again.
"Oh fuck, I'm an idiot." She let her head fall into her hands in embarrassment, and Frankie was glad she couldn’t see him right now. The way she almost moaned that word was torturing him, and he had to readjust the way he stood as he felt his pants tightening ever so slightly.
"Jesus Frank, reign it in; she doesn’t even want to have dinner with you, let alone anything else," he thought to himself harshly. This woman was affecting him far more than any stranger should be able to.
Y/N held her hand out with the folded note between her thumb and index finger. The slight tremble in her hand didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, but Frankie chose not to acknowledge it; it was probably just leftover adrenaline from the crash anyway.
"Thanks, Y/N," he took the paper from her, held it in one hand, and tapped it against the palm of his other.
"Okay, I guess I’ll hear from you tomorrow?" She asked, and Frankie was sure he could hear the hope in her voice as he nodded back.
"You sure will, Hermosa," Frankie replied without thinking, and it was his turn to blush.
Okay, that sounds good. I will speak to you tomorrow. It was great to meet you, Frankie."
He just smiled as he watched from the side of his truck. Walking back to her little beat-up Polo, climbing into the front seat, and driving away with a grin on her pretty face.
Frankie has to take a second before he moves, running his hand over the fresh dent and scratches on the back of the truck. Smiling to himself at how a perfect stranger had effectively turned him into a teenager again,
He lifts the bumper and places it gently into the bed of the truck, pulling the cover down over top, and then secures the tailgate.
Y/N just seemed so good and sweet. "Any wonder she didn’t want to go to dinner with me?" he thought to himself.
He climbs back into the cab of the truck and opens the piece of paper she had given him. The first thing he notices is how lovely her handwriting is, and scrawled elegantly across the page is her telephone number and a message that reads:
"I would love to go to dinner with you, Frankie."
He holds the piece of paper between both hands, sure that if he lets it go, it will disappear. Grinning ear to ear, his phone starts ringing, and he lifts it from the passenger seat without looking at who is calling.
"Hello?" He asks, aware of how dopey he sounds as he stares at the note in his hand.
Frank, where the hell are you? You were supposed to be here a half hour ago!" Pope half yells down the phone at him.
"Calm down, I got into a bit of an accident. Im okay though; she was a happy accident." He grins down the line. "I’ll be over in five." He hangs up on Pope and places the note in his sun visor for safekeeping until tomorrow.
Excited at the idea of seeing her again and the night ahead with the boys, he flicks his indicator on and merges into the traffic heading to Santiago’s with the dopiest grin splitting his face.
A/N -
Pequeño ~ Little one
Hermosa ~ Beautiful
#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x fem. reader#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales fic#frankie morales fluff#triple frontier#triple frontier fic#frankie morales pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters
170 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bargain of Blood and Gold by Kristin Jacques - 3.75/5 stars
Reminiscent of Jordan L Hawk's Widdershins series, but with vampires and werewolves. Also takes place in Maine, which isn't a very common setting. Unwittingly, I bought the second book in the series months ago, and I realized as it got to the top of my TBR that I didn't have the first book! I had to scramble to order it and I was happy I enjoyed it since, obviously, I already have the second book.
Ander & Santi Were Here by Jonny Garza Villa - DNF at pg 2
Captive Prince by CS Pacat (reread) - 5/5 stars
Prince's Gambit by CS Pacat (reread) - 5/5 stars
Kings Rising by CS Pacat - 5/5 stars
I think I loved these books even more on my reread.
Gravity by Tal Bauer - 4.25/5 stars
Probably my favorite hockey romance that I've read.
The Modern Mythos Anomaly by Juniper Lake Fitzgerald - DNF at pg 132
I actually liked the story, the characters, and the writing in general, but this book just needed another few edits to slim it down a bit.
Lose You to Find Me by Erik J Brown - 4.5/5 stars
Leeward by Katie Daysh - 4.5/5 stars
The blurbs on this book are hilarious, because they're all like, tall ships people, and then Mackenzi Lee, hailing it as a lovely queer historical romance. This was a really lovely book and I'm excited for the sequel. Also hoping for more kissing in the sequel since this was a serious slow burn.
Riley Weaver Needs a Date to the Gaybutante Ball by Jason June - 3.75/5 stars
Starseer by Katya Hernández - 4/5 stars
Be Dazzled by Ryan La Sala - 5/5 stars
I loved this book so much!! Oh my god. Super funny, very romantic. It revolves around cosplay which is of course a special interest of mine.
