#santiago garcia x fem!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nathanbatemanfucker · 10 months ago

Text

Personal Issue

summary: santi invites you to his hotel room the day after your engagement to talk. he says the unexpected— that he’s in love with you.

prompt: "Why did you never tell me?" "It was a personal issue." "You being in love with me kind of also involves me." - @creativepromptsforwriting

pairing: santi garcia x f!reader

contents: get together fic, best friends to lovers, simp!santi (he’s lowkey a lil pathetic but i love him), angst, mental health issues/thoughts of dying, cheating, kissing

wc: 1,966

an: a teeny tiny something bc i miss santi. thanks to @ivystoryweaver for the beta <3

oscar characters masterlist

"Why did you never tell me?" You demand, unable to keep the horror out of your voice.

Santi ignores the way your tone scrapes at the wound in his heart— the wound that’s always been open because of you. Always fresh, unable to heal because of you. You always seemed to be just out of reach, slipping through his fingers for one reason or another.

"It was a personal issue,” He reasons, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He can hardly look at you. It’s humbling. He’s never had an issue with charming a woman, but you aren’t just any woman. You’re his best friend. There are too many eggs in this basket.

You scoff, crossing your arms against your chest, "You being in love with me kind of also involves me."

“I didn’t— things were different before.”

“Different,” You test the word, not at all buying it. It feels like bullshit. Like a cop-out.

“Yes, different. We were kids, and then I was gone all the time.”

“No, Santi, you can’t do this to me.”

Santi smiles, though there is no humor in it. You’re right— he shouldn’t be doing this. Not today, not any day, but he’s finally reached his limit. It’s now or never.

“I don’t really have a choice, now did I, cariño?”

You glare at him, about ready to rip his head off because that‘s not true. You and Santiago have known each other for most of your lives— and you’ve loved him for at least half that. He could’ve told you days, weeks, months, years ago that he felt the same. But in true Santiago Garcia fashion, thinking only of himself and the consequences that sit right in front of him, he’d told you today.

Today wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t the day after you’d gotten engaged. No, Santi chose the day after you’d finally given yourself to someone else completely, the day after you promised yourself you’d settle and try to stop loving him. What you’ve wanted for years and years on end has finally come and now it feels like some sort of cruel joke.

“That’s one of the most heinous lies you’ve ever told.”

“The Colombian government would disagree.”

“You know what— get the hell out of here. I don’t want to see you ever again. I can’t believe that you think you can just waltz right in here and—“

Santi takes two long strides towards you, closing the gap between you so that he can cup your face. “Tell me no. Say it. You have to say it to me.”

“Santiago, please,” You plead softly with him, your eyes round with fear. Your hands reach up to grasp his, making futile attempts to pull them away. “Don’t make me choose.”

Santi leans closer, the tip of his nose ghosting yours. His eyes are darker than usual, burning into you, a little angry— though he has no right to be— and a little desperate. “Why? Why not, hmm? He’s not that important, is he? Because you know you’ll choose me, don’t you?”

“Stop. Stop. Do you know how unfair this is? How fucked up it is for you to tell me this?”

Santi’s grip on your face tightens— it’s not painful but it’s frantic. You can feel the urgency in his fingertips. “Yes. Yes, I know. And I’ve always wanted to be better for you. I want to be a good man, I want to be worthy. Not some fucked up guy who’s better at killing than he is at telling the woman he loves how much she means to him. But, I’m not.”

“You could try.”

“I have. Don’t you get it, baby, I have. Yesterday when I saw those pictures. When I saw this—“ He tangles his fingers with your own, twisting your hand so you have to stare the ring sat on your finger in the face.

It glistens and gleams like it taunting you. It’s exactly what you wanted— the right cut, the right material—sparkling even in the dark. Your stomach churns at the sight of it. You shouldn’t have said yes, that much you know for sure. When you went back to your apartment last night you sat in the shower, your tears disguised under its spray. And when you had emerged, you’d made yourself a promise. To be a good and loyal spouse to the man that had actually chosen you.

“It drove me fucking insane. I lost it because I’m losing you. I had to try. If you say no, I’ll never come back. I’ll take assignment after assignment but if there’s even a small chance, baby, that you could still love me— because I know you did…I know you do.”

“I don’t want you gone forever, Santi. I said that because I’m angry.”

“You have every right to be.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Then what do you need, huh? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. Whatever you want.”

There’s more than one answer to that, but you have to give him the right answer. You’d just promised yourself last night that you would move on. Who knew that he would make it so difficult.

With a soft, shaky breath you say, “I…I need you to let me go.”

Santi goes dangerously still, his breath catching. “What?”

“I need you to let me go,” You repeat gently, closing your eyes so you don’t have to face him. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

The words sound syrupy in his ears, far away and unreal. He looks at you with confusion. “You want me to let you go?”

“Yes.”

The sharp anger and desperation in Santi’s eyes fade away, leaving his features soft and round and sad. So markedly sad. He lets his eyes trace your face for memorization; lips and eyes, the slope of your nose. He leans in to kiss your forehead, letting out a soft sigh.

Santi has done wrong by so many others and even done wrong by you. But this he’ll do right. If you want him to let you go then he will. He’ll let you walk out of here and never look back. Maybe he’ll get so involved in his work that he won’t think of you or this moment ever again. Maybe something will take him away completely. He flinches at his thought— it’s been a long time since something that has floated around in his mind like that. Taking a step away from you, he lets you go, fingers aching with the ghost of your skin against his.

You rest your face in your hands for a few moments, trying to pull yourself together. And when you straighten, you’re sure not to look Santi in his, just in his general direction. You’re broken enough and meeting his gaze would surely cause you to fall apart.

“Thank you, Santi,” You whisper, not trusting yourself to speak any louder.

He gives you a stiff nod, “Anything for you.”

Why do those words feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart? If he meant them, then why did he wait so long? Why did he do this to the both of you? Your vision blurs a bit with tears and you quickly grab your coat from where it’s laid on his bed, taking deliberate steps towards the door. Your hand lingers on the doorknob— are you sure that you want to do this? To walk away from the man you’ve always wanted?

“Wait,” He calls after you.

You freeze, but don’t turn towards him— that would be asking for trouble. Trouble you are trying so fucking hard to avoid. “What is it?”

“I just— I have to say it to you one more time because I don’t know if I’ll be able to again.”

“I told you I didn’t want you gone for good, Santi. We don’t have to do this, you can just let me walk away and we can act like it never happened,” You say, though you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself more.

“I don’t think I can promise to stick around. I can’t watch you marry someone else. I’m not gracious enough, querida.”

“Okay,” You whisper, the tears in your eyes starting to fall.

“I…I love you. I always will.”

Silence falls between you two, an empty cove. Santi hopes that it’ll be enough, that somehow, miraculously you’ll turn around and run into his arms, telling him that you love him too. Instead, he hears a soft sob and watches as your hand rises to wipe at your face before you straighten up and step out into the hall.

When the door shuts behind you he feels like he’s drowning. Like he can’t breathe. His heart is thrumming loudly in his ears, and he crumbles, letting out a groan as his knees hit the ground.

What the fuck has he done? Lost you forever, and told you that he can’t stick around. That was the last time he would ever see you. A world without you is one he’s sure he doesn’t want to be in.

He’s completely paralyzed with fear. He’s not sure how long he sits on the ground like this, shocked and still, but eventually his body starts to ache so badly he’s unable to ignore it. He crawls to the bed, reaching up to rest his weight on it and lift himself onto it. Here he can rot until he can no longer. Until Frankie or Will or Benny come to bang down the door and figure out what the hell is wrong with him.

It’s not long after that that someone does start knocking on his door. Has it been days? One of them was here already. Santi feels like it’s been minutes and weeks all at the same time, time stretching and squeezing in a way that feels unreal. It takes real effort to rise out of bed and make his way to the door. He doesn’t bother to check who it is, opening it with no reservations.

Maybe he died of starvation or dehydration. He must have been lying there much longer than he thought because it’s you. You’re standing at the door, tear-stained and so goddamn beautiful. This has to be heaven— except he’s undeserving.

“I love you too,” You blurt out.

“What?”

“I love you too,” You repeat. When Santi says nothing, staring at you in a daze you start to ramble. “I tried to go home and I couldn’t sleep. And then I drove around a bunch but I couldn’t stop crying because how am I supposed to live my life without you? Then all of a sudden I was here again. I love you, Santiago.”

“You love me.”

“Yes, I love you. Are you okay?”

Santi feels like his body has recalibrated. “Am I— get over here,” He murmurs, reaching to pull you into his room and crushing your mouth to his.

He presses you against the wall, covering your body with his own as he completely devours your mouth, forcing his way in and sucking at your tongue. All you can do is melt into him, hands scrambling to find purchase in the fabric of his shirt so that you can clutch him closer. His mouth is firm and so sweet. You want to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him for the rest of your life. Something in your brain reminds you that maybe, just maybe, if he loves you as much as he claims he does you will. It has you giggling into his mouth.

He grins into the kiss. “My kissing is funny, is it?”

“Funny isn’t the word I’d use for it but just to be sure— kiss me again?”

“Anything for you,” He murmurs, his mouth capturing yours once more.

santi taglist: @jitterbugs927, @theconsultingdoctor10, @tanzthompson, @clairevoyanceee, @moonmalice, @tiffanypooh, @dearvirtualdiary-blog1, @marc-spectorr, @xbellaxcarolinax, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @missdictatorme, @whatthefishh

#santi garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santi garcia x fem!reader #santiago garcia x fem!reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #arson writes

465 notes · View notes

romanarose · 8 months ago

Text

Ouch!

Santiago Garcia x fem!afab!reader

Join my tag list!

Triple Frontier Masterlist

Summery: You have really difficult periods, but Santi is there for you.

A one shot but takes place in the Santi period fic verse after Santi with a Reader on her Period and Gross Reality but also in the universe of Honest Mistake written with @missdictatorme

Warnings: Blood, period se, v painful periods, butthole cramps, tummy cramps, backaches, Santi's pretty fingers. mentions of breeding kink, accidentally cumming inside, mentions of plan B

Immersivity: reader can get periods, is fem, can be picked up.

This is my submission for Triple Frontier Write-a-Thon !!! come join in the fun and follow @triplefrontier-anniversary to find more fics!!!

840 words

***************

“OOOOOWWWWWW!” You wine on your stomach, Santi knelt behind you.

“I know baby, I know, you’re doing so, so good.”

You were lying on a heating pad, your cramps killing you. It fucking hurt. Santi was massaging your lower back, which also hurt.

“Shut up!” You snap, then immediately apologize. “I’m soooorrryyyyyy”

“It’s okay, it’s alright.” This had been going on all day. You felt bad for snapping at him when he was trying to help, but god today was awful.

Santi had to pick you up at work, bringing Ben to drive your car home because you felt so faint. After getting home, Santi wrapped an arm around you to make sure you didn’t pass out before getting you set up in bed. It. HURT. It hurt so bad everyone in your torso and you just cried half the day away. The only time you were off the heating pad was to cry and poop and maybe throw up a bit. This was not Santi’s first rodeo with your horrific periods, and he took good care of you. Luckily, things had eased a bit by this point, although still painful, it was not unbearable.

YOur voice is muffled from the pillow. “Santi, I need you to fuck me.”

This was not what he was expecting from his pained girlfriend, face down in the pillow unable to watch The Office he had put on just for her. Santi hated The Office, he was a Parks and Rec man himself.

“Oh. Like… with my dick?”

You lift your head off the pillow. “No, with a beer bottle- yes with your dick, Santi! I heard from Will’s wife that orgasms help periods.”

“You talk about sex with Lana?”

“Oh yeah, all the time. Did you know sometimes when he eats her out he’ll put his-”

Santi shoved your face back into the pillow.

Santi set it up after helping you get up to remove your period cup, placing a towel down on the bed. You came back without bottoms but your Star Wars t-shirt still on, which Santi understood. This was to help your cramps, not his pleasure. Wasn’t his fault you still looked sexy as hell with your grumpy little pouty face, giving him a boner. Santi tried to touch you, but you snapped back.

“I’m clearly already soaked, Garci.”

He swatted your ass. “The goal is to make you cum, carino not to shove my dick in the wettest hole.

You mocked his words in a high-pitched tone, layed back down on the heating pad. God this was awful. You needed to see a doctor about this, you couldn’t go on this way. Santi’s fingers were- ohfuckinghellowowowowowwww- they were fucking magical. You’d admit his pussy eating game was not where it could be, but honestly neither was your head game. It worked. What mattered was your pussy was gorilla grip and he had a massive shlong he knew how to use, and god DAMN his FINGERS. It wasn’t long before you were moaning, Santi sliding hot cock into your bleeding cunt, fucking your brains away. Fuck it felt nice. Your tummy still hurt.

“Owwwww” You moan.

He slowed. “You okay?”

“No I’m dying!”

He sighs. “You’re going to the gyno tomorrow, right?”

“UUUGGHHHH” you kick your feet. “Yes just fuck me!!”

You’re on the verge of cumming, Santi’s cock hitting nice and deep just the way you liked it when-

“OOOWW!!!!” You shout, clamping down hard as you had a butthole cramp “OW OW OW OW OW!!!!”

Santi mumbles some swear words, pulling out of you “Shit, baby are you okay?” His hands are warm on you, desperately looking if he hurt you.

“Yeah…” You mumble, rolling over onto your back. “I got a butthole cramp… Maybe this isn’t working.”

“Yeah, maybe not. I can still do it with these bad boys though!” Santi wiggles his blood covered fingers with a dopey grin on his face.

You laugh, sitting up to kiss him when you notice. His dick gone soft and although red, was leaking white. “Santi.” You give him a pointed look. “Did me yelling in pain make you cum inside me?”

His eyes are wide with panic. “NO! No that’s not it! You just-” He stopped himself, looking nervous so you give him a break and chuckle.

“I just what, baby?”

He groans loudly, but mutters when he speaks. “Just so tight.”

You tackle him, tickling Santi’s body, not caring that both of you are bloody. “You’re a 40 year old man, your pull out game is ASS!” You’re both laughing, rolling around on the bed and forgetting about your pain for a moment.

“I”LL BUY PLAN B!” Santiago picks you up, tossing you on the mattress and climbs on top as you bounce.

“YOU SHOULD’VE BOUGHT PLAN CONDOMS! YOU’RE GONNA NEED TO BUY PLAN BABY CARRIER IF YOU DON’T STOP!” You playfully bite his arm.

“OW!” He pinned you down. “Oh nooooo, breeding my beautiful girlfriend, whatever will I do!”

***************

thank you guys!!!! i really hope you take part in the write a thon, spread our love for triple frontier!!!! santi is my most special guy!

i did a poll today with what blorbo you associate me with and santi has ben the winner so far

anyway, this is just a starter for the write a thon bc i at LEAST want my santi x will fic an them something different, i really wanna branch out with something.... different. im not sure with what yet! also: part 2 of puzzle pieces with benny

lots coming in addition to my other works and a commsission.

anyway, love yall!

make sure to follow @romana-updates for more!

@fandxmslxt69 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @whatthefishh @k-ra @eyelessfaces @ivystoryweaver @steven-grants-world @campingwiththecharmings @ahookedheroespureheart @littlenosoul @miraclesabound @mikaelak @runa-falls @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @scarletthefierce @faretheeoscar @del-ightfulling @boysddontcry @mrsoharaxx @pedge-page @vickie5446 @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring

#triple frontier #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #fem reader #santiago garcia x fem!reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier anniversary #triple frontier write-a-thon #santiago garcia x reader smut #smut #santiago garcia smut #santi garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader

157 notes · View notes

psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

Text

— CHOOSE ME | SANTI'S ENDING

happy belated birthday @pedrito-friskito 💜💜💜💜 this gift is from both me and @inklore we love you so so much and I hope you had the best birthday ever! thank you for always being such a wonderful friend 💗

pairing: santiago garcia x f!reader

genre: fluff, mild angst, second chance romance, smut

summary: leaving frankie behind, you decide to take your chance with santi. he takes you to the beach where it almost happened.

warnings: underwater sex, piv, praise kink, fingering, semi-public sex, mild breeding kink

word count: 2k

click to head back to the start

The look Frankie gave you when you decided to go with Santi broke your heart, but what’s done was done. You still cared for the pilot, which is why you decided to spare you both from the inevitable fallout that would happen if you gave the relationship another chance.

“So where are we going?” you ask Santi as he hails a cab. He smirks, gaze full of mischief.

“You’ll see,” he answers without truly answering. “Let’s just say I’m gonna take back the clock a bit.”

You have no idea what he means but his smile is infectious and you find yourself vibrating with excitement at all the possibilities that lay before you.

You look down the pier. The water is a vibrant shade of dark blue. Silver light dances over the soft waves, a gift from the crescent moon above. You shiver at the cold wind blowing, yet you crave the feeling of water against your skin.

Among all the places you never once thought Santi would bring you back here, the place where a kiss was almost shared.

A particularly big wave crashes against the wooden pillars. Beads of water kissing the tips of your shoes.

“Your silence is worrying,” Santi quips as he stands next to you above the pier.

You shake your head and smile. “It’s perfect,” you say, turning to him. “I’m glad you brought me here.”

“That’s a relief,” he hugs you from behind, strong arms tight around your waist. “I always regretted not kissing you that night.”

“Really? And here I thought I just read the signs wrong from that night.”

“You read them right,” he murmurs, lips moving along your cheek and dropping to your neck. “But. . . I saw the way Frankie had been looking at you for the past month and couldn’t.”

Your hands dance along his forearms, warm underneath the pads of your fingers. “What changed now?”

“He had his chance and he blew it,” You feel a hint of teeth on your skin, your lips part with a soft gasp. “I’m not going to let you go ever again.”

You’re speechless and your pulse skyrockets. Santi seems to be taking immense joy in your loss-of-words state as he smiles. His forefinger finds your chin, you shudder at how warm it feels, tilting your eyes to meet his, he smiles. “Let’s take a dip, cariño,” he says.

“In the water?” you choke out a laugh. “We’ll freeze this late at night.”

“We won’t freeze,” he answers. His hands begin tracing the contours of your body, heat blossoming under your skin. “Besides, I have ideas of how we can keep warm.”

“Look, even if I wanted to, I don’t have my swimsuit with me.”

He laughs, “I would’ve find it very off if you did. Who comes to a wedding with a swimsuit?”

“So what do you suggest then?” you ask, turning within his arms to face him.

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling with mischievous humor.

“You have underwear don’t you?” his eyes shine underneath the moonlight. “Unless you’re going commando. . . ” Santi’s eyes drop to your cleavage as if imagining what your bare breasts will look like. You flush from the inside out, stomach clenching at his mere gaze.

His presence coils around you like a snake, squeezing the air out of your lungs, he leans closer, crowding your personal space. His lips touch yours, warmth blossoming underneath the soft skin. You suck in a sharp breath, your bodies inch closer, and you can almost taste him in the air lingering between you two.

But he pulls away, leaving you searching for more.

“Come on,” he repeats, his fingers tracing your jawline. “Let me see every part of you. I’ll go first since you’re so shy.”

He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving yours, his fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt. With a deliberate slowness, he undoes them one by one, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest. The moonlight dances over the contours of his muscles, highlighting every curve and ridge.

Your breath catches as he discards his shirt, revealing more of his torso. He's strong and lean, with a hint of stubble peppering his chest. A cascade of emotions washes over you – desire, vulnerability, and a touch of disbelief that you're here.

Santi's gaze remains locked on yours, tenderness in his eyes. He gestures for you to come closer, his hand extending towards you. Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach out and let your fingertips graze his skin.

The sensation sends shivers down your spine. Santi's warmth against your touch is inviting.

"Your turn," he says softly, his voice a gentle invitation.

You take a steadying breath, feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement. With a shy smile, you start unzipping your dress, baring your collarbone and a hint of your chest. The moonlight seems to embrace you, offering a comforting backdrop.

As your dress falls to the ground, you stand there, allowing the heat of his gaze to wash over you. In this quiet exchange, words become secondary.

Then Santi suddenly jumps.

“H-Hey!” you call out, worried. You’re left only in your bra and underwear as you look down. Santi’s there, waiting for you, droplets of water dripping from his hair. You shudder, skin tingling with goosebumps. His brows furrow with worry when he meets your gaze.

“Come on, jump in. You’re going to freeze up there.”

“Sorry, the longer I stare the more scared I get,” your body trembles, but a soft smile tugs at your lips. “You promise not to let me drown?”

“Of course.”

And you jump.

It's a bit daunting at first. You've never been one to easily open your eyes underwater, dreading the sting of salt against them. The initial coolness of the water sends a shiver down your spine, a sensation akin to steel touching your skin. Your limbs sway as you kick your legs and move your arms, the anticipation of resurfacing tugging at your senses. Yet, something surprising happens – the water's chill begins to recede, replaced by a comforting warmth that wraps around you like a gentle embrace.