Northranger by Rey Terciero and Bre Indigo - 4.5/5 stars
Flying Without a Net by EM Ben Shaul - 2.75/5 stars
The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley (reread) - 5/5 stars
Striking Distance by Sarah Rees Brennan - 4.75/5 stars
I didn't expect to like this as much as I did. The graphic novels were good but changing to a novel format allowed for much deeper characters. Surprisingly devastating and also really funny.
The Old Haunts by Allan Radcliffe - 4/5 stars
The Gay Best Friend by Nicholas DiDomizio - 5/5 stars
Main character is the best friend of both the bride and the groom, and everything surrounding the wedding becomes a train wreck beginning on the weekend of the bachelor party, when the bride asks the MC, Dom, to keep tabs on the groom for her. As someone who is extremely conflict avoidant with friends but not family and romantic partners, I heavily related to Dom. There's also a romance that I really loved.
Romance Languages by AJ Truman - 4.25/5 stars
I think this was my favorite of the South Rock series. It deals with some more difficult topics—Julian's self-loathing over his body image is heartbreaking (and relatable), and Seamus's guilt over the way his gambling addiction hurt his ex was very well done. I'm a sucker for stories where a character learns to ask for help, not to mention difficult parent-child relationships, and this had both. I also appreciated Julian's arc re: sex and virginity.
Darkhearts by James L Sutter - 5/5 stars
Another bandmates-in-love treasure, with a twist—the main character, David, left the band right before they got famous. He ends up falling for one of his ex-friends/bandmates after they reconnect. The author is a musician himself, and it definitely shows (in a good way). I'm really a sucker for The Burdens of Fame, which this book definitely had, but there's actually a really good arc for David and how he deals with his jealousy and resentment over being left behind. Plus he wants to be a carpenter rather than go to college, which was cool.
Brute by Kim Fielding - 4.25/5 stars
We Could Be So Good by Cat Sebastian - 5/5 stars
What can I say about this book? Why was it so lovely? Why did it make me feel so much? Why can I not rate things higher than 5 stars? It's a million stars in my heart. Aside from just being a gorgeous mid-century America m/m romance (my favorite), this one features an Italian-American main character. The stuff with Nick's family was spot-on. I just loved this book. I felt like I was wrapping myself in a big, comfy, historical gay romance blanket.
Drowned Country by Emily Tesh - 5/5 stars
The sequel to Silver in the Wood. Had a very mythic and sort of folk horror vibe. This one is from Henry Silver's POV instead of Tobias Finch's and takes place two years after Silver in the Wood, which is time that Henry has mostly spent sulking in Greenhollow Hall, sans Tobias. Really highly recommend this duology. Emily Tesh is a treasure.
The Alchemy of Moonlight by David Ferraro - DNF at pg 11
#bargain of blood and gold#kristin jacques#captive prince#prince's gambit#kings rising#cs pacat#gravity#tal bauer#leeward#katie daysh#be dazzled#ryan la sala#fence#striking distance#sarah rees brennan#the gay best friend#nicholas didomizio#romance languages#aj truman#darkhearts#james l sutter#we could be so good#cat sebastian#drowned country#greenhollow duology#emily tesh#reading tag
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wednesday WIP
It's hump day people! So that means it's time to find out what everyone is working on! 😎 As for your girl Nerdie, I have a few things in the works: two Dieter fics, two Marcus Pike fics, and Dave/Santi.
@iamasaddie Popped out a dark Valentine's Day prompt and past Nerdie said sure! Thus we're going to have a different version of Marcus Pike. (Not “Daddy” I made a slight edit to the prompt). He might be a bit manipulative, but it's for your benefit. Not odd at all. It's still in bullet points and some of them may change I gave @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin a preview so have to ask her if it makes any sense. 😄 (The above gif is how I picture this Marcus. Like he looks so sweet, but sir, SIR! But also we're okay with it, maybe.)
@magpiepills gave me an excellent idea for meeting Marcus Pike at a motel based off a Tag game we did a week or two ago. I've thought of three parts for the thing. I just gotta write it. That will be the Marcus fluff we know and love. 💕
@angelofsmalldeath-codeine Sweetly asked if there was an update on my chapter Dieter series "Weddings 101 with Dieter." I am working on chapter 4, I just have to work out the details. The devil is there and he is mocking me. 😈 The Horny Delegation's High Chancellor has high expectations. Maybe I should have written it a little worse. 🤗
Dave/Santi have their bullet points mostly. I did start on them. Maybe February @for-a-longlongtime It needs a lot more meat, lube, cargo pants and zip ties. There may be a preview of that next week along with some Santiago smut. The Santi x reader smut will be @rhoorl (she started it with her ask) and @legendary-pink-dot fault who sent me one journalist's investigative piece on Oscar's Dune beard. 🤣 I also blame Pinterest. You search “Oscar Isaac beard” one time. Sheesh. 😒
I finished my addition to the PMAMC 2024 challenge organized by the talented @wannab-urs and, well, it's done and out there. 👀 Read the other ones and come back to mine, if you think about it. This week is everyone is posting so there will be a masterlist up later with everyone who participated.