Santi holds you, his hands firm against your body, he pulls you up and you gasp for air, filling your lungs with sweet oxygen.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you open your eyes, smiling when you see him. “I’m still cold by the way.” you lie.

Santi grins, pulling you tighter. Your chest is flushed against his, your breasts pour out of your laced bra, his lips only an inch away. His nails catch against the small of your back, a tingle rushes up your spine, and you move closer. Your eyes drop to his glistening lips.

Santi, assuming that you’re still cold, tightens his grip and inches closer. He finally gives you what you want. Your lips move against his. It starts out slow, gradually becoming more needy. You press your thighs together when he licks the seam of your lips. You part for him and feel his tongue inside of your mouth. Santi takes what you have to offer with greed, he sucks your tongue into his mouth, hands dropping to your hips, he grinds himself into your aching heat.

You part away with a moan. As your hands cradle his neck, he nips the skin above your chin. Santi continues to force your hips up against his own, you can feel the drag of his cock between your clothed folds.

“F–Fuck,” you wrap your legs around him, water sloshes around the two of you, the salt burns your tongue.

“Look at you with the sailor's mouth,” he teases, thick fingers pull at the waistband of your panties. “Did you ever think about me, mi amor?”

“I have,” you confess, albeit slightly guiltily. “I have,” you repeat without indulging further.

His body reacts in a way that surprises you. He hunches over, fingers finding your clit, he starts to draw short, quick circles. The pleasure is electrifying, it takes you everything not to accidentally drown you both. Santi’s lips follow a path that ends at the curve of your right breast, he sucks, teeth digging into the ample flesh. You let out a sharp moan when he thrusts two of his fingers, heat licks the bottom of your spine. The water, despite your initial thought, doesn’t prove to be a good lubricant, but lucky for you both your body provides enough for him to glide with ease, the slight pain you feel with every drag only makes you want him more.

Santi pulls out his fingers and forces them between your lips. You moan at the taste of salt and bitterness. He mouths against your earlobe, his voice a pleasant timbre in your ear.

“So wet for me. Only for me.” he rasps, pushing your body up, his one hand resting on your stomach. He turns you over so you can brace your palms against the wooden pillars of the pier. “You have no idea how many times I thought about that missed moment on the beach. The thing I would’ve done to you if we had only kissed.”

The husk of his voice makes you shiver. You want to retaliate, reply with something snarky and smart to impress him, but the words die on your tongue as he buries himself into you with one smooth motion. Your mouth fills with water when you gasp. It’s the most intense feeling, your toes curl, nails clawing at the pillar. Your vision is spotted with black dots, jaw slacked. He pulls back his hips only to fuck his cock even deeper into you. His hips slotted into your own, he allows you to drift back, your breasts leisurely moving above the water. Santi uses you as he pleases, you feel lifeless with pleasure, every muscle growing taut and loose, only to repeat itself. He groans and grunts, the noises of rushed waves filling the night.

His cock is deep, stretching you wide, his thumb circles your clit. Your legs lock up, heat rushing down your stomach and pooling between your legs.

“I’m gonna come,” you moan, reaching for him. Santi takes you by the hand and pulls you against him, your body now flush against the pillar “Gonna come, gonna come, gonna come–” you repeat like a chant, your whimper following your sinful promise.

“Don’t. Wait for me,”

You cry openly, tears flowing down your cheeks, your cunt throbs. He whispers things you assume to be consolations, you only hear the words that make your heart squeeze.

“Good girl. My good, sweet, girl. You’re doing so well for me. Just a bit more. I’m so close…”

He speaks in a hushed tone, it soothes you like a frightened animal. He kisses his skin, salt burning his lips. He hammers into you deeper and deeper. You feel only pleasure. You beg him for more. You beg him for less. Your mind is a tornado of mixed emotions and lust.

Santi spills into you and at the same time bites into your neck, your own orgasm crashes down on you, leaving you limp. White flashes before your eyes, pleasure raking up and down your body as you try to breathe. Santi continues to grind his cock into you, his hand moving over your stomach.

He pulls out of your carefully, you make a sound between a sigh and a whine. Santi turns you around and continues to hold you, the waves calm once again.

Santi kisses your neck, then your jaw, and lastly your lips.

“Never losing you again,” he promises, touching your lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Good,” you answer, kissing him long and hard. “I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia x fem!reader #santiago garcia x f!reader #triple frontier fic #oscar isaac character fic

78 notes · View notes

hoteldreamss · 5 days ago

Text

Santiago Garcia || imagine

Метки: домашняя обстановка; супруги; флафф

Слов: 345

Он выдыхает оказываясь в доме. Закрыв за собой дверь и кинув сумку на пол, Сантьяго направляется дальше в дом. Он ищет тебя обходя сначала комнаты на первом этаже, а затем поднимаясь на второй. Должно быть ты в спальне, может быть спишь, хотя на улице ярко светит солнце. Ступени деревянной лестнице скрипят под его ногами, и он думает о том, что уже очень скоро вам больше не придётся жить в этом медленно разваливающимся доме. Его почти самоубийственная миссия прошла поразительно хорошо, он просто не может поверить, что это наконец закончилось и им удалось выбраться из всей той заварушки.

— Сладкая? — его голос разносится по дому и доносится до тебя, когда ты стоишь в ванной. С твоих волос капает вода, то, что не впиталась в полотенце, кожа слегка поблёскивает от крема, которым ты намазала тело после душа. Запотевшее зеркало протёрто лишь частично, чтобы ты могла видеть себя хоть немног��.

— Ванная! — твой крик доносится до твоего мужа и он направляется в спальню, чтобы пройти через неё и оказаться в ванной.

Заходя в комнату, из которой ещё не исчез весь пар после твоего горячего душа, Сантьяго вспоминает как скучал по такой возможности как принять душ. Он слишком устал с дороги, но ему необходимо сначала искупаться, прежде чем залезть в вашу постель.

— Я так скучал по тебе, — он обнимает тебя, даря тебе несколько поцелуев в плечо, а затем поднимаясь выше.

Твои губы растянуты в нежной улыбке. Ты рада видеть своего мужа живым и целым, рядом с тобой.

— Я тоже скучала по тебе. — Ты встречаешься с ним губами, ловя его поцелуй. — Не знала, что ты так задержишься.

Он знает, что виноват. Ты его жена, его оплошность приведёт к проблемам и с тобой. А Сантьяго не хочет, чтобы у тебя из-за него были проблемы, ты не заслуживаешь этого.

— Произошли непредвиденные обстоятельства.

— Но сейчас всё в порядке? — интересуешься ты с лёгкой тревогой в глазах.

— Сейчас всё замечательно.

Он снова целует тебя. Ты гладишь его щёку, пока твой взгляд переполнен нежной привязанностью к твоему мужу.

— Ты немного оброс, — подмечаешь ты, чувствуя щетину под пальцами.

— Это поправимо. Дай мне пол часа, и я буду как новенький.

#imagine #русский imagine #imagine на русском #Santiago #Santiago Garcia #Santiago Garcia x reader #Santiago Garcia imagine #Santiago Garcia x you #Santiago Garcia x fem!reader #oscar isaac #oscar issac characters #oscar isaac imagine

4 notes · View notes

mrs-lockley · 1 year ago

Text

where there is love, there will be light

Author’s Note: This is not a full-length fic, but a moodboard and drabble for an AU. I got this idea for Santi after rewatching the classic Barbie movies. Swan Lake was one of my favorite Barbie movies, and the idea of Santi in Swan Lake has been haunting me for a couple weeks, so I had to get it out. I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Mentions of military violence and cartels, deception, hidden romance, gunshot wounds

Word Count: 238

Swan Lake AU: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x WOC!Reader

For years, private military advisor Santiago Garcia has worked with the Colombian government to track down Gabriel Martin Lorea, one of Colombia’s biggest cartel leaders. After receiving intel from his informant that his team planted a mole in Lorea’s inner circle, Santi is set on finding her. With your call sign as Swan, you disguise yourself as a ballet dancer and befriend Lorea’s daughter, Solana, at one of the most prestigious ballet theaters in Bogota. You and Santi often meet through fleeting glances and coded messages, eventually falling in love in the quiet moments you can spare. As Santi’s team prepares to take down Lorea, you tell Santi to meet you at the theater where you will perform as the lead role with Solana.

On the night of the performance, you are caught and captured by Lorea’s men. Seeing that you and his daughter bear a striking resemblance, Solana disguises herself as Swan. She performs in your place as the lead act, enchanting and tricking Santi as she lures him away as the Black Swan.

But Santi only discovers the truth a moment too late when you escape to warn him about the bullet. He catches you as his and Lorea’s men clash forces, the two of you caught in the crossfire with the bullets grazing his shoulder and your arm. You lay in each other’s arms, Swan reunited with her Pope as Lorea’s empire burns around you.

Tagging: @callingmrsbarnes @themarcusmoreno @venting402 @musing-magpie @writefightandflightclub @v4mpires0ap @free-for-all-fics

#santiago garcia x reader #santi garcia x reader #santiago garcia x fem!reader #santiago garcia x woc!reader #santiago garcia x latina!reader #santiago garcia x black!reader #santiago garcia x asian!reader #santiago garcia x indigenous!reader #ngl i got this idea while rewatching the classic barbie movies to prepare for barbie #swan lake was one of my top favorite barbie movies and i can't explain it but santi just screams swan lake to me

31 notes · View notes

pimosworld · 7 months ago

Text

Well if it isn’t the series I just finished

Unrequited -Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Frankie Morales

Love me a fic that starts with the unresolved sexual tension already thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. I want my ship pining, yearning, and most definitely fantasizing.

I want their minds to wander to how hot the other person is, mid-sentence. I want them barely functioning because of all the hormones swimming through their brains. I want normally smart people who are downright dumb when faced with the smallest bit of barely revealed skin on the other person's body.

By the time they actually realize they're both in this state of tortured sexual desire, I want them to be at their wit's end and ready to flee the country in order to find the slightest scrap of control because there is absolutely zero control left when theyre in the same room together. They need to be scratching at the walls of their souls, they're so desperate for each other.

And when they do finally realize the fact that they're in this on-fire boat together? I want them to have incredibly hot, wildly cathartic (and not necessarily at-all realistic) sex that leaves them both exhausted, happy, and fully satisfied.

Unresolved sexual tension that gets completely fucking resolved, my beloved.

#triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #oscar isaac characters #frankie morales x santiago garcia #santiago garcia x fem!reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia x reader #pedro pascal #frankie morales x you

7K notes · View notes

pimosworld · 2 months ago

Text

Just say the word

Pairing-Tf boys x reader (one shot)

CW-18+, NSFW, MDNI, established polyamorous relationship, light teasing, edging, voyeurism, orgasm denial, exhibitionism, possessive tf boys, mentions of smut, fingering, soft dom Will, soft dom Santi, soft dom Frankie. Unsuspecting victim ( poor Jack) he’s innocent in this I swear.

Summary- The boys decide to have a little fun at your expense.

WC- 1.7k

A/N- Set in the (story of us) universe but can be read as a stand alone. I feel like I’ve neglected this bunch since I finished the story and I miss them and their delusional little bubble. Please enjoy this ficlet set some time after the story of them ends and their relationship begins.

[Series Masterlist]

Not beta read

It feels weird being back in your normal spots. Nestled away in the corner booth in the dimly lit bar. All five of you crammed in like nothing has changed. Except it has.

This thing forming between the five of you for the last several months. No rules, no pressure, just the four of them not being able to let you out of their sight for more than five minutes. It’s intoxicating and overwhelming and you love it.

You are situated between Frankie and Santi, Will on the other side of Frankie sharing glances. Knowing tells as you squirm in your seat. Santi’s hand squeezes the plush skin of your thigh while Frankie rubs soothing circles against your knee. It all looks so normal to anyone walking by. They’ve been teasing you all night, switching places as they grab more drinks at the bar or head to the bathroom.

Will grins as he watches you fidget, not so subtly rubbing your legs together at the thought of his hands so close to where you needed them most. Not less than ten minutes ago he had you pleading into his ear like you were telling him a secret. His fingers tracing up and down the seam of your panties, wetness pooling against the fabric as you chased his touch.

Goosebumps raise on your arms as Santi’s fingers slip just past the string, curling in so precisely, you half to clear your throat to stifle the moan that crawls up the back of your throat.

“Ya ok sweetheart?” Will says and the look you flash is equal parts beautiful and terrifying all at once.

Santi kisses your shoulder, such a sweet endearing gesture to juxtapose the absolute filth that is happening below the table. “She’s fine.” A look to Frankie, something unspoken passing between them as the corners of Frankie's eyes crinkle with a smile.

You bite the inside of your cheek as his thumb presses against your clit. Dropping your head to your hands to wipe the sweat from your brow.

“Just say the word baby and we’ll stop.” Frankie’s voice in your ear luring you into the lion's den. You weren’t going to lament that easily.

Your hand drifts below the table, palming at the growing bulge in his pants, you yelp when he smacks your thigh. His palm soothes the spot as you let out a shaky breath.

“Hands where I can see them sweetheart.” Will commands.

“Fuck you.”

“Thirsty?” Ben’s voice cuts through the pounding in your ears. His one hand with a refill pitcher of beer, the other gesturing behind him as he mouths ‘be nice.’

Following close behind with an empty glass is a familiar face. Not one you don’t want to see on any given day, but right now you’re struggling to breathe normally.

“Fucking Jack.” Frankie bites out and you regard him with a quirked brow.

“I thought you liked him.” Your head turned in a whisper and he just lets out a deep sigh.

It’s not that he doesn’t like him so much as he knows how much the guy likes you. Judging by the grin etched across his face as he approaches the table.

Santiago withdraws his hand and you whine at the loss, disguising it with a cough as Ben shoots you a worried look.

Everyone reaching for the cold glasses as Jack slides into the booth next to Ben. You watch Santi from the corner of your eye, slowly taking his fingers in his mouth. The others preoccupied with greetings as he hums at the taste.

Your mouth agape at the filthy show of dominance. He takes a sip of his beer, his dark eyes on you as he swallows and you watch the way his throat bobs.

“You’ll catch flies that way cariño.”

You tamp your mouth shut as heat licks up your spine.

Frankie slides you a beer as a peace offering and you let out a breath hoping the torture is over with your new guest at the table.

Jack says your name and you probably look a little wide eyed when you say hello. Sounding a little too happy to see him. Completely unaware that whatever tension building right now is not directed at him.

“Haven’t seen you guys here in awhile.” He says as he pours himself a beer.

“We’ve been…busy.” The boys snicker as Ben hides his smile behind his glass, unbeknownst to Jack.

“What have y’all been up to? Any hot dates recently?”

The boys stay quiet, shooting each other looks as Frankie’s hand starts inching it’s way up your thigh.

He nudges Ben with his elbow. “Oh come on, spill. I know you’ve at least got some.”

Ben laughs it off, eyes flicking to you and memories of your date the previous night. He looks shy almost as he rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t.”

You’re starting to gauge their annoyance at his presence.

Frankie doesn’t falter as he pinches the fabric between his fingers and you clamp your thighs shut. Your sandals clicking loudly on the floor.

Santiago laughs, motherfucker…with a stupid grin on his face and Will has to bite down on his lip to keep his at bay.

“In fact.” Jack starts up again. Pointing at Santiago. This guy doesn’t quit apparently. “Last time I saw you here you had some hot blonde in your lap.”

He drops his head to the table and for his sake he looks apologetic. “I don’t recall.” The redness creeping up his neck and the simmering tension below the surface.

Frankie relents when he notices your obvious discomfort. They’ve been edging you all night and now this Jack off had to come and ruin all the fun.

“What about you honey? You seeing anyone?”

Bingo

His attention on you, a wide smile on his face. He draws his fingers up and down the condensation on his glass and you have the sudden wild thought to pour it on you. Anything to escape this fresh hell.

He wasn’t an unattractive man. Tall, broad shoulders and a strong jaw. Gorgeous head of dark brown hair that was always kept neat and combed back. He’s a firefighter so he’s got a great build and he can on occasion make you laugh.

Which is perhaps why the rest of the table looks as though they’re three seconds from choking him.

Frankie’s hand flexes a little on your thigh, Ben cracks his knuckles and stares straight ahead at Will whose jaw is so clenched you think he might break a few teeth.

And Santiago…looks as stoic as you’ve ever seen him. Too calm.

“Baby.” Frankie’s voice and the startling use of the pet name brings you back to the present. “He asked you a question.” His head tilted in waiting.

You fumble for words you’ve never actually spoken out loud. Not knowing what the right or wrong thing to say is. “I’m…keeping my options open.”

That seems to be the right answer for now. Santiago gives you a reassuring squeeze as he resumes drinking his beer. You can feel Frankie relax next to you and Ben’s shoulders aren’t reaching his ears.

Will still watches Jack, who obviously can’t take a hint.

His tongue dragging along his teeth as he eyes you from across the booth. For the sake of his safety you don’t want to let him finish whatever thoughts he has running through his head at your admission.

You slap your hands down on the table. “I’ve had too much to drink.” Signaling to Frankie and Will to slide out so you can relieve yourself, or at the very least get some space between you and Jack.

Someone has the nerve to pinch your ass before you exit the booth and curse low under your breath as you retreat to the restrooms. You were absolutely going to kill them when you got home later.

—

The blatant flirting, the casual use of your sacred nickname, the way he’s not so subtly checking out your ass as you walk away.

The guys aren’t certain but Jack acts as though he’s not in clear immediate danger. But he’s a firefighter so the regard for his life is skewed toward running at a problem and not away from it.

As you round the corner disappearing from view he focuses his attention back on the table. Whistling low under his breath as he shakes his head still oblivious to the rage closing in on him.

“I still don’t know how one of you hasn’t snagged that yet.” Jack says offhandedly as he downs the rest of his beer.

Ben takes it from him and Santiago flinches, unsure of what the younger man will do as he calmly slides it out of reach.

It’s one of those intense moments. In the wild we freeze it in photographs and videos. In the images there’s a predator, perhaps a cheetah staring unblinkingly at a gazelle, who stares back with a look of surprise and terror.

“How do you know we haven’t?” Ben’s body turns to face him as he clears his throat.

He stutters a little, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Look if I’m moving in on anyone’s territory you just say the word-“

“You are.” Will says without specifying whose.

Will stands as you make your way back to the table and Jack stands with him, waving goodbye. Frankie stays seated, not yet able to hide the evidence of his arousal. The whole display not doing anything to compress his excitement.

The guys all shift as you slide in, Will taking his seat next to you as Frankie throws his arm over your shoulder and he can see the wheeler turning in the poor man’s head. You never stood a chance.

“Leaving so soon?” Your sweet voice doing nothing to disguise your obvious guess at what just transpired.

“Ugh…ya I’ve got an early day tomorrow.” He offers a tight lipped smile before walking away with his tail tucked.

Frankie’s laugh jostles you and you move to slap his arm as he grabs your wrist. “Play nice hermosa.”

You huff as you pry it out of his grip. “What did you guys say?”

You’re met with mostly silence and their grins at each other and just like that you’re right back where you started the night. Them, teasing you…and you loving it.

Will’s hand slowly creeps up your thigh,bunching the fabric of your skirt in his hand as he leans in close. “Now where were we sweetheart?”

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Taglist - @luciferiorbxtch @alwaysdjarin @meveispunk @casa-boiardi @evyiione

@littlenosoul @the-fox-den @saturn-rings-writes @romanarose @wandasbitch22

@spngingerbread21 @spookyxsam @summer-may @imonmykneessir @avastrasposts

@fishingforpike @laaundromat @tanzthompson @living-in-a-daydream-24 @savvysav27

@csarab615 @scarletthefierce @paleidiot @comfortlessjoy @trinkets01

@awkwardalie @missladym1981 @soft-persephone @itspdameronthings

97 notes · View notes

jamneuromain · 1 month ago

Text

Addictive Chapter 1

Santiago "Pope" Garcia x PhD Candidate!Reader (You)

Warning: Unconventional Sugar Daddy!Santiago Garcia, Implied age gap (Santiago is in his late 30s, reader in her mid-20s), first meet, fluff, TW: conversation over drug abuse

Summary: The beginning of an unconventional sugar relationship.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I solemnly blame @innorogers for indulging me with sugar daddy!Santiago Gargia thoughts, and in addition, my thanks to @bigtreefest with her help on med school experiences.

Prologue< | Chapter 1 | >Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Sober

I do medicine.

Brown.

There’s a small bowl of brown powder right next to the coffee machine.

You retreat a couple of steps to observe the bizarre object.

The coffee machine, that one you know from the bottom of your heart. Someone specifically duck-taped the signage of “Cold” and “Hot” in ballpoint over the original buttons because they were worn out. The black crispy paint fell from all edges and corners of this crappy machine since it was moved around a lot. Legend has it that this machine nearly retired from the shared common room of the Physics Department and the Chemistry Department before it was rehired for the Med School.

The application for a new coffee machine was delivered to the Head of Pharmacology over a year ago, and some grad students were waging over whether the paperwork ended up in the Head of Pharmacology, Professor Yovanna Castillo’s private lab as nest materials for her rats.

No, that’s old news. This is new … You watch the brown powder cautiously, giving it a careful whiff.

You know someone on this level is doing a project that includes marihuana extractions, you honestly hope they didn’t leave their product here.

The strong spice knocks your brain dead for a minute before you can hastily put it back down and sneeze in the other direction.

Nutmeg?

“Oh, I’d probably not touch it if I were you.” Diego swoops into the breakroom, smooth as always, grabbing his mug from the counter, his eight white teeth on display as he spreads into a big smile, “Is that the marihuana product Professor Parker and Drew and their grads were working on? Gosh, I hope they don’t just leave this stuff around unattended.”

Diego got into the Pharma PhD program the same year as you did. He swoons every woman, from the age of eight to eighty with his warm, affectionate smile. Your friendship bonds over the shared catastrophic studying experience and your failed experiments. Although he looks into a different research field, that doesn’t stop you from helping each other now and then, from looking after lab rats to picking up his drunken ass in clubs you have only heard of.

You cough and wave in front of your nose to clear the smell, “No. Just spice. Nutmeg.” You frown, heavily, and ask in disbelief, “Who puts nutmeg in their coffee?”

Diego gives the brown nutmeg powder a whiff and pours a lethal dosage into his porcelain mug before placing it under the machine. His mug has that funny PhD joke on it that makes you smile every time.

I study famarcology phamacology pharmacologee I do medicine.

Diego shrugs behind his funny mug, “I do.”

“Lucky you.” You murmur darkly, grabbing your lukewarm coffee and gulping down as much caffeine as possible.

Diego downs his nutmeg coffee – a pure abomination, in your opinion – and frowns too: “You didn’t bring the nutmeg.”

“’ Course I didn’t.” You look taken aback, deeply offended, “I don’t want anything to ruin the coffee!”

“So, who did? And nutmeg coffee is brilliant. Chef kiss to whoever came up with this idea.” Diego looks pointedly at you making your second cup of coffee with milk and sugar and no nutmeg, “Milk ruins coffee, honey.”

You make a gasted expression at his mug, clutching yours tightly to warm your numb fingers. It is too early to be called winter, but the morning wind did a number of things that are close to getting your hand frost-bite. You have never been so grateful that your ugly university-issued mug conducts heat faster than the metal handles of almost every door on the campus.

“So … who brought the nutmeg. That’s the question.” Your gaze floats between the small bowl of nutmeg and Diego, the latter one shrugs again.

“I did.” Professor Castillo, Head of Pharmacology, clicks her heels on the ground at the door, “Kindly advise you both against occupying this break room because we have a potential donor who would be coming in …” She raises her wrists to take a look at her iWatch, “Fifteen minutes.”

You and Diego exchange a look.

Diego mouths, “Money’s on the lab rat nests.”

You chew on your lower lip from smiling too hard.

“Don’t you have a TA session in ten, Mr. Martinez?” Professor Castillo purses her perfectly lined lips, her eyes narrowing like a sharp dagger, her hair in a ponytail, soft and smooth, and not a single hair out of place like a conditioner commercial, “You know how the faculty views tardiness for undergrad courses.”

“Yes, Professor Castillo.” Diego dumps his mug into the sink and flees the scene.

“I have … my rats to attend to.” Bullshit because all your rats died yesterday. Your research is a total bust. You need a few new ones, that’s for sure. But it’s a good enough reason for you to escape the piercing look from Castillo.

“One second -” She stops you by the door.

“Uh, yes, Professor?”

She examines you with her disapproving look, from head to toe.

Lab coat, check. Jeans, check. White sneakers, check. Bright orange sweater with crimson ketchup stain, check.

You button your lab coat with flames flaring your cheeks, hoping that this will cover the stain. It must have gone up there when you had your breakfast earlier this morning.

“Never mind.” Professor Castillo huffs with her slit nostrils, “Just a reminder to be more careful of laboratory regulations of no food and drink allowed. Off you go.”

You slip from her claws as if your sneakers turned into roller skates. Your heartbeat is in a frantic state from the breakroom to the shared lab where you and a few other grad students cohabit. The beating remains for a few minutes as you pick out new rats for your experiment.

From the transparent glass walls of your lab, you see that Professor Castillo storms out of the breakroom and swipes her keycard on her way out.

Your phone pings as you drug the rats with heroin.

Diego: Is it just me or the faculty seems empty today?

Diego: No one bothered to come to work besides phds?

Three hours of watching mice getting stoned and recording data passed. Then an hour lunch break. Then it’s your TA sessions for Biochem 101 and Introduction to Microbiology, which would last three hours and a half.

By the end of your TA session, Professor Castillo nearly blew up your phone with five missed calls and a very polite but restricted “Please call back, it’s urgent”.

“Professor Castillo? Sorry, my phone was silenced because I was -”

“Yes. Yes. Doesn’t matter.” Professor Castillo cuts through your explanation curtly, “Our donor wants to speak with you.”

“Now?” You pause a second to look at the clock at the far end of the wall, “I - I think I have a couple of minutes. I have another … thing … elsewhere, at six thirty.”

Castillo clears her throat over the phone, “Not now. Our donor wants to have dinner, with you.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t, my part-time doesn’t finish until nine.” Your throat tightens at her not-so-subtle command.

“I’m sorry too, but I’m afraid this donor is bigger than your part-time.” Castillo repeats coldly, “This is a chance you wouldn’t want to pass up.” She hesitates before giving away further, her tone grows softer, “He wants to contribute to your work. Your funding, more specifically. Think about your personal LC-MS, microdialysis probes.”

“But -”

“We’re talking about hundreds of thousands. And possibly much more to come if your research yields results.” Her voice sounds tempting, slow but seductive – not sexually, God forbid, “What I’m about to say is blunt, but please, think about your TA stipend.” Which is a very pathetic eight hundred dollars per month, as you and Professor Castillo are both aware of. “Times that by fifty. Our donor is thinking about investing forty grand. On you. On your PhD.”

Your own grant.

That sounds extremely tempting.

You can’t help but hold your breath. Forty grand. You don’t think you have ever seen that much money in real life. And such a grant isn’t for academic-only. It would certainly help your budget, and your finances.

“It’s a now or never chance,” Professor Castillo calls out your name softly on the other end of the phone, “Talk to our donor, tonight. Reschedule whatever you have in mind. Go have dinner with him. Talk about how much you love biology and pharmaceuticals. Being a PhD isn’t all about research, you know.” Her unspoken words linger in the air. It’s about connection, persuasion, and asking idiots with a suitcase of wads to fund your passion.

“Professor, I-”

“Oh,” She chuckles to the speaker, sounding more pleasant and friendly than she has ever been during the past year, “Yovanna is fine. Six thirty. A place called Jean-Georges, I’ll text you the address. Don’t be late.”

Your fist clenches and unclenches on the podium.

“Oh, and uh-” She pauses for a brief moment, “I was told that Jean-Georges is a high-end restaurant. Wear something nice.” Before quickly hanging up the phone.

You check the clock again, three minutes to six. Great.

With the ping of your phone, Professor Castillo – Yovanna texts you the address for Jean-Georges. Luckily, it’s about a ten-minute walk from your campus to the restaurant. Unluckily, it’s in the opposite direction of your apartment. There is simply no way for you to head home, change into something fancy – which is another problem because your wardrobe lacks anything that could be labeled as “high-end” – and head to that restaurant.

There is only one thing you can do now.

You call Diego.

***

You should be grateful that this donor guy gives you a chance to prove yourself.

You really should.

You tug the hem of your tight black dress in all discomfort, and can’t help but get a teeny tiny bit of annoyance in the back of your head.

As stated, you have two formal outfits for such occasions. One is a nice, cute, white shirt, and a black suit to go with it. Quick flashback, Diego did not find your dress pants. Which you were fairly sure that the pants were hanging just by the shirt. So, it left you with the only other option. Option number two, the tight black dress stuffed at the back of your closet. You once hoped that you would never use it again, but, well, here you are.

You are very grateful for Diego living right next door and being able to find your dinner outfit plus heels on such short notice and deliver it to you. It spared you a few minutes to apply lipstick – you really need to stop scraping its bottom with a toothpick and buy another one instead. You borrowed foundation and concealer from a girl in the lab down the hall. You are also thankful for her helping you with the concealer before you risked smudging the colored ointment over your black dress – the only thing that you could wear at this point. She also did your hair with a small comb that she carried with her make-up pouch at all times, taming it and styling it as much as she could.

She also wanted to help with your eyebrows, ready to pluck some of them off with a pair of tweezers before you gasped in horror and claimed that you had to leave.

Very nice of a girl. You think her name is Jessica.

Yet here you are, in front of the restaurant as the wind grows chilly by the minute.

“Do you have a reservation, Miss?” The waiter in a tux at the door asks with a smile.

“Under the name, Mr. Garcia, I think?” You take out your phone from your stark-white canvas bag. Yeah, you see the waiter subtly checking out your canvas bag. Not your fault that high heels hurt so much and you need to take them off and change them into sneakers the second you say goodbye to Mister Kind Sponsor.

The waiter checks the sheets of reservation in front of him, quickly finding the name “Garcia”, “Of course.” He gestures to another waiter in a tux, a taller and skinnier one, “Dave will lead you to your table. I hope you will enjoy our food.”

You smile back, following the other waiter’s lead.

Strong, blinding light emits from above your head. Thick, grey carpet underneath your soles. The restaurant is decorated in a neat black-and-white style. A woman wearing tight brown skims yoga pants brushes past you, having you somewhat relieved, as this place is not strictly dress-coded.

Gentle clicking of forks, knives, and plates, and glasses. Bare whispers of people talking. Not loud. Not rushed. Au contraire to the student’s cafeteria where you choose to spend your nine dollars and twenty-nine cents every Wednesday as a reward for your hard work.

Somewhere you don’t fit in. The realization hits you like a bus. Not the first time. But the most realistic one as you know the one guy you are about to pamper, the guy who simply has too much to spend on his yacht or villa or first-class tickets or privet jets, doesn’t belong in your ranks. Doesn’t belong in your world. And vice versa.

Just how would you be able to sweet talk him into investing in your research?

Dave leads you to the table without you even realizing it. Maybe it’s that you don’t recognize the man. Or maybe the fuzzy grey sweater and his brown leather jacket don’t really fit in like the rest of the men wearing tux and suits and ties.

Two misfits. You conclude in the depth of your own mind.

He stands from the table when Dave introduces the table set for the two of you.

“Mr. Garcia?” You pronounce your name loud and clear, extending a hand, “It’s very honored to meet you.”

“Pleasure is all mine.” He shakes your hand firmly, telling the waiter to circle back with two menus before turning his attention back to you, “Please, have a seat.”

Grey curls adorn his forehead, capturing your attention first. Then it’s his toned skin, a shade tanner than most who occupy the higher-up positions in your life. A light stubble covers the lower half of his face. Although you are no expert, you realize it’s trimmed with delicacy. When he smiles at you, there are wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.

“Here are the menus.” Dave brings two thick leather-bound books back and hands you each one, “Would you like to order now or … ?”

He leans over before Dave can finish, kindly smiling, “It’s okay if you need a few minutes to go over the menu.”

You open the leather-bound book – it contains two pages. One page of the cuisines under the name “Autumn”, as a fixed set for each and every guest, and another page filled with beverages and wines and cocktails.

There’s literally nothing you need to go over with. Besides the drink.

“I’ll just have the Autumn set.”

“Same.” The charming man on the opposite side of the table pipes up after you.

“And the drinks?” Dave continues in his uneventful tone.

“A little bit of alcohol, if that’s alright with you?” He checks with you, “It’s okay if you want something alcohol-free.”

Who are you to say no when your donor wants to have a drink with you?

You chew on your lower lip as a slight hesitation takes over, before realizing his intense gaze on you. “I’d love to have a bit of alcohol, but I don’t know much about wine. You can do the honors and help me order one, perhaps?”

A toothy grin reveals his sharper canines. He seems taken aback by your blunt confession over the subject of alcohol, yet he shows no signs of annoyance or impatience.

He turns to ask the waiter Dave, “What can you recommend for Champagne?”

“Bollinger for the more traditional flavor and richness. Or Moet for light and fruitful. We now have a bottle of Bollinger Special Cuvée, the flagship champagne of Bollinger which I highly recommend.”

Mr. Garcia nods. “Then we’ll have the flagship one. Thanks.”

Dave collects your menus and exits quickly.

Santiago Garcia folds his arms over the table, like a pupil eager to learn, cocking his head slightly, he asks, “I think I’ve heard a lot about you from your professors, but I’d like to hear it from you. What is your current research subject?”

This is a question that you get asked countless times. Even so, you can’t help but sweat a little. “I uh- ahem, I study pharmacology. My PhD research is Development of a Novel Therapeutic Drug Mimicking Endogenous Pain Modulators for Enhanced Pain Management in Addiction Rehabilitation. Basically, I’m aiming to develop a drug that would help individuals in rehab.”

“How so?” Santiago Garcia rests his chin on the back of his hand, “Forgive me for asking, I honestly don’t know a thing about pharmacology, how would this … therapeutic drug work?”

“Well,” a moment and you seem to have returned to the podium, lecturing the students on your ongoing research, “Most people do drugs again because of the pain-reducing component in the drugs. Think of it this way: your body contains muscles, bones, and ligaments. When your body is constantly in motion, like I need to pick up my fork.” You gesture by lifting your tableware, “Your bones and muscles create friction. But you won’t feel anything, as our body produces, well, mostly endorphins to counter the feeling of minor pain from within.”

Dave pours you both a glass of sparkly wine, but Mr. Garcia doesn’t reach for the glass, and neither do you. Though you both say “Thank you” to the waiter, interrupting the conversation briefly.

“As I was saying, when you start to do drugs, minor ones like marihuana or dangerous ones like Oxy, your body captures the signal that you have sufficient chemicals to reduce the small pains, and that it doesn’t have to produce endorphins for you anymore.”

“We have very stupid bodies.” Massaging his lower lip with his thumb, Santiago Garcia murmurs.

You shrug nonchalantly, “That’s one way of putting it. Anyway, when you stop doing drugs, your body has already shut its endorphin factory down, and that’s when you start to feel itches, pains, and discomfort all over your body. It is unbearable. To a lot of drug users, it’s not that they don’t want to quit, it’s because they can’t. Doing drugs again is the only way they don’t feel the pain anymore.”

Santiago nods, chiming in, “I think I’m getting the hang of it now. What you are doing, if I summarize it correctly, is mimic a drug similar to endorphin?”

“While also boosting our endorphin factory back to life – but yes, you get the gist. It should be a non-addictive version of painkillers that would allow doctors to gradually decrease the meds subscribed to these addicted patients until they could return to their full health. At least for their endorphin factory.”

Dave comes back with your entrées.

“That sounds …” He wrecks his brain for the right word, “quite impressive.”

Your cheeks warm up per his amazement. He sounds genuine. Unlike how your professors comment on every research as “very good” “interesting”, while in fact they just mean “This is a lot of bullshit and you need to do better” before marking each work with a B minus.

He proposes a toast by raising his glass, and you take up on that offer. The sound of glasses clicking has to be one of the most musical voices you have heard throughout the year.

As you progress from entrée to the main course, your inner curiosity is killing you, leading you to drop your question, “I am very thankful for the … dinner and your enthusiasm over biology, but can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Why me?” You nervously add, “I’m not saying that I’m not a good choice. But why?”

He quirks his eyebrows, huffing a small laugh. “The short version is, I like your research.”

“And the long version …?”

Santiago Garcia washes down the food with a gulp of that golden sparkly wine. Leaning back in his seat, he responds, “Truth is, I worked for the Delta squad for over eight years, and I’ve been fighting drug lords ever since. That’s the eight-year-long version of it. If it helps with your question, I have also invested in a psychological research, a chemical one, and another one of social sciences, all related to drug abuse.” And I also have like forty million dollars I stole from the drug lord Lorea that I don’t know how to spend. So, it’s a hilarious way to spend some of that drug money, investing in research that would corrupt other drug lords’ business. He thinks to himself.

That is, in fact, very admirable. Both working for Delta Squad and now investing in such research that is beneficial to society.

“I am very much impressed, Mister Garcia.” A small smile perches up the corner of your lips.

He lets out a throaty laugh, “I think we’re beyond that. Santiago – I go by Santiago.”

“Right, Santiago.” You will never forget that name anytime soon, considering the amount he is about to invest in you.

His lips briefly graze the surface of the champagne in his glass. This man, Santiago Garcia watches you while he takes a sip of his wine.

He clears his throat, putting down his wine glass, “I think we have a deal then,” he calls you by your first name, “fifty thousand for a year. Then two or more years, depending on your research outcome.”

Fifty thousand for a year.

Your breath hitches in your throat. That amount is probably more than the wage your parents could earn in five years.

Your tuition. Your personal lab equipment. Your soup cans and tuna cans with red 50% Off stickers at the back of your cabinet.

“Is this the wine talk?” You joke, to mask the tension at the back of your spine.

“No,” Santiago says in his gravel but surprisingly warm voice, his beautiful eyes with the color that reminds you of melting hazelnut chocolate lingering on your face. The look, the gaze, it was nothing repulsive. Nothing offensive. Nothing intrusive. “I’m very much sober.”

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x you #sugar daddy!santiago garcia #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia fluff #oscar isaac characters #fem!reader #oscar isaac image #triple frontier #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #oscar isaac

47 notes · View notes

madhattervanessa · 1 year ago

Text

Night Moves

AN: There's so little plot here it's astounding lmao. Based on a prompt from this list.

(Un-beta'd)

You’re going to kill your neighbor. It’s 3 a.m. 3 a.m. on a Wednesday and this ass hole is blasting fucking Metallica.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 5,030 Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader Warnings: pwp, cursing, kissing, alcohol consumption, p in v, oral sex (brief), fingering (brief), frottage, strangers to lovers/neighbors to lovers AO3

———

You’re going to kill your neighbor.

It’s 3 a.m. 3 a.m. on a Wednesday and this ass hole is blasting fucking Metallica.

You can hear every lyric through the thin walls of your apartment, every drumbeat, every guitar riff—everything. It’s so loud, it’s almost as if the band is actually there playing live in your living room.

You’d tried just ignoring it at first, hoping they’d get their rage or whatever out and would turn it off. After an hour, you’d tried banging on the wall, but they were either ignoring you or couldn’t hear over the din in their living room. It’s going on hour two now and you’ve had enough.

With a growl, you roll out of your bed, muttering angrily under your breath as you pad barefoot across the hardwood floors of your living room to your front door. After unlocking it, you wrench it open, slamming it shut behind you as you step out into the hall.

You stop short when you reach your neighbor’s door, trying to hold back your rage and go into this confrontation with at least a semi-level head. This’ll be your first time meeting them after all, and if you’re going to continue sharing a wall, it might be the best idea to not come out swinging right off the bat.

So you take a deep breath, willing your frayed nerves to calm as you lift your hand and knock on the door.

No response.

Your lips twist in annoyance. There is a possibility that they hadn’t heard the knock, just as they couldn’t hear you banging on the wall earlier, so you give them the benefit of the doubt. With a sigh, you lift your hand again, this time knocking with the side of your fist. The sound is louder this time, the bangs echoing down the hallway.

Nothing.

“That’s it,” you mutter, balling both of your hands into fists and bringing them down on the door, alternating your knocks so they’re constant.

It’s loud. So loud you’re likely to wake every neighbor on your floor, not just get the attention of this one, but you don’t care. You’re pissed and this jackass needs to know it. You continue banging, your hands starting to get sore from the constant contact with the hard surface of the door, when suddenly (blessedly) the music stops.

Your fists bang on the door one more time as the music cuts, your body tensing a little as you drop your arms back to your side, bracing yourself for the inevitable confrontation. Just as you’re wondering if this ass hole is even going to have the balls to face you, the door opens and—

Oh. Oh no.

There in front of you stands what has to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s a literal work of art, standing there framed in the doorway looking like one of those marble sculptures you’ve seen in museums come to life. His brown eyes are warm, but also a little guarded as they meet yours, one thick eyebrow raising in question.

It’s then that you remember to speak, blinking rapidly as if it’ll clear the heavenly image of him that’s likely been forever burned onto your retinas.

“Hi,” you offer finally, your throat suddenly dry.

The corner of his (perfect) mouth twitches a little as he slides his gaze down the length of you. Your skin heats and you’re not sure if it’s him or the embarrassment you’re feeling.

“Hi,” he rasps, eyes meeting yours again as he allows a smile to fully spread across his lips.

You’re staring again and you know he notices, amusement shining in his eyes.

“Something I can help you with?” he prompts, eyebrows raised as he leans his shoulder against the doorframe.

The question snaps your attention back to him and you mentally give yourself a shake. “I’m your neighbor.”

“Oh,” he responds, holding his hand out to you as he continues to gaze at you with amusement. “Nice to meet you, neighbor.”