I'll end with a small preview of my Dieter Brovo one-shot:
God he needs to feel you, the pocket pussy he has is alright but he needs your full weight on him. You mewling at him, giving him silent direction as he tries to make you vocalize more. Dieter’s aware he’s often loud enough for the both of you and he finds that hearing the few moans that you will give him, fill him with a sense of accomplishment. He remembered that you’d told him that it was difficult to climax sometimes and actually you’ve reached your peak so much more often with him than other partners, because he cared to find out where your spots are, what makes you feel good. Your hushed noises weren’t an indication that he wasn’t doing well, you just weren't used to making sounds during sex. Since the two of you met at a club where you had misplaced your shoes and Dieter let you borrow his crocs, you’d been seeing each other when you could. It was one of the few stable relationships Dieter had outside of his business team.
So that’s all I have this week. 🤗 See you next week!
No pressure tags: @fhatbhabie @trulybetty @morallyinept @maggiemayhemnj @pedroshotwifey @megamindsecretlair @i-own-loki @secretelephanttattoo @goodwithcheese @ladybess-a03 @laurfilijames @musings-of-a-rose @undercoverpena @avastrasposts @chronically-ghosted @gwendibleywrites
#wednesday wip#Nerdie speaks#current wips#awesome friends#they just happen to be moots#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#dieter bravo#Dave york#santiago garcia#Marcus pike#fanfiction
26 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi! my b if this has been asked before, but can/do any of your ocs have tattoos? would they want them? ik breg probably wouldn’t bc of the needles/pain, but i’m curious abt the others like santi, morell, vesper, livius…? (also i jus wanna say that i LOVE your writing 😭 i stumbled across your account on ao3 and then i made a tumblr because i could not get enough! you’re seriously so talented and everything you write jus has me craving for more.)
Now that you mention it... Yeah, I don't think there's a single character of mine with tattoos, which is a bit strange to me, but curious.
You're entirely correct, Breg is too much of a wuss about needles to ever humor one. Although, if it was a simple tattoo of your name, he would probably agree. The breeder would just have to hold your hand very tightly, and you need to keep his eyes on you the entire time or he will flip and possibly hurt the poor artist trying to work on him. Remember, the space you tattoo becomes dysfunctional when it comes to Breg's skin flickering, so maybe do it with color?
Most of the demons are totally willing to get tattoos with you. Demons are used to marks in general, many have carved and branded things into their own bodies, displaying scars and tattoos alike as sources of immense pride. Some definitely find tattoos attractive in their mates. Concubi like Santi and Vesper are particularly into the idea of you suggesting a design of yours to tattoo onto them. It functions as your own "mark". Obie is also big into tats on others, he's very indecisive about his own body however.
Livius would only humor a tatoo if it's done to match you in some way. He wants it EXACTLY like yours, if it's off even by a little bit, there will be a tantrum. Going to be real here, you could probably suggest Vesper get a tramp stamp saying "King Cumdump" and he'd get it.
Morell generally detests tattoos. We've talked about it before on the blog. He thinks it ruins meat quality, and even if he doesn't plan to eat you, his irrational distaste is still there. He hates it. Putting tattoos on himself is even less appealing, since his body is all spotted. It would looks jarring and weird, and possibly ruin his faint glow.
Another one who doesn't really like tattoos is Krulu. If you must wear a design on your body, let it be his alone. Similarly, Miara would rather you do something suiting her tastes. Or, at the very least, in a variety of colors.
Shags FUCKING LOVES tattoos. It's part of how he makes a living! Selling his ink so it can be treated properly and used for body art, which he himself has dabbled in plenty of times. You want to get a new tattoo? Fuck yes, let him help you with the design, yes? Unfortunately, since he's constantly dripping ink and his body is almost always some degree of mutilated, Shags doesn't really want to tattoo himself.
[Oh my God, you made a Tumblr just for me?!? Ahfhsbfbsf that's so sweet, holy shit. <3 Thenk you lots, I'm very very glad you enjoy my content that much!!!]
93 notes
·
View notes
Note
Congrats on 5k followers! I was wondering if you could write a oneshot with Santiago using this prompt from the pre-argument list: sending the scary "we need to talk." text; but with a twist.
Reader sends it Santi, and he thinking “oh god she’s breaking up with me” and is fully prepared to get on his knees and plead for her to change her mind, and it turns out that the Reader is pregnant, and wanted to talk to Santi over whether or not they should keep it.