Your eyes drop to his outstretched hand, gazing at it dumbly for a moment before you take it in yours to give it a shake. A jolt zips through you at the contact, heat flaring in your belly as you will your brain to imagine anything other than having his hands somewhere else on your body.

Jeez. You really need to get a hold of yourself.

“Right, so,” you begin weakly, your hand still loosely clasped in his. “It’s 3 a.m. and, uh, your music. It’s loud.”

His amusement fades instantly at your words and something inside you regrets ever uttering them.

“Oh shit,” he says, reflexively pulling his hand back and glancing at his watch, “I was unpacking and didn’t even realize the time. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say automatically, even though it really isn’t.

He shakes his head, putting his hands up placatingly. “No, it isn’t. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you nod, crossing your arms over your chest as you shift a little awkwardly on your feet. “Well, uh, I’m gonna go then. Nice to meet you—”

“Santiago,” he offers, smile returning to his lips as he holds your gaze.

You give him your name as well, returning his smile with your own as you begin to drift back in the direction of your apartment.

“‘Night,” you mumble, sending him an awkward wave as you open your door and step back inside your apartment.

A soft ‘goodnight’ wafts down the hall in response, reaching your ears just before you close the door and you smile.

—

The next night, you can’t sleep. Why can’t you sleep? You should be exhausted after the day you’ve had, especially after only getting a few hours the night before thanks to your neighbor.

Your gorgeous neighbor.

Santiago, you remind yourself, chewing your lip as your brain immediately conjures up an image of him in that black t-shirt which was just a little too tight, his biceps bulging slightly as he’d crossed his arms over his broad chest. Your breath quickens as your imagination runs rampant with a seemingly endless stream of tantalizing images; Santiago in your living room, in your bedroom, in your bed, his tan skin slick with sweat, chest heaving, his hips snapping against yours as you moan into his neck—

A whine escapes into the darkness of your room and you freeze, eyes wide. You know no one else is there, that he’s not there, but you still can’t help but feel embarrassed. You don’t even know this guy, and here you are fantasizing about him fucking you into oblivion.

“Shit,” you mutter, shaking your head in an effort to clear it.

You swallow thickly, clenching your fingers in your sheets, fingers that itch to slip beneath the waistband of your underwear, to circle your clit, to plunge into your tight, wet channel—

“Fuck,” you groan, jolting up out of the bed.

You walk quickly to your kitchen, grabbing a cup from the cabinet and filling it with water. You chug it, chest heaving as you fill it up again, this time forcing yourself to take sips. As you drink, you lean against the counter, eyes closing as your breathing slows.

When you feel your calm return, you set your cup by the sink and return to your room. You sigh as you slip between the sheets, pulling them up to your chin as you snuggle down into your pillow. Your mind is blessedly quiet as you close your eyes, the heaviness in your limbs now more pronounced than it was a moment ago. Just as you’re about to drift off, he’s there again, this time pressing you against your kitchen counter as he licks into your mouth, his hands on your hips—

“Fuck it,” you grumble tiredly, eyes still closed as you shift, slipping your hand inside your panties.

—

It’s Friday. TGIF, or whatever.

You’re just glad you don’t have to work this weekend; maybe you can catch up on the sleep you’ve missed out on the last two nights. Just as you’re contemplating making it an early night, you hear a knock at your door.

Confused, you shuffle over, lifting the cover over the peephole to look through it.

It’s him.

In your surprise, the cover slips from between your fingers and clatters against the door. You cringe, knowing that you now have no choice but to open the door. You look down at yourself, grumbling when you remember you’re wearing what has to be the most unsexy collection of clothing ever.

“You okay in there?” a muffled voice asks through the door.

Sighing, you hurriedly fasten a few of the buttons on your flannel overshirt, attempting to cover the worn tank top and shorts beneath. It’ll have to do.

You shake yourself in an effort to loosen up a little, and quickly unlock the door.

“Santiago, hi,” you say, perhaps a little too cheerfully, as you pull it open.

His smile makes your insides melt, dark eyes boring into yours. You lean against your doorframe, returning his smile as nonchalantly as you can manage.

“This isn’t a bad time, is it?” he asks, gaze flicking briefly behind you, as if looking to see if someone else is there.

You shrug, shaking your head. “No, not at all. What’s up?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he holds up a bottle of whiskey you hadn’t noticed was in his hand. “It’s a ‘welcome to the building’ gift from a guy down the hall. Wanna help me drink it?”

You hesitate, not wanting to embarrass yourself any more than you already have.

“If nothing else, I figured it might kind of help make up for keeping you up the other night,” he adds, his smile sincere.

Panic slices through you at his words before you realize he means the loud music and not…your thoughts about him. Obviously, ugh.

“Sounds great,” you squeak, stepping aside to let him in. “Sorry about the mess.”

He waves you off, stepping over the threshold and waiting as you close and lock the door behind him. When you turn, you find that he’s closer than you anticipated, so close you can smell him, feel the heat of him even through the flannel.

God, you are so fucked.

“Kitchen,” you say, wondering when your voice got so fucking breathy. “That’s—the glasses are in the kitchen.”

His gaze locks with yours, a heat simmering in his eyes as he smiles. “Lead the way.”

You turn away, swallowing thickly as you try to regain your bearings. You guide him in the direction of the kitchen, mentally giving yourself a pep talk with every step.

“You can have a seat if you want,” you offer, gesturing toward your kitchen table.

He shakes his head though, opting to lean against the counter instead. “I’m good, been sitting all day.”

You hum, pulling open the cabinet and grabbing a couple of glasses. “Desk jockey?”

His sniffed laugh makes you smile as you close the cabinet door and turn to face him again.

“More or less,” he says vaguely, a gentle smile on his lips. “How about you?”

You tell him what you do for a living as you make your way back over to him with the glasses. He nods, watching as you pull the bottle to you across the countertop.

“May I?”

“Have at it,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

The action causes his lean muscles to strain against the material of his shirt. Your gaze lingers there for longer than it should as you absently work to pull the cork from the bottle. Eventually, it comes out, a satisfying pop echoing through the room. You pour a little in each glass, the amber liquid swirling a little before settling at the bottom.

“Ice?” you ask, holding one of the glasses up.

You hold the glass out to him when he shakes his head, his fingers grazing yours as he takes it.

“Salud,” he says, his eyes locked with yours as he tips back the glass.

You raise your own glass in agreement, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm and rich as it slides down your throat. You hum at the sensation, closing your eyes briefly in contentment, the oaky flavor making your taste buds sing.

“Good?” he rasps, his breath puffing against your cheek.

You open your eyes, lashes fluttering; goddamn it, why was he so pretty?

“Mhmm,” you respond, not confident your mouth would be capable of forming words right now.

He steps in closer, reaching past you and pulling the bottle toward him, his arm brushing against your side.

“Want more?” he asks softly, eyes locked with yours as he holds up the bottle.

You can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not just talking about the whiskey and it sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, sliding your glass toward him. He looks away to fill it and you force yourself to take a breath.

“Thanks,” you say as he offers the glass back to you

He nods, leaning his hip against the side of the counter. “So, how long have you been in this building?”

Grateful for a benign topic to ease some of the tension, you smile. “About two years.”

“You like it?”

You shrug, swirling the liquid around your glass. “It’s a place to live.”

He chuckles and the sound makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

“How are you liking it so far?” you ask, stealing another sip of your drink.

“It’s a place to live,” he responds, raising a teasing brow at you.

You roll your eyes. “Come on.”

He smiles, shrugging as he drains the rest of his drink. “It’s alright. Most people seem decent so far.”

You sniff, taking another swig from your glass. “Don’t let them fool you.”

Santiago sets his glass down, his arm braced against the counter as he leans toward you. “So who should I steer clear of then?”

“Well,” You sigh, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in contemplation. “Mrs. Sacks in 5B for one, she’s a gossipy bitch; Jay in 2C for another—”

His eyes flick up to yours from where they’re staring at your mouth. “2C? Really? He’s the one who gave me the whiskey.”

“Yeah well, he’s an ass hole,” you grunt, throwing your head back a bit as you drain your glass.

After studying you quietly for a moment he asks, “Ex?”

“Please,” you scoff, setting your glass on the counter. “Want another?”

He nods, eyes roving your face as you pour more liquid into his waiting glass.

“And what about you?” he asks as you raise your refilled glass to your lips.

Brow furrowed, you ask, “What about me?”

“If I asked Mrs. Sacks about you, what would she say?”

You chuckle, twisting your lips in thought. “Honestly? Probably that I’m too loud.”

His eyes darken a little, a shiver running up your spine. “Yeah? And how would she know?”

“Well, we do share a wall,” you say, swallowing thickly.

Santiago leans in closer, his voice low when he asks, “Which one?”

He knows the answer, he must since you only have two neighbors with whom you share a wall, one of which is him. Nevertheless, you respond.

“That one,” you whisper, pointing toward your bedroom.

His eyes briefly flick in the direction you’re pointing before returning to yours, humming contemplatively.

“Wanna give her something to talk about?” he asks, leaning in close, his breath mixing with yours.

You nod, breath catching as he cages you against the counter between his arms, his body pressing against the length of you. He holds your gaze for a moment, giving you a chance to push him away, breath fanning across your cheek as he hovers. Then he leans in slowly, his nose nudging yours before he tilts his head just enough to meet your lips. They’re warm as they press against yours, stealing the air from your lungs with every soft caress. He licks into your mouth with a hum, one of his hands coming up to cradle your face. He tastes like the whiskey you were just drinking, and something else, something richer, something him. You want more, can’t get enough as you push your tongue between his lips. He groans into your mouth as you taste him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt, holding his body against yours.

When air becomes a necessity, he breaks, trailing his lips down over your chin to mouth at your neck. His hand follows, ghosting over your chest down to the buttons of the overshirt you’d hastily fastened before you’d let him inside. He nips at your collar bone, tongue laving at the base of your neck as he undoes them, his hand slipping inside to settle on your waist. You breathe his name as he sucks a mark into your skin, fingers winding themselves into his hair. You tug at the graying strands, his groan vibrating against your chest before you pull him back up, reattaching your mouth to his.

The kiss is messy and frantic this time, your lips catching on any patch of skin they can reach. You suck on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth again and he groans, his hands reaching up to push the flannel overshirt from your shoulders. His fingers drag lightly over every inch of skin revealed to him, raising goosebumps all over your body. Your hands are everywhere; moving up his arms to his neck, down his back, clutching his plump ass through his jeans—

When your hands snake beneath his shirt, he growls against your lips, lifting you up to sit on the edge of the counter. He fits his body between your legs, hands skating up the outside of your thighs and slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts. You gasp, scooting closer to the edge, to him, encouraging his touch. He groans as you pull him flush against you, wrapping your legs around his torso as you continue to attack each other’s mouths.

You feel hot, like you’re burning up from the inside, like you’re going to explode into a ball of fire any minute now. His fingers tease you, dragging along the seams of your panties, tickling the sensitive skin there, but never slipping underneath. You grind yourself against his abdomen, desperate for relief, and moan into his mouth when he presses his thumb to your clit through your shorts, the fabric of your panties creating a delicious friction. He kisses down your neck again, worrying a mark at the base of your jaw before soothing it with his warm, wet tongue. Your fingers slip back into his hair, holding his face against you as you continue to absently grind against him.

“Bedroom?” he breathes, bringing his mouth back to yours.

“Please,” you plead, locking your feet together at his lower back as he lifts you from the counter.

He grunts as he walks, mumbling something about his knees. You’re not sure if he trips, or if his knees are really just that bad, but the next thing you know, you’re on the couch, your legs on either side of his torso. His hands are on your hips, encouraging you to grind down onto his lap. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans and it makes you shiver with anticipation. The friction is delicious, better than anything you’ve ever felt. You’re not sure if it’s just been a while or if Santiago is just that good, but at the moment, you don’t really care. You feel his hands slip beneath your tank top as you shift, surprising yourself with a moan as the zipper of his pants catches against your clit perfectly.

“That’s it, baby,” he mumbles, pushing your shirt up and pulling it over your head as you continue to undulate in his lap. “Take what you need.”

He leans forward, mouthing at the swell of your breasts, groaning against your chest as you chase your release. You’re so close, can feel the heat pooling in your belly, the fire spreading beneath your skin. When he pulls the cups of your bra down and takes your nipple in his warm, wet mouth, you come with a gasp, hips stuttering against him as you try in vain to prolong the euphoria. Santiago groans as you continue to grind against him, your nipple still between his lips. You cup the back of his head, encouraging him to keep going as you slow your pace, breath shaky as you come down from your high.

“Fuck, you are incredible,” he praises before languidly swirling his tongue around your neglected nipple.

You moan, heat flaring across your skin at his words; you’re already drunk on him and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

“Look gorgeous when you come,” he continues, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing their peaks. “Can’t wait to feel you come around my cock.”

You whimper at his words, leaning over to capture his lips again in a slow, sensual kiss.

“You can’t wait either can you, hermosa,” he pants against your lips, unable to keep quiet, it seems, even when you’re kissing him. “Bet you’d let me fuck you right here on this couch, wouldn’t you?”

A moan escapes you at the mental image your brain conjures at his words and he smirks. “Another time, I promise.”

You silence him with your tongue, slipping it into his mouth again with a hum. He groans, his fingers fumbling behind you to unclasp your bra. Once you’re free, he tosses it away, hands roaming unimpeded across the expanse of your back, fingers soothing the indentations left behind by the garment.

He takes you in his arms again, standing to his feet, your legs wrapped around his hips. You make it to the bedroom this time, and he lays you out beneath him, pressing you into the bed as he covers your neck and chest with licks and kisses. You whine when he begins to pull away, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him on top of you. He chuckles, gently unwinding your arms before leaning in to press a soft, reassuring kiss against your lips.

He crawls back down your body and off the bed, and it’s then that you realize he’s still completely clothed. He pulls his shirt off first, revealing his toned chest to your gaze, then toes off his shoes and unbuckles his belt. You chew your lip as you watch him, eyes devouring every inch that’s revealed to you. He shucks his pants next, letting them drop to the floor unceremoniously and stepping out of them. His boxers are last, but he drags it out, a teasing smile on his lips. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and suddenly you want nothing more than to take him between your lips and make him come down your throat.

Another time, perhaps.

He crawls back onto the bed, stopping at your torso to place a kiss against your belly. His fingers find the waistbands of your shorts and panties, and you lift your hips as he pulls them down your legs. After tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor, he pushes open your thighs, settling himself between them. You bite your lip as he drags the pads of his fingers through your soaked slit, gazing at you with a knowing smirk as he circles your clit. You moan when he dips them inside, stretching you, massaging your inner walls. He can’t seem to help it when he leans forward, lightly licking at you with the tip of his tongue. He hums at the taste of you, licking his lips as he pulls away, his fingers soaked from your cunt.

He moves back up your body, his wet fingers settling on your hip as he claims your mouth once more. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, grabbing at him, trying to bring him closer somehow. His cock slips between the lips of your sex and he grinds it against your clit, dragging another moan from you. He keeps kissing you, smiling against your mouth as he continues driving you up the wall with pleasure. But it’s not enough for you to come, and by the time he’s telling you to get on your stomach for him, you’re more than eager to comply.

“You ready for me, querida?” he rasps, breath fanning against your ear as he presses himself against your back.

“Yes,” you moan, pushing your hips up off of the bed, the tip of his cock bumping against your center.

He hums, pulling back a little to situate himself, and when he enters you, he does it slowly, hissing as you engulf him in your tight heat. You press your face into the bedspread, moaning as he pushes his thick cock into you, stretching you, your fingers clenching into fists at the delicious burn; you’re so full, and every inch of him feels exquisite.

He grips your hips, calloused fingers digging into your skin as he pulls back, dragging his length slowly against your sensitive walls. He groans when you flutter around him, your body still acclimating to his girth. You whimper when he snaps his hips back into yours, the tip of his cock just hitting your cervix. He pulls back again, almost all the way out, before slamming into you again, this time adjusting the angle slightly. He does it again, and again, each time hitting a different spot inside you, as if searching for something specific, something special.

When he finds it, you gasp, your back bowing as his cock hits a spot inside you that makes you see stars. You clench around him and he groans, hands gripping your hips like a vice.

“You feel so good,” he groans again, his hips snapping hard against yours. “So good.”

You can’t do much more than moan in agreement, the pleasure coursing through you almost overwhelming. He hunches over you, chest pressed against your back as he speeds up his thrusts, his cock still brushing that special spot.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear.

You moan again, your walls fluttering around him as his pace starts to falter.

“So tight, so warm, fuck,” he slurs, slamming into you harder, burying his face in the back of your neck. “Wanna feel you squeeze me.

Callused fingertips brush your clit a moment later and you gasp, a shiver wracking your body.

“Santi,” you plead, grinding yourself against his fingers. “Please, I’m so close.”

“I’ve got you, hermosa,” he whispers, pinching your clit and dragging another moan from you. “Let go for me.”

At his words, you come with a choked moan, relief and pleasure rolling through your body in waves.

“Oh, good girl,” Santiago groans, fucking you through your orgasm, his thrusts sloppy as he nears his own peak. “So fucking good.”

You shiver a little as your pleasure subsides, brain still buzzing when you feel him pull out of you, moaning as he spills himself on your lower back. His seed is warm and sticky on your skin and you hum, relishing the feel of it. He’s still panting behind you, trying to catch his breath as his fingers brush soothingly over your skin, smearing his cum. After a moment, he leans in, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades, and your chest aches a little at the unexpected sweetness of it.

“You okay?” he asks, breath tickling your ear as he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

“Mhmm,” you hum, stretching a little, your body feeling pleasantly loose.

He mumbles something that sounds like ‘good’ before pressing another kiss into your neck. Then he pulls away, the bed shifting as he stands to his feet. You steal a glance over your shoulder, dread settling in your belly—Where was he going? He wasn’t leaving, was he? A moment later, he returns, washcloth in hand, and you relax, your panic draining away as he meets your gaze with a smile.

An hour or so later, you’re both in the kitchen again, sitting side-by-side on the counter laughing, half-eaten takeout containers strewn around you.

“So then he says, ‘no, it’s European,” Santi says, chuckling as you double-over with laughter.

“No way, he did not,” you laugh, hand covering your mouth.

Santiago nods, an amused smile on his lips as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey. “He did.”

“Shit,” you chuckle, leaning back on your hands as you shake your head. “What an ass hole.”

He hums, eyeing you appreciatively as he sets his glass back on the counter. You’re naked beneath the overshirt currently slipping down your shoulder, only a few buttons and some flannel between you and his hands, his lips, his tongue, and he’s looking at you like you're the dessert table at a buffet. You chew your lip, heat already pooling again in your belly.

Guess once wasn’t enough.

“So…neighbor,” he begins, his eyes teasing as he drags his tongue over his bottom lip. “Have I done enough to earn your forgiveness for the other night?”

You bite back a smile, tapping your chin as you pretend to contemplate his question. “You know, I’m not sure.”

He raises a playful eyebrow before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. “How about now?”

You humming, scrunching up your nose in thought. “Still inconclusive.”

He grunts, capturing your lips again, this time in a deep, languid kiss. His hand skates up your bare thigh and you moan, tangling your fingers in his curls. He pulls back after a moment, raising his eyebrows at you expectantly.

“I guess, you’ll just have to keep trying,” you tease, biting back a smile when he growls, leaning back in to claim your mouth once more, the hand on your thigh finally slipping beneath the hem of your shirt.

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

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.

#i am in love #santiago garcia x fem!reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia #fic rec #this is so hot #and it's so HIM

299 notes · View notes

my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 11 days ago

Text

Place Of Worship

Santiago Pope Garcia x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 27: Body Worship

Summary: Santi's besotted with you.

A/N: Thank you so much to @thexsanctuaryx for beta-ing so amazingly again!

Warnings: swearing, body worship, oral sex (afab! receiving), please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 619

Santi’s practically lightheaded. Dizzy with how heavy his cock feels, sure that all the blood in his brain has truly rushed downwards.

He kisses your stomach softly, spreading his salvia over your skin as he sucks and licks. He wants this all the time, you naked lying back on the bed for him to touch and caress. He wants to feel every part of you, taste every inch of your skin while your hand is in his hair and scraping at his scalp just right.

He’s still got his boxers on, but he’s sure he’s leaving a soaking wet patch of precum on the cotton. He doesn’t fucking care though.

Santi inches lower, enjoying how your breathing hitches as he nips at your hip bone and massages your inner thighs with his thick fingers.

His tongue traces the join of your leg to hip, licking down to your mound and just dancing above where you would truly like his mouth. He’s not trying to be a tease, just take his time and enjoy how close you are. How breathy you sound above him and how sweet your skin tastes.

He licks down, running the tip of his tongue along your outer lips on one side, then up, across and back down and up the other.

He gazes up at you with hazy lidded eyes and he finally sinks his tongue inside slowly, then drags it up, up, up to finally flick along your clit.

Your moan is musical, the way you push your head back into the pillow and sigh, he wants that image engraved into gold that he can wear around his neck.

He repeats the long lick, groaning as you buck and shiver, before he swirls around your clit once and then sucks lightly.

Your little gasp sends tingles of pleasure down his spine, makes him moan into you. He eases up on the pressure, practically almost letting you fall from his lips before sucks harder, alternating in pressure and tempo until your hips are bucking fiercely and you're pulling at his hair for dear life.

“Santi!”

Fuck, he could come just hearing you like that.

He groans, focusing completely on keeping the same deep pressure, the same rhythm, not slowing or speeding up despite how you writhe.

Your breathing hitches, your chest rising and falling rapidly. He can feel your muscles jumping under his hands, how you try to fight the urge to squeeze his head with your thighs.

He’ll have to talk to you about that after, beg you to not be afraid to suffocate him with your thighs, to keep him between your legs. Exactly where he’s meant to be.

He groans, his own eyes rolling back as he senses your orgasm, can practically experience your pleasure building and building and running along your skin like electricity.

He wants to beg you, plead with you to give in, to give him all of it, to come and come and come until you're hoarse. But he doesn’t move his mouth from your centre, doesn’t break in his flow.

“Fuck!” You swear loudly, your back arching. Your voice is more than music to his ears, practically the word of a god as you sob in pleasure.

You shake and convulse on his tongue, your release hitting his tongue and soaking down his chin.

As you start to come down and relax he takes one last greedy lick through your folds, long and slow, trying to gather as much of your cum on his tongue as he can and groaning as he swallows.

You stroke his hair absentmindedly, the action soothing. He kisses your inner thigh and rests his head against you, utterly content in that moment.

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes ho

@steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

@pygmi-cygni @hammerhead96 @emma23 @sub-aro @killerdollz

@maplemind @mwltwo @loonymagizoologist @dameronshandholder @queerly-anxious

@homuraak3mi @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp @milkypompon @eternallyvenus

@mandytrekkie @lounilu @avengersinitiative2012 @pigeonmama @marcsb1tch

@iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @DowBaStan @faretheeoscar@lonelyisamyw-0love

@queerponc @twwcs @Spnwhore2430 @mari-thesimp @ominoose

@ierofrnkk @have-you-seen-my-sanity @to-be-a-sunshine @blushingrn @missdictatorme

@klillah @mystic-writings

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

120 notes · View notes

nathanbatemanfucker · 4 months ago

Text

summary: Santi’s always been used to running, finding comfort in ambiguity and transitions. But what happens when he finally meets someone who makes him want to stay?

Part 1: Along the Deep

Part 2: Juna’s Bloodshed

Part 3: TBD

let me know if you’d like to be tagged! must be 18+

#HELLOOOOO #IM BACK I THINK #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x fem!reader #santiago garcia x f!reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia #santiago garcia fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #not sfw #arson writes #sycamore

49 notes · View notes

romanarose · 1 year ago

Text

Honest Mistake (Cowritten with @missdictatorme)

Santiago "Pope" Garcia X Fem!Reader

Join Romana’s tag list

Triple Frontier Master List

Birthday fic for me and Dolli! Her's was the 18th, mine is the 20th (TOMORROW AT LEAST IN THE US!!!) so we whipped this bad boy up together! It was a lot of fun, we worked well together and have similar humors. I think some parts you'll be able to tell who wrote what, but others it could honestly be either. I hope you enjoy, bc I think this is pretty stellar!

Fluff

5k words

Summary: Santi goes into a panic one morning when he realizes it's your birthday, the first since you and him got together at Will's engagement party... and he forgot. In a hurry, he calls on his team to pull off a special day in order to make it seem as if he this all planned out ahead of time.

Warnings: some smut (fingering, oral), uuuhhh that's it? Content warning implied/referenced Nicolas Cage.

***************

“God baby, you just woke up this soaked?”

“It’s doesn’t help you’ve been grinding your morning wood into my ass the last hour.”

Santi had his finger down your Star Wars pj pants as the two of you laid in bed on this sleepy sunday morning, Santiago spooning you. Santi loved how you looked like this. Don’t get him wrong, he loved how you looked in business casual for work, he loved how you looked when he took you out on a fancy date and you got all dressed up, but something about this drove him crazy. Maybe it’s because only he got to see you like this, or maybe it’s because he got to see this so often instead of the one night stands he was used to. There was something so fucking intimate about it.

And it just turned him on like crazy.

“Not my fault you look this goddamn good”

“I literally have drool dried to my cheeks right n- oh” There it was. Santi curled his fingers and hit that perfect spot inside your gushing core.

“Only way I can get you to shut the fuck up, huh? Make you moan like a little whore?”

“Hmmmm I think you should be just a little bit nicer to me considering it’s my birthday.”

It took all his will power for Santi to not stop finger fucking you right then and there, his face hidden behind you hiding the horror at himself. BIRTHDAY?!?! It can’t be your birthday. That was tomorrow, wasn’t it? No, no it was a Sunday… next Sunday? No, next Sunday was Will’s wedding- oh fuck it’s your birthday.

“Sure is, hermosa” Santi mumbled into your neck. “And I have a great day planned for you, starting with…” Flinging the blankets off the bed, Santi scrambled his way down your body, sliding off the pants and diving in, large nose and all, into your cunt. Santi put every goddamn ounce of energy he had into making you scream, licking and sucking away, only breaking away to nibble on your thighs for a breath while he finger fucked you, never once letting up on the sensations he was giving.

“Fuck! Fucking hell Santiago, what’s- uuugghh, fuck, what’s gotten into you today?”

“Just trying to give my girl the best birthday ever!” He said, perhaps too enthusiastically. Only Ben get’s that fucking excited. Still you didn’t seem to find it odd because you were moaning his name as you came on his face, Santi lapping up every drop until he drew a second, smaller orgasm out of you. “Just lay here, princesa.” Still in a panic (and fucking hard, on top of it all) Santi went and drew you a bath. The perfect excuse to leave you alone with a towel, face mask, candle, and music going so you didn’t have to hear him hyperventilating.

How could he do this? How could he forget your birthday, his perfect fucking girlfriend who remembers every date from his birthday, to Frankie’s daughter Yasmine’s recitals to the anniversary of Tom’s death. And he couldn’t remember this? It’s a week on the dot before Will and Lana’s wedding, how could he forget! Between the wedding, the bachelor party, groomsmen duties and not to mention last month he signed Yaz up for a soccer camp which meant committing to picking her up from daycare for a few hours every day for the last week and of course he had to take her out for McDonalds after like the good uncle he was… you had just gotten lost in the flood.

This would not stand. He’d give you the best birthday he could pull together last minute or so help him god! He just needs a few reinforcements.

Benny’s Boys 😎

Pope: I fucked up.

Ironhead: You forgot her birthday, didn’t you.

🐟: How the fuck do you remember, Will

No Call Sign: Will drinks respect women juice for breakfast

Ironhead: It’s a week before my wedding. How did you forget?

Pope: I don’t know! But I need your help to fix this!

No Call Sign: Have you tried eating her out? That usually fixes things when May is mad

Ironhead: Jesus Christ Benjamin. Have some class.

Ironhead: Have you, though?

Pope: GUYS

Pope: Also, yes.

🐟: What do you need, Pope.

After a four way call on the balcony and planning that rivaled what it took to almost pull off Colombia (Why does Will have a white board and a corkboard with pictures of them all, you, Yazmine, Lana and red strig just ready to go?), a preliminary plan was made. Santi would start by taking you to brunch where Will would just have enough time to bring over a bouquet of flowers and put their names in for a table without being seen. Meanwhile, Frankie and Yaz were going to be working on a cake and Benny called up everyone you both knew (why does he have everyone’s numbers?). Lana was their man on the ground, updating the boards in an organized fashion she knew Will loved and keeping everyone on track. One task each would not be enough to get this done, they’d have to hussle the whole day to pull off what the 4 men had planned in an effort to make it seem like Santi scheduled this out ahead of time.

When Santi finished the calls and the grand plan was made, he walked back to the bedroom, just in time to see the bathroom door open. He quickly dove onto the bed, landing on top of the covers and he propped himself up on one elbow, acting relaxed.

"Enjoyed your bath, mi vida?"

You lifted an amused eyebrow, seeing that he bounced a little on the mattress and looked a bit out of breath, but you nodded.

"Yes, baby, it was perfect, thank you." - you blew him a kiss and walked to your closet to dress up.

He had a big house, much bigger and much nicer than your flat, but last night was spent at yours. When you two first dated, Santi set the rules by saying that he wants to keep things slow and casual (like with all of the women he had in the past, he loved fucking them, he respected them, but he wasn't the type to spend most of his free time with them).

You agreed, not wanting to complicate things. The sex was great and he was fun to hang out with, and because of that you didn't want to rush things in case you get bored with each other too soon.

This plan flew right out the window when both of you spent your nights in separate beds, thinking about the other, missing the other.

The next time you had sex, Santi pulled you closer when you wanted to get up, get dressed and leave, asking you to stay the night, kissing your neck. You melted in his arms and cuddled close to him, and after having the best sleep of your life next to each other, it was almost impossible for both of you to let go of the other from then on.

Santi was surprised you and him were still together. Not because you two together weren't perfect. He just… never met someone who made him feel this… happy. Now he felt even worse for forgetting your birthday.

He watched you dress up with a soft smile, loving the way your body looked. When you were done he got up too, lifted your face up with one of his fingers and kissed your lips sweetly.

"How about I'll take you to that restaurant you eye fuck everytime we pass it? For brunch?"

Your eyes widened. That restaurant was… expensive.

You opened your mouth to protest and Santi smiled wider, putting his forefinger against your lips.

"Not that you get any say in the matter, I'm gonna spoil my perfect little princess on her birthday and you can't do anything to stop me."

You mock pouted and bit his finger making him laugh, then you hugged his neck and kissed his lips.

"Okay, Mr. Kidnapper, I sure as hell don't wanna go to that restaurant I've been dying to try since I first saw it. And just for your information, I'm gonna be all grumpy and shit the whole time while we're there!" - you said as you turned to walk out the door and Santi's heart fluttered at seeing the excited bounce in your steps as he followed you.

You kissed his cheek when he opened the car door for you, making him grin widely; you were so sweet, so good to him. Just when you were driving near Santi’s house to get to the resteraunt, you spotted a car similar to Benny's as it turned in the street.

"Isn't that Be…?"

"So are you excited to try this restaurant?" - Santi asked all too eagerly.

"I think that was Be…"

"You must be so curious what I brought for you as a present, carino. I can't wait to give it to you."

You frowned a little then started talking about the reviews you read on the restaurant and started listing him the stuff you'd be happy to get as a present.

When you were looking out the window while you were rambling on and on, Santi quickly reached for his phone and started a voice recording. He sent it to William so he'll know what to buy.

As Santi took you into the restaurant, he got nervous since it was packed. How was he supposed to make it look like he had made a reservation? “Sit here, amor.” Santi directed you to an open chair and went to talk to a host. As he walked away, he heard you call his name, and when he turned around, he saw you in your pretty white dress making a heart with your hands. Santi made his best attempt at a heart back (it looked terrible.) and went on. You were so perfect, so pretty… how was he supposed to give you the day you deserved?

“Hi, uuhhhhhh call ahead for Santiago Garcia? Or maybe it’s under William-”

“Yes! Mr. Garcia! Your friend put your name in. Luckily we just had a bunch of tables get up, so as soon as they get bussed off, we’ll seat you. Maybe 10-15 minutes?”

Santi breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, that’s perfect.” He turned to go back to you when he realized a weak link in this plan. The hostess. This was not a military operation and he couldn’t ‘take care of it’ the way they used to… lucky for the hostess. “Hey uh… can you maybe not mention my friend to my girlfriend? Or that this was a call ahead instead of a reservation?”

She smiled knowingly. “Of course, Mr. Garcia.”

When he got back to you, he told you the wait time. “Sorry baby, they said they had some tables stay longer than expected.”

“Oh that’s okay!” You assured. You used to work in a restaurant and know how it goes. When the hostess came to seat you, she made sure to tell Santi his “reservation” was ready.

Brunch was… expensive. But it didn’t matter, you were worth it, and you smiled so brightly at every bite and every sip, he wanted to take you here more just to see you so happy. Just when he thought Will couldn’t swing the flowers, the hostess brought up a bouquet and Santi watched in delight as you beam at him.

Next on the agenda was a picnic. Driving home, Santi prayed for the first time in half a decade that the Millers had gotten their next part done. Ben came over to start decorating and prepping the picnic basket. Will had to bring the physical basket and blanket… and glasses that aren't plastic.

“BEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNN”

“Relax!” The younger man shouted back as Santi entered the apartment. “We’re way ahead of schedule” Ben had stopped at the store to get a cheese and meat platter and was adding the finishing touches. Will had already left for his next part; buying a gift in which Santi would venmo the cost back. He didn’t care how much, just make it good.

“Tio!!!” A little brunette ran up and hugged her uncle, covered in flour.

“Mija, what are you doing here?” He asked as he greeted his goddaughter.

Frankie round the corner from the kitchen. “Yasmine, you just got him dirty!” He scolded. Santi assured him it was fine and wiped off the flour, and Frankie explained. “We figured we’d make the cake here instead of risking transportation.”

With hugs and thank you’s all around, Santi grabbed the finished basket and dashed out the door.

When he got back in the car, you looked at him curiously. “Is that Frankie’s car down the street?”

Santi gives a noncommittal answer and mutters something about Frankie having ladies in every zip code, then drives away, quickly changing the subject to the new Barbie movie you wanted to see so badly as he took you out to the park for a picnic.

Santi found a nice spot under a tree where the shadow was big enough to cover the big blanket from the heat of the sun. He made you sit down and you watched with a smile as he pulled everything out of the box. While he did that, you decided to pull off your sandals and removed Santi's shoes and socks too, making the man chuckle.

He opened the bottle of wine while you picked some cheese on your plate and you beamed up at him.

"Today is going great Santi. Thank you for this."

Santi smiled back at you and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

"You deserve the best, baby."

You shook your head, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"Still… No one put this much effort into making me feel special, like… ever."

Santi's smile faltered a little and you thought it was because of sympathy. But he felt shame envelope him. He shouldn't have forgotten your birthday. If he would've remembered he would've made you take a week off from work and would have taken you to somewhere nice. To Spain maybe, or Guatemala or Italy, maybe Greece. To somewhere beautiful where you always wanted to go. To make you feel like the most special girl in the world. Because you were the most special! At least for him. What would you think of him if you knew his friends were helping him, because he forgot your birthday? Did he really deserve you?

You pulled him out of his thoughts when you leaned your head on his shoulder as you were watching the lake where ducks and swans were swimming peacefully.

"You always make me feel special though. Everyday. Sometimes I feel like I don't thank you enough." - you said quietly.

Santi looked down and kissed your head several times, until you chuckled.

"Don't be silly, baby. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. There are times when I just look at you and wonder how you ended up being in my life."

You grinned.

"It was one of Benny's parties where you were drunk as hell, grabbed his guitar and started to serenade me, singing about how I am the most beautiful woman you've ever seen."

Santi started to laugh.

"Well, you are!"

"I just finished throwing up, and was trying to wipe my makeup off with little success."

"Still. I was watching you since you entered the house and was drinking cause I was trying to get enough courage to go over to you."

"This is such bullshit!" - you said, looking at him.

"Que?!"

"Benny told me you are the biggest womanizer he ever met, why did you need courage?"

"Because…" - he started as he booped your nose with his fingertip gently as he leaned closer. - "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I didn't want to fuck it up." - he said and kissed your lips softly.

You snorted and kissed him back.

"So your grand plan was to get shitfaced and serenade me with silly lyrics you made up on the spot."

"Well, I didn't mean to drink that much, but Will just told us he got engaged and we had to celebrate." - he kissed your cheek again, then your neck. - "Besides… it worked." - he grinned.

"It did." - you laughed and kissed him again.

Benny’s Boys 😎

🐟: Booked you a couples massage. Consider it your birthday gift. And christmas. Y Dia De San Jose.

Pope: I cannot say thank you enough, you guys

No Call Sign: Once would be great.

Pope: Hey! I said thank you!

Ironhead: Quit texting your boyfriend and woo your girlfriend. If you want her to be your wife you can’t let her think you’re going to ditch her for some blonde bimbo

No Call Sign: Wait. Am I the blonde bimbo?

🐟: Hey! He’s my blonde bimbo

No Call Sign: Thanks baby 😘

This was proceeded by Ben and Frankie ‘homie flirting’ as Ben called it, before Will reminded them Benny has a girlfriend and Frankie still needed to text Santi the details of the massage.

He took his time with you at the picnic, plopping little bits of meat and cheese and berries in your mouth, continuing to woo you with everything he had. He would make you feel like the most special girl on the planet if it was the last thing he did.

“You’re the most perfect boyfriend in the world“ You praised as you laid on this lap as he sat back against the tree. Santi dangled grapes over your mouth, feeding them to you as he fanned you (Will had a fan in his picnic kit? No wonder that man got engaged so damn fast).

“Hopefully I’ll be the most perfect husband not long from now.”

The way you beamed up at him, eyes sparkling, made every worry he had disappear. “You mean that, Santi?” With bated breath, you await his answer. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been serious… but the line between meeting at Will and Lana’s engagement party where Benny brought you along to, where you had both said to stay ‘casual’ to where you were now, with you as Santi’s official plus one to Will’s wedding, spending nearly every night together… you hadn’t really talked about the future. You knew he was serious. He wouldn’t lead you along like this if he just wanted to casually date, and Benny would kick his ass if he thought Santi was being a dick to you (and threatened to do as much when you first told him about his two best friends dating), but you hadn’t really talked about it.

“I mean it, carino.” Assuringly, Santi caressed your cheek. “I know we’ve been moving a little slow, and I appreciate you meeting me at my pace. I know maybe it seems like I’m just messing around-”

“It doesn’t.”

“-but I promise you, I am very serious. And I’d like to take the next step.” He goes in for a kiss, pecking your lips and tasting the fruit on them.

“And what’s the next step, baby?”

“You’ll see when we get back to the apartment.” He did have one gift ready, something he had planned for weeks ahead of time to give today. It wasn’t that he forgot your birthday completely… he knew what day it was, he knew it was coming… it just got lost in the chaos. So yeah, he needed his 3 best friends, one’s fiance and his goddaughter to assist him. “But up next, a couples massage.”

Santiago did not mean to moan. He really didn’t. But between the stress of the wedding and this whole day, he was tense, and the massage therapist was good. Lucky for him, both his and your massage therapist were cool about it, and you burst into giggles, proceeding to tell his masseuse “I never get him to moan like that.”

He’d be humiliated if it was anyone else but you. You made everything so easy. You also mimicked his moan the whole car ride to his apartment as Santi prayed to god Benny had decorated and gathered enough people together to constitute a surprise party. It was definitely a perk that your friend was good friends with your girlfriend; they knew a lot of the same people. Okay, so maybe Santi thought Ben was competition at first! So maybe Santi kinda wanted to steal you from Ben! So maybe the reason Santi brought out the guitar is because Benny had previously played it and was singing ‘baby lock them doors and turn the light down loooowwww’ and Santi wouldn’t be upstaged! So sue him!

As he unlocked the door, he spoke REALLY LOUDLY in hopes they’d here and get into place. It worked. It definitely worked. Until Yaz shouted “DON’T SHUSH ME DADDY” and it was all over.

You looked at Santi suspiciously.

"You are either hiding your side-chick or… IT'S MY FAVOURITE LITTLE GIRL IN THE WORLD!"

In three seconds you two spotted Yazmine sprinting down the stairs and into your arms, giggling.

"No, Yaz, abort mission, I repeat ABORT MISSION!" - you heard Frankie yell after her, still in his hiding spot while Santi facepalmed himself.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" - she shouted excited as you picked her up and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you, honey! So tell me…"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!" - suddenly dozens of people jumped out from behind different furnitures and you jumped back scared, but then laughed when you recognized the faces.

"Oh my god, guys, thank you!" - you laughed as you put Yasmine down and hugged everyone who came up to you.

Santi quickly searched for his friends to thank them all the effort they put into to make this day special for you. The decoration was done and it seemed like you loved it, if the way your eyes sparkled when you spotted another balloon or a birthday poster was any indication.

You loved the restaurant, the picnic basket Will and Benny put together was fucking delicious, the massage was heavenly and now all of your friends were here to celebrate you.

"Guys, seriously, thank you." - Santi said as he hugged them.

"You better marry this woman one day, since we did all this for you two." - Will winked.

Santi looked over at you with a soft smile on his face.

"Maybe I will."

Frankie, Will and Benny's eyes widened and they grinned, pulling Santi into another group hug. They've never seen their friend this happy and it was easy to tell that it was because of you.

You had a suspicion that it wasn't all Santi. You're not saying he wasn't capable to pull all of this off, but he looked a bit on edge the whole day and he was on the phone a lot more than he used to.

When Santi appeared in front of you with a big gift box, you grinned widely, taking it from him.