No argument, I just thought this would be a great idea for a bait and switch 😂
Santi's dreading the moment you come home.
Normally he's excited, of course he is—you're his partner and his everything and the fact that you choose to come home to him at the end of everyday is something he will never take for granted. He loves you more than anything, you've given him a purpose now that his bad knees have taken him out of commission.
But you'd sent him a text in the middle of the day that made his heart stop in his chest, made the blood in his veins turn to ice.
"We need to talk."
Of course, Santi starts trying to figure out what exactly he's done wrong. There had to be something, right? There's only one reason you would send him a text like that...
Whatever he's done, it's apparently bad enough for you to want to break up with him. He's sure that's what you want to talk about, there can't be another option here, at least not one that he can figure out. No, you're done with him, he knows it. Just like everything else that he's touched, he's going to lose you too.
So he spends the day panicking, unable to do anything but pace and clean and pace some more. He finally decides to take a shower right before you're due to walk through the door, thinking the hot water will help calm his nerves but it doesn't. His heart is still racing and there are so many unwanted thoughts running through his head.
He apparently doesn't realize how long he's spent in the shower, his goal having been to get out before you get home but when he walks back into the bedroom in search of some clean clothes, you're sitting on the edge of the bed, your legs folded underneath you.
You look like you're going to be sick, and Santi doesn't take that as a good sign. His stomach drops and his chest feels tight, like someone's digging their fingers between his ribs. He opens his mouth, not above begging, not at all. If the only way to get you to stay is for him to get on his knees, he'll do it.
But you beat him to it and speak first.
"I'm pregnant," you say, not wasting any time, not beating around the bush at all.
Santi actually sighs in fucking relief.
And it catches you completely off guard, but not necessarily in a bad way. Not really.
"Thank God," he mumbles, running a hand through his still soaked curls. "I thought you were going to break up with me or somethin'."
You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head to the side. "Why would I break up with you?"
"Why else do people send cryptic 'we need to talk' texts?"
He has a point, that much you can admit. You open your arms, silently beckoning him closer and he doesn't hesitate to fall into your arms, burying his face into your neck.
"I'm not breaking up with you...as long as you don't break up with me for being pregnant," you tease, though there is just a hint of truth behind your words. You're terrified that he's going to leave you.
"Why would I break up with you for that honey?" he purrs, pulling back just enough to get a better look at your face, his hand falling to your stomach. "You really are?"
You nod your head, heart soaring as his thumb gently moves across your belly. "I really am."
You don't have to ask Santi what he wants to do, whether or not he wants to keep the baby. You get your answer when he kisses you, your lips almost unable to keep up with his and the excitement coursing through his body.
Santi's so fucking glad you're not breaking up with him.
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
in Loving memory
Summary: here is my entry to@triplefrontier-anniversary celebration. This is a really sad one. sorry about that. this is a tribute for one of our own ,@aellynera who is now with the angels. She was one of a kind . Hope she loves this. she loved Oscar. Most of us knew she loved Triple frontier ,and anything with oscar. ha ha!
the fic deals with him mourning his love.
Wish people would stop asking how I am doing. Want to be alone! Let me fucking be! Let me grieve in my own way! Others never lose the love of their life like me. My Alleycat. One of a kind. Talented writer . Yeah. She loved to write short stories. Did that to take her mind off her illness. I found out about it four years ago when she would get sick a lot. Doctors ran test after test. Until … she was in a coma! Scared me half to death. Prayed for more time with her. Wishing Columbia never happened. Took me away from her! God! Why ! Why you called her home so fucking soon! Took my dad ( Which I didn't have to say goodbye to!) Took me years to get past the hurt. Feel so alone! What now!?
Haven't left our room since the funeral. That was the hardest thing to do. Say bye to my heart. Others are part of me. My Ying to my Yang. Treasure the moments we shared last year from going to a Broadway show in New York that stars her favorite actor. Okay, I saw why she likes him. Told me he looks like me. Smile at the memory. Oh Ally girl, wished we had more time together. Make even more memories. I’ll treasure them always. No matter what. I'll never find anyone like you darling. Promise you that.
I'm watching Revenge of Jolly right now. Try to laugh. Haven't been able to do that. I remember coming home from a horrible day. She was watching it. Okay.. kind of corny.
I watched it,and oh shit! Was so corny.
After the movie. I play some of her music. Oh how she loved the 70’s and 80’s. Her taste was all over the place! Like Dan Reed network. Played it a lot. Some country. Oh how she loved when I sing. Even with Benny. Speaking of him. Oh how he misses her. Like his big sister. Always teaming up to tease the shit out of me. Will and Frankie too loved her as well.