“Baby it’s huge!!!” You squeal as you both sit down to tear it open; right away you knew he had sent Will to get it. When you had listed off things you guessed he might have gotten you in the car this morning, you had named several items. A pandora’s charm bracelet, the giant blanket off redbubble with Nicolas Cage’s face all over it, that rose shaped sex toy you were curious about, a new hair dryer since yours had broken, and it was, in fact, the last one. This had Will written all over it. It wasn’t that Will couldn't be romantic; he was, from what Lana had told you and what you had seen, very romantic. However, out of the four, Will was more practical, and absolutely went for the hair dryer. Santi was more fancy jewelry, Frankie would go for the sex toy, and Benny…

The hair dryer was nice, though, very, very nice. It came with several attachments, and Will even managed to put in different hair masks and deep conditioners in there. It was perfect, and you would absolutely be using it on you and May to get ready for Will and Lana’s wedding.

“THANK YOU BABY THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!” Jumping up, you tackle him onto the carpet and pepper his scruffy face with kisses as you both giggled.

The night went swimmingly, a fun weekend but nothing crazy since most had work the next day and the real party would be next weekend, but you had such a great time, Santi serenading you with a cover of You and Me by Lifehouse. Benny somehow read your mind and got you that god awful Nicolas Cage blanket you wanted, and Santi he was never staying the night again.

When the crowd cleared out, leaving you and Santi alone, you took both of his hands in yours. “Thank you for today, Santiago. I had an amazing time”

Santi smiled at you, adoration and love spreading across his face. “I’m so glad, mi vida. It took a lot of effort” Now he could honestly say that wasn’t a lie.

Looking around, you compliment his work. “The decorations look great” You nod to the streamers that were so high up. “You use a step stool?”

Fake glaring, Santi furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh you’re gonna be a brat now, are you?”

Pulling your boyfriend closer, you look his dead in the eye but keep a light smile to make sure he knows you aren’t upset. “You forgot my birthday, didn’t you?”

His eyes go wide, and immediately he starts stammering. “No! No- why would you- baby I would never- your birthday of all days!”

You cock and eyebrow at him. “Santiago Garcia.”

He sighs. “Fine! So I forgot it was today, but I knew it was coming! I just got so… I don’t have an excuse, baby, I’m sorry.” He genuinely looked so sad, so disappointed in himself.

“Oh Santi.” You lean in to kiss him, caressing his face tenderly. “It’s okay, you made me feel so, so special, so loved, not just by you but by your family, and that means a lot to me. Knowing that they care about me too. So thank you today was perfect.”

His face softens, smiling lightly. “Okay, so I had a lot of help. But!” He departs from you, walking into his bedroom and coming out with a small box. “This is something I made up weeks ago. I didn’t completely forget about your birthday.” He hands it to you.

“Santi, you shouldn’t have! You’ve already gotten me so much!”

“Well, this one cost me like. Three dollars.”

When you open it, you see a small key from those kiosks at walmart that even had a Star Wars design on it. “Santi” You gasp. “Is this-”

“A key to my house, yeah.” Santi stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark pants, shuffling nervously. “Well, we’ve been dating for a while, and you practically live here anyway” He teases. “I want you to just… make yourself at home. And when your lease is up… and if you feel ready… I was thinking…” The hopeful look on his high-strung face after everything he did to put today together at the last minute… you fell more in love with him every day.

“SANTIAREYOUASKINGMETOMOVEIN?!” You blurt out, practically jumping.

“If you want-”

Kisses. Nothing but kisses and I love you’s and you jumped and squealed in excitement.

When you had settled and confirmed yes, you’d move in when your lease was up in a few short months, Santi took your mouth in his for a more passionate kiss, and a handful of ass in his hand for a squeeze. Sloppily, you two made out on your slow trek back to what would soon be your bedroom (Where the Nicolas Cage blanket was awaiting him, little did he know) he asked you.

“How did you know I forgot?”

“Weeeelllllll” you draw it out as you go for his neck. “There were a few signs.”

He mumbles a few swears. “Was it Benny and Frankie’s car’s?”

“Well, yeah. But there was the fact, and baby I love you very much, but that level of decoration requires Benny’s enthusiasm.”

“Okay, yeah, well-”

“The gift screamed Will, and the massage had to be one of their ideas at the very least because you would never willingly strip for a woman you weren’t sleeping with.”

“Hey-”

“The cake had a chunk of missing frosting that was suspiciously Yasmine sized”

“She takes after her uncle Ben-”

“There was a fan in the picnic basket”

“Okay so?”

“And baby…” You stop right outside the bedroom door, both of you panting and eager for each other. “You never eat me out like that unless you are trying to make up for something.”

His stupidly sharp jaw drops. “Are you saying I’m not a pussy eating champion?”

“Hey!” You raise your arms in defense. “All I’m saying is if Lana and May are correct, you could take some tips from the Miller- AH!” Santi scooped you up, slinging you over his shoulder.

Despite his words, he was clearly smiling, his shoulders shaking in laughter. “I don’t need jack shit from the Millers!”

“Except this party”

“Except this party! Now, let me show you a little hint of what my wifey will get.” With that, he carried you into the bedroom, promptly greeted by a giant blanket collage of Nicolas Cage.

“Babe. What the FUCK!”

***********

Hope y'all liked!!!!

Dolli I hope you had a great birthday!

Tomorrow I'm decorating my classroom with baby yoda decorations, giving my day care class party favors, and bringing them cookies.

then this weekend thank GOD i have friday off and im going camping

@eyelessfaces @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @my-secret-shame @whatthefishh @miraclesabound @littlenosoul @fandxmslxt69 @campingwiththecharmings @melodygatesauthor @moonknightly @ahookedheroespureheart @jake-g-lockley @kittyofalltrades @milkymoon2483

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x fem!reader #fem!reader #fem reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia/reader #fluff #santiago garcia fluff #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #santiago garcia fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #best friend benny miller #will miller #benny miller #frankie morales

323 notes · View notes

mostly-megan · 2 years ago

Note

Oh god, I just wanted a little holiday distraction and ended up finding a masterpiece of filth. My goodness, well done!!! 💚

Not that you have to give me more content but just an FYI, DBF Santi still haunts me okay thanks love u bye

hi ily here's an unhinged filthy little thanksgiving present xoxo!!

cut the brakes

Dad’s Best Friend!Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!reader

Summary: The turkey isn’t the only thing getting stuffed this year when you come home for Thanksgiving.

Word Count: 3k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, DAD'S BEST FRIEND SANTIAGO, implied age gap (reader is of age), stuffed for Thanksgiving!, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, mention of oral sex (m!receiving)

Shivering outside in the crisp November air, you gritted your teeth at the feeling of the light drizzle of rain falling from the sky. Couldn’t it at least be snow? You tucked your hands further into the long sleeves of your knitted dress—you’d be fucking damned if you had to march back up to the door of your shitty boyfriend’s house to say you forgot your jacket. No, you’d rather freeze.

At the sight of a familiar black pick up truck rounding the corner at the end of the street, your heart lurched in your chest. There was no fucking way.

And yet, clearly there was, because to your complete and total surprise, when the truck came to a stop beside the curb, Santiago Garcia stepped out from the driver’s side.

Santiago Garcia, the object of far too many of your wet dreams over the years. Wildly inappropriate dreams, given the fact that the man currently standing in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets and a lopsided grin on his face was your dad’s best friend.

In an attempt to avoid busy holiday weekend traffic on the roads, you’d opted to take the train instead to come home for Thanksgiving. And while the initial plan was to spend the early afternoon with your boyfriend’s family before the two of you headed to your dad’s place, a nasty argument had thrown a wrench into the day.

When you’d called your dad and asked him if he could swing by to grab you, it sounded like he’d already had a few drinks, so you assumed one of your uncles or cousins would be pulling up. Not him.

The last time you saw Santiago was at a barbecue at his house shortly before you moved out years ago—after finishing your degree at a local university, you’d chosen an out-of-town grad school. The late summer evening had found you with just enough alcohol buzzing in your veins to corner him in the hallway inside, at which point all of the furtive glances and suggestive conversation building up between the two of you came to a head in a heated, messy, desperate kiss.

A kiss that Santiago quickly stopped between one heartbeat and the next, hands placed firmly on your shoulders as he took in your drunken state.

“Not like this,” he’d said roughly, shaking his head as he led you into the kitchen and poured you a cold glass of water.

You’d left the following week, and you hadn’t spoken to him since. Despite the amount of time he normally spent at your dad’s house, you’d somehow managed not to run into him on any of your trips home in the years since.

Until now.

You face burned in embarrassment as he approached you, and you glanced down at your feet.

“Where’s your jacket?”

Although you knew he was standing there, you still startled at the sound of his voice, and you awkwardly gestured back toward the house behind you.

Santi quirked an eyebrow and shrugged off his dark blue bomber jacket, draping it over your shoulders as he lightly rested a hand against the middle of your back and led you over to the truck, opening the passenger side door for you. You tried not to make it too obvious as you inhaled the scent of his cologne that was wrapped around you.

As he pulled back out onto the road, the cab of the truck was quiet save for the rumble of the engine, the occasional squeak of the windshield wipers, and the lulling pitter patter of raindrops outside.

When a few minutes had passed, Santiago finally broke the silence, “So what happened?”

You shrugged, “We got into an argument.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my relationship problems.”

A huff of laughter left Santi’s lips. “We’ve got a half hour drive, try me.”

And so you sighed, leaning your head against the cool glass of the window and recounting the fight. An unfortunate series of events had led you to finally confront your suspicions that your boyfriend was cheating on you shortly after you arrived at his house, at which point he’d erupted into an avalanche of gaslighting—going so far as to blame you for living too far away. He’d punctuated the whole thing with an off-handed remark about how pathetic it was that you’d clearly tried so hard to dress up for dinner to the point where you looked ridiculous…and so you’d grabbed your purse and stormed out of his house before the food had even hit the table.

You looked at your distorted reflection in the wet side view mirror, frowning. Boots, stockings, and a cozy cable knit dress didn’t seem that out of place for Thanksgiving, but you sure felt pathetic either way as you flipped down the visor mirror, hastily wiping the corner of your eye where your mascara had protested against the tears that had strewn down your cheeks earlier.

“You look great.”

“What?” Although you had been talking to him, you’d somehow gotten lost in your own thoughts as you finished telling Santiago what happened.

You turned to find Santi staring at you as he came to a stop at a red light, and the weight of his gaze was heavy as he repeated himself, “You look great. Fuck your stupid boyfriend.”

—

Despite the fact that you found yourself wholly occupied in the hours that passed after you arrived at your dad’s, several family members taking turns catching up with you to ask about work and your studies, you were buzzing with a constant, palpable awareness of Santiago’s presence in the house.

More than once, you found yourself entirely distracted mid-conversation as you heard the rumbling sound of his laughter from across the room, your heart leaping at the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he threw his head back.

Although he kept his distance, eventually you saw him wander into the kitchen out of the corner of your eye as you opened the oven, bending down to baste the turkey. When you squeezed the bulb of the blaster, you swore you heard Santiago choke, but when you turned around, he was gone.

And perhaps it was a bit over the top, but when he walked by you in the hallway a bit later with a slice of pumpkin pie on a plate, you darted a finger out and swiped a dollop of whipped cream off of it before you could stop yourself. His eyes widened a fraction, and his jaw ticked; he looked like he wanted to say something, but at the sound of your father’s voice calling out to him from living room, he swiftly turned on his heel and kept walking.

You didn’t find Santiago alone again until later, once some guests had begun to leave and the rest were strewn about the living room cheering and groaning as they watched the football game. Slipping his jacket back on, you quietly slid open the patio door that he had walked out through a few minutes earlier.

Eyes scanning the dark backyard, you eventually saw the dull, orange glow of a cigarette off in the corner. You strode over to find Santiago sitting with his legs spread wide as he leaned back in a chair, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“Hey.”

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly as you approached, and he dropped the small white stick to the ground, crushing it under his foot.

“Hey.”

The toes of your shoes nudged against his as you came to a stop in front of him.

“Your idiot boyfriend call you to apologize yet?”

You crossed your arms, briefly glancing up at the collection of stars littering the sky. “Nah, I think it’s over.”

Santi nodded, biting his lip. “That’s good.”

You stepped closer, coming to stand between his spread thighs. “Yeah,” you agreed.

Suddenly remembering the guise you’d come outside under in the first place, you began to shrug the jacket off of your shoulders as you explained, “Figured you might want this back.”

Santi sat up and reached out to pull the jacket back up over your shoulders. “I’m fine, you wear it.”

You fought the urge to grab his hands as his fingertips briefly brushed across the bare skin of your chest exposed by the dip in the front of your dress.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked, bouncing your weight from foot to foot as you began to wish you’d worn thicker stockings.

“I’ve been colder,” he responded matter-of-factly, an assessing look in his eyes as he gazed up at you, running a hand over the stubble on his chin.

Before you could think better of it, you shot a look over your shoulder at the dark windows in the kitchen before climbing right into Santiago’s lap, leaving your legs to hang off of the sides of the chair as you straddled him.

“Does this help?” you asked, voice far more even than it should have been, given the way your heart was rapidly beating in your chest.

Santi’s breath hitched in his throat as he tentatively brought his hands up to rest at your waist.

“Dios mío,” he muttered under his breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

He was right. You shouldn’t. You were so fucking stu—

But as you went to stand back up, Santi’s fingers dug firmly into your hips. “I said we shouldn’t. Not that I don’t want to.”

Oh.

Something heady fluttered in your chest.

“Kiss me then,” you breathed out.

And Santiago didn’t hesitate to cup the back of your head, closing the distance between your mouths as he crashed his lips into yours.

While your first kiss was lost in a haze of desperation, there was a heated, focused purpose now in the way Santi’s mouth melted against yours, one that left you dizzy as he tugged your bottom lip into his mouth.

When he licked his way across the seam of your mouth, you parted your lips, and you couldn’t help but arch your entire body into his at the possessive way his tongue claimed yours. Even with the chill, heat radiated off of his body and seeped into yours as you rolled your hips against him, and Santi moaned into the kiss at the feeling of your hot core pressing down on his growing erection.

You rocked into him again, whining at the pleasure that crept up your spine at the pressure of his hard shaft insistently prodding your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Santi’s lips detached from yours, and he grasped your left hand, bringing it up to his face. He stared at you as he pressed pointed kisses to the tips of your fingers and asked, “Are you sure you want this?”

Your heart swooped as he drug his lips down the inside of your fingers, stopping to mouth at the center of your palm. He brushed his tongue across your skin before pressing a searing kiss there, looking up at you once more.

“Yes.”

As soon as the words left your lips, Santi’s hands were pushing up the edges of your dress, but he faltered momentarily as he considered your tights. But before you could get up to take them off, he reached into his pocket, flourishing a pocket knife.

Jesus Christ.

You hadn’t woken up today expecting to find yourself tucked into a dark corner of your dad’s backyard, cunt gushing with arousal at the sight of Santiago fucking Garcia cutting a hole in your tights with a goddamn pocket knife. And yet here you were, whimpering and panting as he hastily shoved the knife back in his pocket and engulfed your lips yet again, kissing you deeply as he hooked a thumb in your underwear and drug a finger through your sopping wet folds.

“So fucking wet,” Santi’s voice was rough as he observed how needy you were for him. He had no idea.

Bucking into the feeling of his fingers dragging through your tight channel as he licked his way inside of your mouth, your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his pants. When you finally pulled his thick cock from the confines of his pants, wrapping your hands around it, Santiago moaned huskily into the kiss.

As you began to pump his shaft, Santi pulled away for a moment. “I don’t have a—“

After briefly assuring him that you had an IUD and confirming both of you were clean, you swore you felt Santi’s length stiffen even further in the grip of your fingers as you whined, “Wanna feel you inside of me, Santiago. Please.”

Santi curled the two fingers currently buried in your cunt, and you gasped, squirming in his lap.

“Cariño, you’re so fucking tight. Don’t know if my fat cock is going to fit in your pretty little pussy,” he leaned in to whisper into your ear.

Heat coiled in your gut as his thumb pressed against your throbbing clit. “Fucking stuff it in there, Santi. Fill me up, please. I don’t care. Make it fit. I need you so bad,” you whimpered.

Santi reached between you to take his shaft in one hand, and you lifted yourself so he could line his head up with your slick entrance. At the feeling of his head notched against your fluttering hole, you began to sink down onto him, slowly easing his cock inside of you.

“Just tell me if it hurts,” he said.

“I want it to hurt,” you panted out.

Santi cursed, burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, mouthing at your neck as you both moaned in unison. Your legs trembled as his wide girth split you open, sliding through the thick pool of arousal coating your narrow channel.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. Taking me so fuckin’ good.” Santi groaned, chest heaving as he bottomed out inside of you.

You slowly began to rock your hips, skin prickling at the delicious drag of his length through your sensitive inner walls, your cunt greedily clamping down on the thick intrusion.

“Wanted you for so long, Santi,” you panted as he left a trail of hot kisses up your neck, dragging his lips across the curve of your jaw before claiming your mouth again.

“Don’t think your boyfriend would like to hear that,” Santi said against your lips, nipping at them.

“Ex-boyfriend,” you clarified, writhing as he brought a hand down to toy with your clit.

“Gonna make you forget all about him when you come all over my cock,” Santi growled.

“I used to think about you when he was fucking me,” you admitted, one hand clutching Santiago’s shoulder and the other threaded into his hair.

“Fuck.” Santi moaned, lavishing your mouth with a hungry, bruising kiss. “Was gonna sneak you out of here and over to my place tonight, but you were probably soaking through your panties all night at dinner, huh? Couldn’t wait, so you needed me to fuck you right here in your dad’s backyard?”

Admittedly, this wasn’t your best choice of venue, and you could only hope that the darkness of the yard would give you time to scramble off of his lap should someone step outside. And yet the thought of getting caught sent a thrill of excitement down your spine.

Santi chuckled, feeling the way you clenched down on him in reaction, and the ache between your thighs continued to build as his shaft massaged your inner walls.

He continued, “I think you love the thought that someone might catch me fucking you out here, that someone might see what a good little dirty fucking girl you are, riding my cock like you were made for it.”

If this was the only chance you ever had to fuck Santiago Garcia, let it be known that the memory of his filthy words alone would be enough to get you off until the end of time.

“Harder, Santi,” you pleaded, eager to feel him lose control, to feel the head of his shaft slamming directly into your cervix.

Santiago obliged, hands grasping your hips in a solid, unrelenting grip as he pounded into you with fervor. You shuddered, muscles tightening as the heat pooling in your abdomen finally spilled over, pleasuring rushing through your body in waves. You quivered in his arms as you rode out your intense climax, cunt gushing on his throbbing cock.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Santi’s voice was hushed as he watched you come down from your orgasm and kissed you softly.

As you moved your lips with his, the kiss quickly grew heated again, and Santi increased the pace of his thrusts, You ground down into him, looking down to marvel at the way his cock disappeared into your body each time he sunk back into you.

You felt as his hips began to stutter, and Santi asked, “Where?”

“Inside. Please. Come inside of me, Santi,” you pleaded.

A strangled sound left Santi’s mouth, and he roughly slammed into you, your drenched cunt squelching wetly around his length. You bounced in his lap while the steady rhythm of his thrusts began to dissipate into a desperate frenzy of movement, until finally plunged deep inside of you to the hilt and sunk his teeth into your collarbone, moaning huskily as he filled you with the thick, hot ropes of cum spurting from his cock.

You remained in his lap while he softened inside of you, cum dribbling from your hole as he cupped your face with both hands and pressed his mouth to yours.

He kissed you languidly for a moment before pulling away. “So…is it terrible that all I can think about is driving you back over there to get your jacket so you can walk back into his house with my cum running down your thighs?”

You shivered at the thought. “In that case, it might be all over my lips, too, if I can do what I was thinking about earlier on the drive over here…”

Santi groaned at the thought of having your lips parted around his cock, taking him deep into your throat while his hands tightly gripped the steering wheel.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket with a flourish and grinned.

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» SANTIAGO GARCIA MASTERLIST

More DBF!Santi

#fic rec #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x fem!reader

825 notes · View notes

the-little-ewok · 1 year ago

Text

Hard at work

Santiago Garcia X F!Reader

Rating : E/18+

Word count : 3800 (ish)

Warnings : SMUT, office setting (power play dynamics), PIV, unprotected sex, fingering, Dom!Santi (pretty soft), oral (f/receiving), lil bit dirty talk, reader wears a skirt, fluff, semi public sex (I guess. But not really?), Marking, *additional warnings under the fic at the end because spoilers ( nothing bad)

Prompts / summary : “I’m afraid I can no longer remain professional.”, "I think I've made my intentions clear", "Noone needs to know" / Santiago Garcia is your boss. And you should absolutely not be fucking your boss on his desk during the work day…

A/N : I've chosen to put some warnings at the end of the fic as I want to keep a couple of surprises. Nothing bad or super triggering I promise. But if you are worried please check before you read.

Thank you Vi for the hilarious tongue in cheek title 😂 and to the anon who requested!

Please if you read take time to reblog and maybe leave a comment or a couple of tags! The only way writers keep writing is if they hear from you.

------------

Ping

S. Gacia: I need to talk to you in my office. Now.

You stare at the message on your computer screen, debating if you could think of a good enough excuse not to go, unsure if you could keep your composure when you were alone with your boss today.

It wasn't that you were avoiding him exactly. You liked your boss, you really did. He was hard working, fair, supportive, maybe a little demanding at times, well, actually demanding all the time, but he was hot, in a sort of 'your daughter calls me daddy too' kinda way. He had the eye of every girl in the office, yours included. Most people would be glad to have a boss like him.

The problem was he always seemed to find an excuse to be inappropriate with you — pressing up against you as he leans over you to get a coffee mug out of the cupboard in the break room, brushing his hand against your thigh during meetings, looking at you, and not just a normal look, a complete undressing eye fuck that made your face heat and your thighs press together. He made you want him all the damn time.

And while so far nothing has happened at work, everyone else in the office has noticed the growing situation between you. Disappearing away from your pc to meet with him would only add fuel to the fire.

Ping.

S. Garcia : When I say now, I mean now.

With no good excuses coming to mind you get up with a sigh, smoothing down your skirt and making your way over to his office.

The door is pushed open already, Santiago sitting at his desk, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the top few buttons undone, giving an air of relaxedness, but you can tell he's anything but. Your heart gives a now all too familiar flutter in your chest.

"Mr Garcia?"

You tap the door lightly to get his attention. He gestures you in with a silent wave of his hand, barely looking away from the laptop as you step into the room.

"One moment, and shut the door" he instructs you, tapping away at the keys and muttering in Spanish to himself. You swallow hard as you close the door behind you.

Eventually, your boss sighs, rubbing his hands down his face and shutting his laptop.

"Is everything okay?" You venture inquisitively. Perhaps whatever has frustrated him is the reason he called you in here? Maybe he needs your help with work?

Santiago gets up from his desk, coming around to stand in front of you, just a few steps from where you awkwardly shuffle your feet, waiting for him to speak.

"We need to talk."

You can't help but go through a mental rolodex of things you might have done that you need to talk about with him, but nothing comes to mind.

"I'm afraid I can no longer remain professional," he continues, leaning back against the polished wood with a sigh, as though it's your fault, as though you've done something to encourage him. Perhaps you have. You did specifically pick this outfit today, hoping it would spark his attention, and as his eyes roam a slow trail from your toes to your face, licking his lips, you know it worked, but maybe a little too well.

You choose the innocence card, pretending there hasn't been an underlying tension since you started working together.

"I'm not sure what you mean?"

He doesn't even hesitate for a second before he answers, clearly expecting your response. His dark eyes bore into yours, blatant desire shining through.

"I think you are."

You swallow hard. Sure you might have hoped to get a reaction out of him, but you hadn't actually expected it to work. Especially not when there were specific rules in place about office relationships, especially during work hours.

"No one needs to know," he offers slickly, like putting a deal on the table, some form of forbidden contract. He steps towards you, then around you, coming to stand at your back, close enough that you can feel the warmth from his body.

He leans into you, gripping your upper arms and then slowly allowing his palms to slide down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers.

"It's just us in here. Nobodys going to know what happens here today." His hands ghost over the tips of your fingers, continuing down, stepping closer so his body is pressed up against yours.

"Mr Garcia, I don't think this is the time. We have…we have… work to do." You stutter out as his hands map the curve of your hips, pressing himself against your back. Even as you speak your body leans back against him, tilting your head back onto his shoulder, betraying your every thought about him. You can almost feel the smug smile he's probably wearing, knowing he was right in his assumption that this isn't one sided, and that you really aren't thinking about the work piled on your desk.

Your eyes flutter closed as he presses a trail of kisses down your neck, before his tongue licks its way back up to take your earlobe in his teeth, tugging gently.

"Work can wait. I think I've made my intentions clear," he breathes against your skin. He says it like you have a choice about what happens next. Like there's any possible world in which you would say no.

But you aren't going to let him have the upper hand entirely. You can't just collapse into his arms and beg him to fuck you. He might be your boss, but that doesn't mean you can't have your own fun too.

"I'm really not sure I understand what you mean? Perhaps you'll have to be a little more direct, sir."

There's a hitch in his breath that lets you know the sir hit exactly the way you expected it to.

What you aren't quite expecting is the way he nudges you forward before pressing a hand between your shoulders, forcing you down, bending over his desk. The touch isn't violent or forceful, he isn't the sort of man to do that, but it's commanding enough for you to willingly follow the direction.

Taking both your hands in his he presses them down onto the desk, leaning over you.

"I can make my intentions as clear as you need," he growls, standing back up. "Don't move, or you're fired."

You'd like to think you know him well enough that it's probably an empty threat, but damn does it make your pussy flutter anyway. You press your palms harder against the cool wood, resigned to let him do as he wills with you.

His hands slip across your hips and down over your ass, admiring your position, before he hooks his fingers under the edge of your skirt and raises it, just a little. He's testing you. It's a silent request about how far you want this to go.

You don't move to stop him, so he lifts your skirt the rest of the way, almost delicately slowly, hitching it up over your hips.

He gives a soft hum of appreciation at the pretty lace panties you're wearing, the ones already starting to soak through with your arousal at the fact your boss has you bent over his desk, admiring your ass.

"Pretty," he drawls, pulling back the elastic and letting it snap against your skin, giving a stinging bite and making you gasp. "Not very work appropriate though."

You open your mouth to offer a sarcastic response that people at work don't usually see your panties, but the words catch in your throat as he slides his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down quickly, letting them fall the rest of the way, fully exposing you.

Not satisfied with that, he uses his foot to tap your ankle, encouraging you to lift first one foot, then the other, stepping out of your panties before he kicks them to one side.

"Spread your legs."

If you weren't wet before the gush of arousal you have at his words certainly soaks you now. It isn't a question, it isn't a request, it's an instruction, a command. You spread your legs just a little.

Santiago nudges them further apart with his foot, spreading you for his benefit, before he grabs your ass, squeezing as he surveys you with a groan.

"You're practically dripping on my carpet," he comments, making your face heat.

You hear the whisper of fabric and glancing behind you you see him kneel on the floor, his hands dropping to your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh.

He meets your shocked gaze.

"Now let me be very, very clear in what I want."

The broken noise that leaves your throat as he licks a hot stripe through your folds isn't one you've ever made before, your body jolting forward on the desk.

Your rational brain tells you this is a bad idea. You should be working, not letting your boss eat you out on his desk of all places. But then he seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard, and you can't seem to care about work anymore.

You quickly realise he's too good at this, too good at making you tremble all too quickly, taking long slow laps at your clit, pressing his hot tongue deep inside you, growling and groaning as though you were the best thing he's tasted. He has you on the edge of a climax in no time.

Your fingers dig into the hardwood, curling around the edge of the desk, biting out a curse as his tongue completes another slow circle around your clit.

You wish you could see him, tangle your fingers in his short curls, direct him how to throw you over the edge, but you suspect he knows exactly how, and he's dragging this out for his own pleasure.

"Mr Garcia…Santiago…" you hiccup pleadingly, barely able to get enough air in your lungs.

You don't know if it's mercy or torture when his mouth leaves you, giving a playful bite to your ass before he gets to his feet, gently tugging you up, unpeeling you off the desk, his hands on your waist, steadying you on wobbling legs as he spins you to face him.

"Clear now?" He asks, almost impatiently. His eyes are dark, your slick still shining on his chin as he makes a show of licking his lips.

"That was…pretty clear," you breathe shakily.

He smirks as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding you still as he presses his lips to yours, allowing you to taste yourself as his tongue slips into your mouth.

It's not the type of kiss you're expecting from him. He kisses you sensually, tenderly, it's slow and decadent. He lets go of your chin in order to slide his hand around the back of your neck, holding you to him as his tongue slides against yours, drawing soft little moans from you.

When he pulls away your lips are kiss swollen and your fingers are tangled in his curls the way you wanted to do only moments ago.

"I want to fuck you here, on my desk," he whispers against your lips. "I want to stain the wood with your cum so there's always a part of you in here with me."

Oh fuck.

You don't answer initially, forcing down the moan of desire that tries to escape. Instead, you lift yourself up onto the desk, feeling the cool wood against your heated skin, before you curl your fingers around the white collar of his shirt, pulling him close to you. You're done waiting. You're done playing. You're done being professional.

"So fuck me already."

His mouth crashes into yours, kissing you hard as you both scramble to unbuckle his pants. He's barely shoved them down before his hands are gripping your thighs, tugging you roughly forward to the edge of the desk, lining himself up at your entrance, his actions messy and impatient.

Even so, he presses into you slowly, allowing you to adjust to the stretch that borders pleasure and pain, swallowing each of your moans with his kisses, letting out a low groan as he bottoms out, giving a soft nip of his teeth to your bottom lip.

"Fuck, you feel so good. Pussy is so wet for me," he slurs, taking your chin back in his fingers, forcing you to look at him. "How much have you thought about fucking your boss you filthy girl?"

Ring. Ring.

The sharp trill of the phone cuts in, making you both pause, turning to look at it mocking you from its space next to the laptop.

Shit. No. Not now. The timing could not be any worse. You need this. You've waited too long for this.

Santiago looks at you, his gaze questioning. You shake your head, silently pleading with him not to answer, not to put an end to this yet.

He lets out a soft curse, glancing over to the phone and reading the caller ID.

"Be quiet," he hisses, leaning over you and to your shock, clicking the answer button.

You don't quite know how to react as he grabs one of your thighs, hoisting it up over his hip, forcing his cock deeper as he starts to thrust into you. It steals the breath from your lungs and you let out a choked noise, throwing a hand over your mouth to smother it, still shocked he's actually taking this call.

Santiago lets out a quiet laugh at your reaction as he speaks on the phone, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Fish, what's up?"

"Just checking in on how things are going," the man on the phone answers easily, clearly unaware of the position your boss was in.

"Hard at work," Santiago answers, thrusting deeply into you with the last word, and you squeeze your eyes shut, desperately muffling your moans of pleasure.

You can't believe he's doing this, casually carrying on a conversation as he leisurely rocks into you. Your mind can't really keep up with the discussion— something about a BBQ on the weekend — too distracted in concentrating on keeping quiet, and hoping the wet squelch of your pussy isn't being picked up on the call.

You bury your face into his neck, trying not to allow the pleasure threading through you to give you both away. It's an uphill battle. Each steady thrust pushes you closer, your pussy already sensitive from his earlier ministrations.

You're not expecting it when he turns his head, his teeth biting down on your pulse point. It's just enough to send a shock through your system, making your eyes snap open, and your pussy clamp down on his cock.

Santiago's eyes go wide and it's him that lets out a choked moan, clearly far louder than he intended to. There's a beat of silence in the conversation as he scrambles for the phone receiver.

You have a moment of smug satisfaction at his panic, but the joy is fleeting, as when his eyes are back on you, smouldering and dark, phone in his hand, you realise you are in trouble. A lot of trouble.

"I'll call you back."

Click. With the press of a button the phone call ends, the receiver clattering noisily back onto the desk. Santiago's hands grip your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough there will be marks.

"You shouldn't have done that."

You have a moment of panic that he's going to end this, leave you on the edge, unsatisfied, and send you back to your desk desperate and needy. But instead, he pulls almost all the way out of you, before slamming his hips into yours.

You let out a strangled moan. Every time you think he can't possibly go deeper, he angles his hips and sinks in further. You want to scramble back on the desk, give yourself a moment to breathe, to think, to process the bliss, but Santiago's hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as you fall back on your elbows, splayed out across his desk, being used solely for his pleasure.

Santiago follows your movement, bending himself over you, causing the angle of his thrusts to change just slightly and hit something bright inside you. Pens and papers clatter noisily to the floor as the desk rocks with you. In a desperate attempt to stop yourself from suddenly being pushed over the other side, you grab onto his shoulders, holding yourself in place.

There's a growing blissful ache in your pussy and muscles that lets you know you'll still feel this tomorrow.

But you don't care, you can't care. All you care about is the knot in your stomach tightening, your muscles straining, your vision whiting out. All you care about is the pleasure careening through you.

Your pussy clamps down around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as your climax bursts through you. You give all pretence at being quiet, throwing your head back as you all but scream his name, uncaring who hears.

"Fuck, Santiago!"

The clench of your pussy drags him over the edge with you, and he muffles a growl into your neck, filling you with hot bursts of cum.

He pauses there, buried deep inside you, your pussy still pulsing as you come down. Lifting his head he captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his hands tenderly massaging your thighs, slipping up your back to pull you to sit up, holding you against him.

When he eventually pulls away, his eyes roam your face, taking in your dishevelled appearance, pressing a final gentle kiss to your lips, before he slips out of you, pulls his pants back up and disappears around the other side of the desk.

You slide off shakily, your skirt still bunched up around your waist, turning to watch him throw himself down into the office chair, your panties dangling from his fingers like a hard won prize, back to his cocky, self assured, smug self. All traces of the softness he had only moments ago, wiped away.

"You won't be needing these back," he grins, opening his top drawer to drop your panties inside, before snapping it shut, his gaze daring you to protest as you stand open mouthed.

"Can I at least have something to clean-"

"No." He cuts you off, going back to clicking through his emails on his computer.

You have the realisation that he expects you to walk back to your desk with his cum still dripping down your thighs. You imagine the stain on your skirt, on your chair, one that probably won't ever fully come out, the stain like the one currently staring at you from the wood of his desk, a constant reminder of this day.

It shouldn't make your pussy clench the way it does.

You swallow, pulling down your skirt, ignoring the slick already coating your thighs, and give him a defiant stare.

"Very well. Will that be all Mr Garcia?" You mock sarcastically. If he was going to go back to professional, then so were you.

He doesn't even glance at you as he answers, dismissing you as though nothing has happened.

"For now. But don't go far. I don't think it will be long before I need to see you again."

You suppress a smile as you leave.

"Still working hard?"

Looking up from the document you've barely typed a word on all afternoon, you meet the gentle gaze of your boyfriend.

His eyes crinkle as he smiles warmly at you.

"Yeah, I haven't really managed to get much done," you sigh, glancing back to the half written document, knowing it's a lost cause for now.

"You look tired, baby. Your boss working you too hard?"

"He's pretty unforgiving," you hum, rubbing your eyes, your body aching with exhaustion. "Three times he had me in his office today."

Your boyfriend lets out a low impressed whistle.

"Harsh. Well, how about you leave whatever you're doing for now? I'm sure your boss will be okay with it being finished tomorrow. I'll run you a bath, make some dinner, then we can relax in front of the TV? Your choice of movie."

"That actually sounds perfect," you smile, logging out of the pc and getting to your feet, stretching your cramped muscles.

He holds his hand out to you as you come around the desk, pulling you into his arms and giving you a sweet kiss.

"I told you having two home offices would be fun," Santiago grins, his eyes bright.

Giggling, you shake your head.

"Yes, but I don't think we got any work done!"

Santiago shrugs nonchalantly.

"Guess that's the perks of being with the boss. I'll let you get away with it and make it up tomorrow." He winks and you laugh, knowing you both have a huge amount of work to catch up on now.

When he'd suggested you work with him you'd been hesitant for this exact reason. But he'd promised to keep quiet about your relationship initially, while you settled into the job, and for the most part, Santiago was professional in the office, although your colleagues had started to notice his almost blatant eye fucks. If you were honest, you didn't help the situation, sending him filthy chat messages, knowing he couldn't have you until you made it home. It turned out professionalism when you wanted to fuck your boss, was hard work.

You squeeze his hand as he leads you to the bathroom.

"Santi, can I have my panties back?"

"Nope," he grins positively merrily. "I'm going to frame them and put them next to the stain on my desk."

You roll your eyes, unsure if he's joking or not, but judging by the look on his face, you think not.

—----

Additional warnings (ending spoilers):

*illusions to infidelity/cheating (it's not I promise)/ role playing

-----

Thank you for reading! Please if you enjoyed take the time to comment and reblog! As writers we always want to hear your thoughts!

#santiago garcia x f!reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia smut #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia #tripple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia x fem reader

252 notes · View notes

avastrasposts · 1 year ago

Text

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 30

We left Frankie in a pretty bad state at the end of the last chapter and now we need to get through that as his girl and the guys begin to really worry about where his actions are leading him. And Joel steps in of course, but perhaps not in the best way.

I just want to add too, that this chapter included a conversation that has been a long time coming but it was very hard to write since neither man wants to talk about it and I can just hope I did them both justice.

I just want to add too, since some people are nervous about it; I LOVE hearing your thoughts and comments on what I write, even if the chapter is months and months old! It's my favourite thing about posting here and on Ao3, hearing your thoughts as you read through the fic, so please, share with me!

Series Master List

Chapter 31 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 7.7k

You wake with a start, your body jerking you awake with panicked breaths. The bedroom is light, the window faces south and a weak sun is glinting through the closed curtain which means you slept far longer than usual, the sun rises late in the Massachusetts winter months. You rush to push back the comforter and hurry out into the living room. The blanket is pushed back on the couch and Frankie is not there, and not in the kitchen either. As you turn to the bathroom you see what’s missing, his boots, his jacket and backpack.

“Fuck!” you groan loudly and run back to the bedroom, grabbing your clothes from last night and rushing to put them on. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You feel an urgent need to get to Frankie, to talk to him. It’s not like him to leave, certainly not in the middle of an argument, and never, ever, has he left in the morning without saying anything to you. Something is not right, it feels like the two of you have crossed a line that you need to get you both back behind.

You tie your boots and shrug your winter coat on, your first stop is Pope’s place. You hammer on his door and he throws it open, his face falling when he sees your expression.

“Frankie came home drunk last night and now he’s left again, I don’t know where he is!” you blurt out as Pope lets you into his apartment.

“Slow down, hermana,” he says, grabbing hold of your shoulders, steadying you, “From the beginning.”

“Frankie and I got into an argument about what he did when he was on that run with Will, he couldn’t understand why I thought he was too violent,” you say, trying to calm yourself, but your hands are shaking and Pope grabs them, holding them together between his own. “Then Joel came by, right in the middle of it, something about planning a new run, and Frankie just left with him, saying he needed to think. And then he came back late last night , really drunk and passed out on the couch, and now he’s gone! He never leaves without saying goodbye and I don’t know where he is!” Your voice breaks on the last word and Pope lets go of your hands, bending down to grab his boots.

“We’ll go find him, we’ll go to Benny’s first, Tommy said something yesterday about meeting there.” He looks up at you while he laces his boots, “Don’t worry, hermana, it’s early still, he can’t have gone that far.”

…

“Tell me again what this FEDRA guy told you about the raiders?” Benny asks Joel as they duck under a broken piece of the highway and head into an old sewage tunnel.

“A small FEDRA patrol saw a bunch of them down in Dorchester, if we take them out, we get to keep the supplies,” Joel replies, stepping around a dead rat.

“And you trust this guy?”

“Yeah, he owes me a favor, I saved his ass a couple of times. And he’s given me tips before, they’ve always been solid, nothing this big though.”

“Alright, as long as you think it’s a legit tip,” Benny nods and falls back a bit, Frankie’s right behind him, Tommy taking up the rear.

“You ok, Fish? You look a bit pale,” Benny says, his voice lower for the benefit of his friend.

“Yeah, just slept like shit, and we had a fucking early wake up call,” Frankie grumbles, pulling the bill of his cap down lower over his eyes.

“Tell me about it,” Benny sighs, “Eve just woke up to say goodbye, then she went right back to sleep. Wish I could’ve stayed in bed with her.”

“Mmhm, same,” Frankie mutters, pausing as they come to the end of the tunnel.

“Ok, on your toes now, we've got to go out in the open here,” Joel says, waving the other three men forwards.

…

The trek down to Dorchester is smooth, and it doesn’t take long for them to find the raiders' small camp. They’ve set up on the top floor of an office building and Benny and Frankie silently take out the two guards at the bottom of the stairs. It gets messy when they reach the top and they have to open fire but Joel tosses in a homemade smoke bomb and after that they can just pick off the raiders as they come stumbling out.

They pick through the raider’s supplies and fill their packs, it’s a pretty good haul and Benny starts searching for any food they might’ve hidden, coming across a door that’s been blocked off with a filing cabinet.

“Hey, Catfish! Give me a hand with this!” he calls to Frankie, “Cover me in case they’ve locked a fucking infected in here or something.”

Frankie stands a few feet from the door with his rifle raised as Benny puts his shoulder to the filing cabinet and pushes it out of the way. The door swings open and Benny jumps out of the way.

“Oh fuck, shit! Man, that’s foul!”

The dead boy of a young woman falls out across the doorway, her body must’ve been propped against the door, and judging by the stench, she’s been dead a while. The body of another young woman is curled up on a dirty mattress, she’s less far gone, her emaciated features still clear. Both women are naked and Benny swallows hard and glances back at Frankie as they both realize why the women were locked up.