Her family gave me space that I needed. Mention if I need anything to let them know. That's sweet. Even Benny's girl, Paige comes by with food ,and tries to clean the house. Which looks like inside my head. She is grieving like me. Both of them were close. Like the same things. Same kind of sass. Which is comforting. On this day Paige brought me a note Ally wrote before she passed. Said for me to read it. Cant! Cant fucking do it! What can she possibly tell me that I already know! Paige told me it would help the healing process. Putting it on my nightstand for the time being.
Few days later Will texted me to come over for a surprise get together at his place. Others will be there. Too soon! Not ready to go out! Oh got a text from Paige:
Paige: Look, I know what you are going through. Been in your position when my dad passed away. Couldn't function. Took me awhile to realize that my dad didn't want me to wallow.
Santi: wallow? Think I'm wallowing?
Paige: a little. Have to get out at some point okay? Ally wouldn't want you to be sad forever. Have a lot of people in your corner. Besides, I need you at the gathering. So does Benny.
Santi: Oh.. the gathering has to do wop,ith you two?
Paige : maybe.
Maybe she said. Just like Ally . So secretive. Guess I have to bite the bullet,and read the letter. Sitting in my worn out, black leather chair. Starting to read:
My Santi baby( hot sauce) ,
Wrote this before my condition got so bad that I couldn't communicate anymore. Wanna tell you I love you soo much. Have been the love of my life for a long time, baby. Sorry for worrying you so much about my illness. Always there when I told you about it. So grateful for that.
Have a request for you. Live life to the fullest,but first thing first.
Get your knees checked out! Don't let it go too long! Hate to see you in pain. Do it for me. Secondly, it's okay to love someone new. Want you to be happy. It's okay to love someone else. Thirdly, let the others take care of you. I mean it! Have been a leader far too long. Let them take some of the slack okay?
Last thing my love I treasure all of the time we shared in our short time together. Never in my wildest dreams we found each other. Be strong .
Hold the note close to my heart. Tears fell again. Thinking about what I have to do. First thing. Time to get cleaned up. Meaning shaving my scruffy face.
Took a breath as I knocked on ironhead’s door. Benny opened the door. Hugging me so tight I couldn't breath. Others hugged me. Even Paige. Asked me if I was okay. Squeezed her tiny hands and told her I read the letter . Told her I'll do what she says.
Benny made his special announcement. Him and Paige are getting married. So happy for them . Hope both of them have a wonderful life together. Looking up at the evening sky knowing she is in heaven watching. Guiding not just me,but all of the people she cares about.
16 notes
·
View notes
Note
Please write prompt 17 with Santi Garcia! 😫🥺
Prompt: 17) softer muse makes the first move for sex and rides or tops the gruffer one who looks at them like they just found god + Santiago Garcia
Rating/Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Minors DNI, smut, riding, dom!reader, sub!Santi, mention of subspace, Santi is Shook™️
When Santi first met you, he was enthralled. You had a sweet countenance about you— you never yelled out of anger or surprise; hell, Santi wasn’t even sure you had the ability to be angry. And if you were surprised, a startled squeak was all that you could do. You were quiet, reserved, ridiculously shy, and kind to anything and everything. When he asked you out, you were a blushing, stuttering mess; he’s pretty sure your brain glitched there for a second. But he thought you were cute, and he was certain there was more to you than met the eye.
His first hint that he was right came on your third date, when you gave him permission to take you to a shooting range to meet the boys. Assholes as they were (affectionately), they thought it would be funny to let you try.
Needless to say, the whole place was quiet when you shot a round from a handgun with expert precision. “What?” Your cute little shrug while holding a 9-mil was completely contradictory.
His second hint came on the fifth date. It was like since you were getting more comfortable with him, you’d started showing more of your true colors, more of yourself, and he was loving every minute of it, seeing these new sides of you. When the waitress saw how you were acting— shoulders hunched, gaze averted from her, no words to be said— she immediately took advantage of the situation. Or, she tried to. Santi thought no one could compare to your beauty, but he also knew that you compared yourself. He knew that you were comparing yourself to the waitress— whose slutty advances made her insanely less attractive— just like you compared yourself to every single woman that walked by. He hated it, but despite how many times he’d tried to tell you, you didn’t stop.
When the waitress— who had, no shit, gone into the bathrooms and come out with freshly done makeup that was way too much, and had undone the first few buttons of her shirt to make cleavage, which she then bent a bit in his direction to show it off— came over to the table, ignoring you, to give him her number, Santi didn’t have to reject her.
You— sweet, lovable you— went from zero to sixty in a millisecond. “You fucking whore-ass bitch,” was the first thing out of your mouth. “You've really got no fucking dignity, do you? Get your ass away from our table before I report you to the manager after I kick your ass so hard you won’t be able to find the edges of your lips to outline your bad lipstick job.”
The waitress looked at you like you were crazy— and she looked a little terrified— prompting you to slam your napkin on the table before scooting your chair back a bit as if in preparation to storm after her. She took off, leaving you to calmly return your napkin to your lap, clear your throat, and take a sip of your wine. “What were you saying?” Your little eyebrow raise over the top of your glass sent your whole look overboard.
Santi almost came in his pants right there.
Your protective side wasn’t surprising— it was always the quiet ones— but the revelation was hot as fuck. Santi told you that, making you smile and blush and go right back to your shy side.
He fucking loved your duality.
His third and final hint that, yes, he was right, you might be sweet but are also tough, snarky, and a badass, came somewhere around your eighth date.
“You... wanna come back to my place?”
Santi had been over to your place about a million times already, and vice versa. But it was the way you asked that made him realize you weren’t just asking for cuddles and a movie. The way you averted your eyes and said it hesitantly, so quietly that he could barely hear you, he knew what you wanted.
At least… He’s pretty sure. He didn’t want to assume. So he just said yes and drove you both there. He was nervous about asking you— what if you thought that was all he wanted? So after you’d arrived, when Santi asked, “...Did you wanna head to the bed?” It sounded more shaky than he’d intended it to.
When you turned, your smile went straight to his crotch. “That’s exactly what I wanted, Santi.”
Santi was usually the one to make the first move. But with you, for some reason, he let you lead. He let you tell him what to do. He let you pull his clothes off and kiss him senseless and push him back onto the bed. You whispered filth into his ear that made him blush, and he allowed you to make him keep his hands above his head as you nipped and bit at him and edged him until he couldn’t see straight and blindly agreed to anything you said. His spine shuddered when you called him a good boy, when you told him he deserved a reward for being so good for you— you’d climbed up to straddle him and rode him painfully slowly, and despite the death grip he had on your waist, you were the one setting the pace. He let you fuck him the way you liked, let you make him beg and writhe and whimper until you finally gave him permission to cum.
And then you launched into aftercare, cleaning you both up as Santi tried to remember who and where he was. You cuddled him close and kissed all over his face as he returned to himself. “Holy fuck, baby. Didn’t see that coming.”
You blushed. You. Who just nearly sent him into subspace. “Was it too much?”
Santi pulled you closer with a beaming grin. “No, not at all. You’re the only one I’ve ever let do that to me. You can keep doing it… I love it.”
The next morning, your shy smiles and blushing face contradicted the side of you that had made him beg for release last night. You were full of surprises and contradictions, complicated and easily underestimated.
And Santi loved every minute of it.
Give me a prompt and a character!
#santiago 'pope' garcia x reader#santiago garcia x reader smut#santiago garcia#triple frontier#oscar isaac#oscar isaac hernandez estrada
216 notes
·
View notes
Text
epilogue
Chapter 11 of I’ll Be Back Again To Stay
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Pairing: Santiago Garcia x single mom!reader
Warnings: none :)
Word Count: 2.2k
Author’s Note: here it is!! The end of the story!! First, I want to say thank you to everyone who read, commented, reblogged, and enjoyed this <3 you all deserve the world. Second, if anybody’s interested, I am always open to writing little fics or headcannons about these two idiots and the in-between moments <3
Santiago makes good on his promise to visit. He comes for the first time in February, and swears up and down that he didn’t even realize Valentine’s Day fell during his visit. He only stays for a few days, but it’s wonderful just to spend time with him, to take Inez out somewhere during the day and then spend the evenings together.
It’s perfect, and you get a little bit heartbroken when he has to leave. You loved all of the time you were able to spend with Santi, just the two of you, but you might have loved watching him and Inez bond even more. You’re never going to forget how big she smiled when the two of you came to pick her up from school, and how she never wanted to be away from him during his visit.
For someone who claims he could never be a father, it seems like the most natural thing to him.
You see him again in March, when you and Inez fly out to spend her spring break in North Carolina. This time, you drive out to the beach and get ice cream and get a rental car. You stay with Santiago, and even though Syd had pouted when you told her, you could tell she was secretly very happy that all her meddling and not-so-subtle pushes had worked.
Santi ends up flying out to see you about once a month, even though you text and call and FaceTime almost every day. Once, Inez had begged for him to bring Toby, so he drove the 23 hours, just so your daughter could see his dog.
It’s over the summer that you finally make the decision to move out to join all of your friends. There wasn’t anything keeping you in Denver, there was no reason for you to stay, and Inez seemed delighted at the idea of getting to see her best friend every day.
You’d complained to Santi about not being able to find a house near everyone, late one night during one of his visits.
“Just stay with me,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious idea on the planet.
“What?”
“At least until you find a place,” he’s backtracking, taking your surprise for repulsion, when really, you just weren’t sure that was something he had wanted.
The two of you never really made it clear what you were to each other. You knew you both cared about each other, that you wanted to spend time together and be near each other, but labels had seemed so unimportant. This was a big step, but it was one you felt ready to take.
“You sure? A six year old and a dog?” You ask, smiling as Santi rolls his eyes at you.
“They can occupy each other,” and you laugh, rough patch and hurt feelings carefully avoided. There were always a few moments when things felt like they could take a rocky turn, like you and Santiago really weren’t meant to be together, but you always navigated them carefully, side by side until things turned around.
All of your friends come out to help you pack and move - thank god for the Miller brothers. Santi has the whole operation under wraps; all you had to do was tell him what you wanted done, and he and the boys would do it with military precision.
Everything was running so smoothly you barely did anything, spending most of the days they spent packing up furniture and placing boxes in trucks showing Sofia and Maria around town with Inez, staying out of the guys’ way while they did all the hard work.
Benny had volunteered to drive the moving truck to your new home while you, Santi, and Inez drove in your car with some of the smaller boxes and suitcases full of what you’d need immediately, like toiletries and spare clothes and pajamas. You were just as excited as Inez, though you weren’t bouncing up and down the entire car trip.
It takes some time to get settled in, to create a new routine with Santi and Inez and Toby, but everything fit together perfectly once you get the hang of it. You loved watching Santiago with your daughter, how wonderful he was with her, the way he’d sling her pink, sparkly backpack across his shoulders whenever he’d come with you to pick her up from school and walk her safely through the parking lot.
Winter arrives, and Christmas comes with it, and you’re happier than you’ve ever been.
This year, you get to kiss Santi whenever you see him, sit next to him and hold his hand or cuddle into his side when he slings an arm around your shoulder. Santi’s a sap, and even though the guys don’t say anything because he’s happier than he’s ever been, they can’t help but roll their eyes and smile whenever his eyes track you across the room with a reverent look.
Over the past few months, Inez has taken to calling Santi ‘dad’, and you’d been terrified the first time it happened, but Santiago didn’t do anything but smile wider than you’ve ever seen him and answer the question she was asking. Now, she calls for her dad as often as she can. It’s a novel word for both of them, and his eyes light up every single time.
Christmas Eve is spent at the Morales’s again - Sofia is pregnant with their second baby and decided that she didn’t want to leave the house. Maria is over the moon about being a big sister, and keeps telling everyone who will listen about all of the fun things she’s going to do with her little sibling.
Everything seems so much brighter than last Christmas. You and Santi are finally together, Sofia is having another baby, and Will and Sydney finally got engaged. It seems as if everything yet nothing has changed, as if this is the way it was always meant to be.
The evening passes in similar fashion to last year, with dinner and gifts and restless children, except now, Santiago helps you haul Inez’s gifts to the car and drives you all home. He helps Inez set up cookies for Santa and the three of you cuddle on the couch until your daughter passes out, curled up between the two of you.
As expected, Inez comes bounding into your room at the crack of dawn, jumping onto the bed to wake you and Santi. It takes a few minutes to gather your senses, but soon enough you’re all downstairs, watching as Inez tears at the gifts under the tree.
“Did you like all the presents from Santa?” You ask her as she climbs onto your lap while Santiago starts breakfast.
“Yeah, except I didn’t get a little sister, but that’s okay because toys are probably better.”
She moves on pretty quickly, hopping off the couch and back onto the floor to play with her toys. She doesn’t bring up wanting to be a big sister until March, when Luna Morales is born and Maria becomes a big sister. Both of the girls are obsessed with the baby, spending hours just sitting and watching her, interspersed with begging Sofia to know when she’ll be big enough to play with.
It seems like with the new addition to the group, everyone gets baby fever. Sydney had mentioned to you that she’s ready to start trying, because watching Inez grow up and meeting little Luna has only increased her desire to be a mom, even after Luna spit up on her. If Benny’s around, he’s got Luna in his arms more often than not, even though he’s perfectly content with staying as Uncle Benny for a little while longer.
You’ve never seen Santiago look at something with as much longing as he looks at sweet baby Luna. He’d been terrified to hold her, just as Sofia told you he was scared to hold Maria, but he always cradles her in the softest of ways, looks down and cooes at the big brown eyes she’d inherited from his best friend. He’d mentioned it a few times in passing, how maybe he wouldn’t be an awful father to a baby, but he’s yet to outright ask if you wanted to start trying.
The spring is spent with lots of play dates at the Morales house, so Inez can keep Maria busy and you can watch over Luna while Sofia showers and naps and does whatever she needs to do. And, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve gotten a little bit of baby fever too.
You love Inez more than words can say, and you wouldn’t change a single thing about her, not even raising her alone, but it would be nice to have someone by your side throughout the whole pregnancy, someone to be there for all the milestones. Sure, the first time you had Syd, and you’re eternally grateful for her, but you can’t imagine how different it would be to go through all that with the other person who’s going to raise your baby.
You want to have a baby with Santiago.
Before you broach that topic with him, though, the two of you get married, going down to the courthouse in late June with your friends as witnesses. And, while you’re there, Santi officially adopts Inez, and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier.
The reception is in your backyard, with food from a local restaurant and drinks spread out in coolers along the back porch. The kids run around with Toby while the adults take turns holding Luna so her parents can eat and have a few minutes to relax. It’s casual and simple and absolutely perfect.
You and Santiago finally have a talk about having children together, and by next Christmas, you’re the one pulling the pregnant card and making everyone come to your house. Inez is absolutely over the moon, chattering on and on about how she’ll finally have someone besides Toby to play with.
It seems like your happiness is only growing, with every Christmas somehow better than the last. There’s no fighting, no drama, no snarky comments, just genuine love and appreciation for the people you’re surrounded with. There’s not a day that goes by where you aren’t beyond grateful for the family you’ve made and for the bigger family you’ve found.
And, in March, the newest member of that family arrived.
The group had been divided over whether it would be a boy or a girl, even though it hadn’t mattered to you as long as they were happy. Still, Benny had to slip Will a twenty dollar bill when you revealed that you’d be having a baby girl.
Little Augustine Elena Garcia is born, with her father’s eyes and your smile, the same one inherited by Inez. You’d been worried, terrified, that she would feel replaced when the baby arrived, but it seems like every second she’s home, Inez is with Augustine, even if she just sits next to you or Santi as you hold her.
If you thought it was wonderful to see Santi with Inez, you’re blown away by the sight of him cradling your baby girl. He's amazing, the most supportive partner you could ever ask for. He does whatever you need him too, and still makes sure to spend special time with Inez, like playing with stuffies together or going to get ice cream, so she remembers that he always loves her.
As Augustine gets a little older, Santi takes to wearing her on his chest as he moves around the house, folding laundry or doing the dishes, sometimes strapping her to his chest while he takes Toby for a walk so he doesn’t need to worry about dealing with the stroller.
He just loves to be close to her. You can’t even count the times you’ve walked into the living room and seen Auggie asleep on his chest, Santiago passed out beneath her.
You host Christmas again, and Santiago spends most of the day with Augustine strapped to his chest. She’s a total daddy’s girl, and you’d feel a little jealous if it weren’t so adorable. Both of your girls love to be with Santi, and he loves spending time with them just as much.
As you sit around, waiting for everyone to open their gifts with Auggie in your arms and Inez nestled between you and Santiago, you can’t help but think about how much everything has changed in the last four Christmases.
You’d met everyone as a single mom to a kindergartener, feeling like you’d never meet someone you want to spend the rest of your life with. Now, Inez is eight years old, you have another daughter, and you’re married to your favorite person in the world.
This was never the life you grew up dreaming about; the husband and dog and white picket fence, two and a half kids and a nine-to-five, the whole suburban dream. You were never aching for a husband, and you hadn’t thought much about kids until you had Inez.
You did things a little differently, a little unconventionally, but you wouldn’t change a thing. Even if this wasn’t the life you grew up dreaming about, you’d never been happier and you don’t think it’s possible for you to become any happier.
Everything always works out the way it should, and the universe works in mysterious ways. Still, you wouldn’t change a goddamn thing about your life, not when you’re surrounded by your favorite people, by your daughters, by the love of your life.
You feel complete, and nothing could ever top that.
Tags: @zoriis @andr0medafallen @campingwiththecharmings @itspdameronthings @stevenngrant @loonymagizoologist @welcometostayingawake @outmodead @pakhiya @wand-erer5
#santiago garcia#santiago garcia x reader#santiago garcia x you#santiago pope garcia#santiago pope garica x reader#triple frontier#triple fontier fanfic#i’ll be back again to stay
97 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
stratospheric-bebop
stratospheric-bebop
mortallytremendoussandwich
mortallytremendoussandwich
pianogang
piano gang
lasiapur
Las