“We should’ve killed those fucking raiders slower,” Frankie growls, turning away from the room and Benny follows him.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here and back to the QZ”.

Back down at street level again Joel takes the lead and moves down the way they came, covering a couple of blocks before Benny suddenly signals for everyone to halt.

“Heads up, I hear a car,” he calls in a low voice to the others.

“More raiders,” Joel says, “C’mon, we’ll ambush them, this is the only cleared street.” He looks around the block they’re on and points to cars that have been pushed aside on either side of the street. “Frankie, Benny, hide behind either car, cover me. Tommy, get behind me. I’ll make them stop, usual way should work, if not, just shoot ‘em.”

“Joel, you sure?” Benny interrupts, “How do we know they’re raiders? We should hang back and observe, see if they go for the base we cleared.”

“No, then we just have to clear them out again and this time they’ll be on their guard,” Joel scowls, “Get in position!”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Benny shakes his head, looking over at Frankie who’s already moved into cover, “Fish? You ok with this?”

“Joel’s right, it’s probably the same group of raiders, we need to take them out.”

“Get in position, Benjamin, or stay the fuck out of our way, they’re almost here,” Joel points to the other car, staring at Benny. The younger man takes a deep breath, glancing over at Frankie again who motions with his head to get behind the car.

“Fuck!” Benny growls and grips his rifle, ducking behind cover with an angry scowl.

Joel quickly gets into position as the rumbling engine comes closer, keeping an eye out for the car. As it gets closer Benny sees it, it’s a small beat up sedan with several bullet holes in the sides. He glances over at Frankie and gives him a hand signal, indicating three people inside. Frankie nods and passes on the message to Tommy just as the car drives down the block they’re on. Ahead of him, Benny suddenly hears Joel give up a loud shout, stumbling out of the alley into the path of the car, his hand clutching his side, the other raised to the driver.

The others watch, guns ready and hidden out of sight, as the car barrells towards Joel, who’s staggering across the road. Suddenly the driver slams the brakes and the car skids to a halt in front of Joel. From his hiding place Benny sees the driver open the door and step up on the instep, aiming a gun at Joel.

“Hey, I-I need help, p-please,” Joel stutters, holding up the hand that’s not holding his side, where he’s conveniently hidden his handgun.

“What’s wrong with you?” the driver calls as Joel stumbles closer, the man is still half hidden behind the door and Joel’s trying to get around to his side so he half falls to the side, taking several stuttering steps sideways.

“You infected?” the driver says, following Joel with his gun, “Can’t help you then I’m afraid.”

“R-raiders,” Joel coughs, “ran into a whole bunch.”

Benny looks over at Frankie, he’s got a clear shot at the driver and he’s aiming at him. Benny signals at him to hold his fire, these guys don’t sound like raiders, but Frankie’s shaking his head, squeezing his rifle as the man continues to keep his gun on Joel.

“Be careful, Dan!” a man in the car suddenly calls and Joel straightens up, pulling his gun, aiming at the man. A shot rings out and the driver slumps forward, a clean shot though his head.

“God dammit, Frankie!” Benny yells, lifting his own rifle as the man in the car dives for the fallen man’s gun. Joel fires on him but misses and the man takes off running. On his right Ben hears Tommy open fire on the third person in the car as Joel yells.

“Shoot his leg, Frankie, take him down alive!” The man is running as fast as he can down the block but two shots ring out and he yells, tumbling to the ground as blood bursts from his thigh.

“Secure him, Benny,” Frankie yells and advances on the car, rifle raised. Benny keeps his gun on the fallen man and moves up to him, he’s splayed on his back, gripping his thigh, whimpering.

“Oh fuck, please, please don’t kill me!” he says, trying to crawl backwards away from Benny.

“Just stay still, I’m not gonna hurt you unless you give me a reason,” Benny says, keeping his distance as he glances back at the car. Frankie’s jogging towards him and behind him, Joel steps into the car and a woman screams.

“No, no, don’t hurt her! She’s my sister!” the man on the ground shouts and Benny turns his head back to him as Frankie joins him.

“What’s going on, Fish?” he says in a voice low enough for the man not to hear.

“The third passenger is a woman, Joel’s questioning her about who they are and where they’re going.”

“Fish! These guys are obviously not raiders, what the fuck are we doing?” Benny glances back at the car as another high pitched scream comes from the woman and the man on the ground shouts.

“Get off her you fucking prick! I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

Frankie raises his rifle and aims at the man, “Easy there, he’s just questioning her.”

“What the fuck, Frankie, this is not how we treat civilians!”

“What fucking civilians? We can’t trust anyone, Benny, you saw what the raiders did to those two women!” Frankie growls.

“Yeah, but these guys are barely armed!” Benny nudges the dropped gun on the ground with his boot, badly maintained and rusty.

“And how the fuck were we supposed to know that?” Frankie asks, his rifle still trained on the bleeding man who’s whimpering, clutching his leg and looking towards the car.

“Maybe we don’t attack just anyone who drives past!” Benny hisses at Frankie, his eyebrows drawn tight with anger and frustration. “This is so fucked up, Fish!”

“Is he still alive?” Joel barks as he walks over, leaving Tommy to watch over the woman in the car.

“Yeah, but he’s bleeding, we need to get a tourniquet on that leg soon,” Benny replies, “Joel, what the fuck are we doing here? These guys are not raiders.”

Joel doesn’t reply, instead he walks up to the man on the ground and kneels down, Frankie’s gun is still trained on him, but Benny has let his drop, pointing it at the ground instead.

“You sister is it?” he asks of the man, putting his hand over the gunshot wound on the thigh.

The man nods, looking petrified under Joel’s hard stare.He yelps loudly when Joel’s hand squeezes the injured area, digging his fingers in.

“Your sister told me where you came from, and where you’re going. You’d better tell me the same thing she did, or I’m telling my guy over there to shoot her knee off, you understand?” Joel’s voice is hard and low, slowly squeezing the man’s leg tighter.

“Worcester!” the younger man blurts out, “We came from Worcester, and we’re heading for the Boston QZ but we got attacked and got lost. Please don’t hurt her, she’s my only family!”

“Have you got any supplies apart from what’s in the car?”

“No, no, I s-swear, we’ve got n-nothing!” the man stutters, groaning under the pain of Joel’s hand digging into his injured leg, “Please, we’ve got nothing!”

“Good boy,” Joel growls, easing off the man's leg and standing up.

He comes back to Benny and Frankie, wiping his hand on his trouser leg, “They both say the same thing. I say we leave ‘em and take the car, we can trade for it or stash outside the wall, might come in handy sometime.”

“Fuck, Joel, we need to take them with us, we can’t leave them out here,” Benny says and looks to Frankie for support but he just gives a hesitant shrug.

“I don’t know Benny, we can’t trust them,” he says.

“What fucking choice do we have? Leave them injured out here with no guns?” Benny snarls back at him.

“They’re not our responsibility!” Joel snaps, “Let’s fucking- “

All three men freeze as the first tell tale sounds echo between the buildings, the snarling shrieks of dozens of infected reaching them.

“Runners! Runners!” Tommy yells from the car, “Come on, we need to fucking go!” He rushes to the driver’s side of the car, jumping in and the woman sees her chance, bolting from the car and running for the alley.

“Leave her, just leave her!” Joel yells as he grabs Frankie and starts running towards the car, “Just start the car, Tommy!”

“Benny, no! Leave him!” Frankie shouts as he sees Benny moving towards the injured man on the ground. “Fucking leave him!”

“Please, please…just kill me” the man begs, looking back over his shoulder and Benny follows his gaze.

“Fuck!” he gasps, frozen to the spot for a second before he raises his gun and fires, the man slumping onto the asphalt. Benny spins around and starts running after Frankie, the horde of infected barrelling down the street screeching loudly.

“Benny! I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Frankie yells, “Get in the car!”

Tommy’s already got the car moving as Benny catches up, grabbing hold of Frankie’s arm and getting pulled into the back seat.

“Floor it, Tommy!” Joel shouts, looking back over his shoulder, out the back window.

…

Thank fuck Tommy’s a good driver, he speeds through the streets, leaving the horde far behind. He only slows down once they enter the area around the QZ and turns off onto a narrow street that Joel directs him to.

“Here, down there, park between those two cars and we’ll throw some trash on it.”

The four men quickly make the car look unusable and head towards the QZ, splitting up as they get inside, stepping out into a quiet alley a few blocks from the wall..

“Alright, good run, except for the fucking infected,” Joel says, clapping Frankie on the back, “I’ll see you guys at the bar in a couple of days.”

Frankie nods and Benny throw the brothers a two fingered salute as they leave.

“Hey Fish, wait up, we need to talk,” Benny says as Frankie turns to leave too.

“If you’re gonna yell at me for how we handled the people in the car, fucking save it, I already got an earful from Will after our last run,” Frankie says, his shoulders hunched and eyebrows pulled tight, “I don’t need another lecture on how we’re using army tactics on civilians.”

“Frankie, man, c’mon, you’ve got to admit, that was pretty fucking bad? We should’ve just observed them, not fucking attacked,” Benny rubs his hand over his face, “I mean, why the fuck did Joel even pull that stunt with forcing them to stop? And why did you open fire? I’ve never seen you jump the gun like that, Fish.”

“The guy in the car, I thought he was about to pull a gun on Joel, so I shot first.”

“And the interrogation technique? You taught him that?”

“So what? We do what we need to do to survive.”

Benny shakes his head, “That was not about survival, I don’t know what the fuck that was!”

“Just fucking leave it, Benny! Ok?” Frankie snaps, scowling at his friend, “I’ll see you later, I need to get something done.” He shoulders his backpack and heads off in the opposite direction of the apartment.

“Fish, c’mon!” Benny calls after him, but Frankie just gives a dismissive wave of his hand without turning his head as he rounds the corner.

“Fuck…” Benny mutters and stalks off towards the radio office, he needs to see you.

…

It feels like deja vu when you find Benny outside the building where Sean lives and has the radio office.

“I’ve got to talk to you about Frankie,” he says and you feel like your heart stops, you’d been trying to find Frankie all morning, until you had to go to the radio office. Pope promised he’d keep looking, checking back at the apartment during the afternoon.

“Did something happen to him? Pope and I have been looking for him all day!” you say, grabbing hold of Benny’s arm and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“He didn’t tell you we were going on a run with Joel and Tommy today?”

“Benny, is he ok?” You feel like shaking him but you limit yourself to grabbing his arm tighter and Benny nods.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine, he’s fine, he came back with me but he said he had to do something when we got back.” Benny takes in your anxious looking face as it slips into relief and returns your grip on his arm, putting his hand over yours. “He didn’t tell you and he hasn't come to see you yet? Is something going on with you guys?”

You sigh and feel yourself deflating, your shoulders sagging with relief that Frankie’s ok, but at the same time, that lead weight settles in your stomach as you worry about his behavior again.

“Walk me home, Benny, please,” you ask, “if you have time?” You feel like Benny’s friendly presence next to you is the only thing that will make your feet move down the street as you chew on your bottom lip.

“Sure, I’ll walk you, I need to get back to Eve but...but maybe that can wait, what’s going on?”

“Tell me what happened when you were with him today,” you say, taking his arm and leaving the front entrance.

Benny looks around the two of you as you start walking down the street, checking that there is no one near that can overhear first and then he tells you the whole thing.

“Fuck…” you sigh for what feels like the twentieth time as Benny ends by telling you that Frankie took off after they got back. “His PTSD has been getting worse and both Pope and Will brought it up in the past few days. That last run with Will, things went bad and Pope’s been noticing his behavior being off too.”

You’ve reached the door to your building and you stop, looking up at Benny’s frown. “Yesterday I tried telling him that I think he shouldn’t go on runs with Joel anymore. Joel triggers something in Frankie and…I don’t know…I feel like maybe they aren’t good for each other. They’ve both suffered an unimaginable loss, in the worst possible way, and when Frankie got help, Joel seems to have had to deal with it on his own and it’s made him…just…very dark, like he’s just ‘existing’ and doing what he needs to do to survive…”

“And he has no empathy for others,” Benny fills in, “he didn’t even stop to consider that the people in the car could be just people trying to get to the QZ, and he left them with no second thought when the infected came, it was all about eliminating a potential threat and then about saving himself and Tommy.” Benny swipes his cap off his head and drags his hand through his hair, sighing. “I’m not even sure he would bother to save Frankie and myself, if we hadn’t gotten to that car in time.”

“But Frankie doesn’t see it,” you say, “and when I asked him to not go on runs with Joel anymore because I think it makes his PTSD worse, we got in a huge fight,” you sigh deeply, dropping your eyes to your toes and you feel Benny’s hand on your shoulder. “He got really mad when I said I thought he was too violent with this guy, Frankie threatened to gouge his eye out. But Frankie said he only did what was needed to get the antibiotics for Sean’s grandkid.” You swipe your hand over your cheek as tears start to drip down, “Fuck, I don’t wanna cry again,” you say, anger seeping through your voice, “Fuck!”

You tilt your head back up and look at Benny’s worried eyes, “Come on, it’s you and Frankie, you’re everything to him, one fight doesn’t ruin it,” he says, rubbing your shoulder

“He walked out, Benny, right in the middle of the fight. He’s never done that before, he just took off with Joel. And then he came home really drunk and we started arguing again and he passed out on the couch, he said he thought I didn’t want him in my bed anymore. And then this morning he left again, without saying anything. He went outside the wall and didn’t even say goodbye.” Tears spill over properly now and you sniffle, trying to stem the flow, but the nerves of the day catches up with you. Benny starts rubbing his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort you.

“Let’s get you inside, Frankie might be home already, you two need to talk it out, c’mon,” Benny gently hooks his arm around your shoulder and guides you through the door and up the stairs. You fumble out your keys and unlock your front door, opening up to a still dark apartment.

“Alright, he’s not home yet, but he’ll be here soon, I’ll wait with you until he turns up,” Benny says and starts to lift off his still heavy backpack and you stop him.

“No, please, go home to Eve. I know she’s worried about you since you went outside, get back home. I’ll be fine, and Pope’s next door if I need anything.” You put your hands on his chest and try, and fail, to nudge the big man towards the door.

“You sure? I’ll wait for him, and slap some sense into him if needed, just say the word,” Benny replies, tilting his head down to catch your eyes properly.

“I’m sure, Benny, please go home,” you give him another pointless shove and he gives with a small smile.

“Ok, if you’re sure I’ll go, but give me a hug first,” he says and bends down, capturing you between his long arms. Benny’s signature bear hugs are all encompassing and he lifts you up, shaking you gently and making you giggle through your tears.

“Just remember, it’s you and Frankie, you’re the love of his life. All he does, he does for you, if he’s lost his way, all he needs is for you to bring him back home. To you.”

“Benny, when did you become so insightful?” you smile weakly as he puts you down on your feet.

“Not insightful, I’ve just watched you two over the past, what is it? Eleven years now? And with Eve, I get it, what you two have. I’d do anything for her, and I know that’s all Frankie ever wants to do for you.”

“Get back to her, Benny, before you make me cry again,” you say, giving his arm a final squeeze before he steps through the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll come by the radio tomorrow and check on you, ok?”

“Ok, Benny, stay safe, love you!”

“Love you too, sis!” he calls as he jogs down the stairs.

…

You try to keep busy while you wait for Frankie; preparing dinner, cleaning the apartment, you even pull out your gun and start disassembling it on the coffee table to get it cleaned. It’s dark before he comes home, you hear his footsteps in the hallway first and then the key. Even before he opens the door you know something’s wrong, he struggles with the key in the lock, fumbling with the handle and you stand up, leaving the pieces of the gun on the table.

“Frankie?” you ask as the door shuts behind him, “Are you ok?” You walk over to the front door, and he glances up at you before he drops his backpack by the door.

“Yeah, ‘s fine,” he mumbles, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hook. “Went out with Benny today.”

“I know, Benny stopped by the radio,” you say, your body freezing as he shuffles past, only briefly pausing to drop a peck on your cheek, perfunctory. He smells of whiskey, fresh whiskey, like he’s just been drinking.

You don’t even know where to start as you follow him into the kitchen, the argument last night, him leaving this morning without saying anything, his run with Joel today or the way he stumbles around the kitchen table towards the stove.

“Frankie…” you say again, making your voice soft, you feel like you’re talking to a child, or a wild animal, not your sweet Frankie who you know so well. When he doesn’t even react, let alone look over at you, you dig your nails into the palms of your hands, reminding yourself that this is his PTSD, this is not your Frankie.

“Frankie, talk to me please,” you start again, coming up next to him at the counter, you put your hand on his arm.

“What did Benny tell you? That we went out again?” he says, still not looking at you, his tone clipped.

“Yes, he said you took out some raiders and then…” you pause, you don’t know how to phrase it but Frankie does it for you. He steps away from you, and leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen.

“H-he told you we took out three people in a car, that I shot one of the guys when I shouldn’t have, right? That’s what he told you? T-that I’m out of control and violently torturing civilians?” His voice is harsh, there’s an edge to it you don’t recognise and he’s still not looking at you.

“He’s worried about you, Frankie, and I’m too,” you say, “you haven’t been yourself these past few months.” You try to find his eyes but he’s got the bill of his cap pulled low, eyes on the floor two feet in front and his fingers are twitching, nervously.

“I already told you, I do what I need to do, to stay safe,” he mutters, the edge still sharp in his voice, crossing his arms tight over his chest, crossing his legs too, closing himself off from you.

“Benny said they were civilians, just trying to get to the QZ- “ you start to say but Frankie suddenly flares up.

“We’d just taken out a gang of raiders! It could’ve been more of them! The guy was about to pull a fucking gun on Joel, so I took the shot!” He throws his arms out, meeting your eyes for the first time. “You can’t fucking trust anyone, it’s us or them and I do what I need to do to survive! They could’ve attacked and killed us instead, then what?”

“But you were never like that before, Frankie!” you can’t help but raise your voice in frustration. When he worked with Pope in Arlington, or when you traveled up to New York with Benny and Pope, he was never so calloused, so distrusting and rash. “You used to observe, calculate the risks, you never rushed into situations, but since you started working more with Joel…I don’t know Frankie, it’s like he rubs off on you.” You drop your hands to your sides, you suddenly realize you’ve mimicked Frankie and thrown them open but now you sigh, lower them and take a deep breath.

“Frankie…I know you’re capable of real violence,” you shake your head, sighing, “but you’re not a violent person, it’s like it’s getting away from you when you work with Joel and I do-”

“Maybe I am a violent person now? This is the person I need to be now, to keep myself safe, to keep us safe!” Frankie slams his hands against the cupboard and stalks out of the kitchen, turning and gripping the back of the couch as he gets to it, looking back at you. “I do it for you, don’t you get it?! Maybe this is the person I have to be now to keep myself safe, for you, to stay alive for you because I have to keep you safe!”

“Then stay here, stay in the QZ,” you follow him towards the living room. “I don’t want you to go out any more if this is what you have to do. It’s destroying you!”

“That's all I can do!” he shouts back at you, “That’s all I’m tra-trained for, I’m the b-best at it! It’s the only thing that makes a difference!”

“Frankie, you don’t have to-” you begin, but Frankie just shakes his head and starts pacing the living room like he can’t hear you.

“E-every time I leave you make me p-promise to come back safe, did you ever stop to think that this is what I have to do to keep that promise to you?! I have to stay alive to keep you safe, I promised you that and now you think I’m a monster for what I have to do?”

Frankie slams his hands hard against the wall and spins round, stomping across the living room again and you’re worried now, he’s spiraling out of control, his voice becoming more and more unstable. “I d-do this for you, I stay a-alive for you, don’t you get it! I would’ve fucking ki-killed myself after she died! I was so fucking close to it, so-s-so fucking close to just walking into that fucking lake and ending it! If-if it wasn’t for you still in that cabin!” His voice is rising to a shout, spinning around and slamming his fist into the wall again, “I just..I promise to come back every time, I have to come back but you still think I’m just violent, just a fucking monster, just a mo-monster, I-I can’t- “

“Frankie, c’mon man!”

You didn’t even hear the front door open but Pope suddenly walks into the living room. You’re frozen by the kitchen as Frankie paces, more and more agitated, back and forth, his arms waving in front of him as his mind whirls. You can see his glassy eyes, his breathing is starting to get erratic but you have no idea how to stop this. But Pope strides over to his friend and stands in front of him, forcing him to come to a halt.

“Francisco, cálmate, hermano. Por favor;” he tries to catch Frankie’s eyes, gently placing his hands on his shoulders and holding on as Frankie tries to shrug them off, looking at him with almost unseeing eyes.

“Frankie…fuck…” he sighs as he scans his face, “you’re high as a fucking kite. What did you take?”

At that Frankie’s eyes snap up to Pope’s, “Fucking nothing!” he snarls, wrenching himself away and stumbling back towards the couch.

“Fish, I’ve seen you high more times than you can remember, I know when you’ve been using, man,” Pope says as Frankie grabs the back of the couch again, hiding his eyes beneath the bill of his cap again, refusing to look at you or Santi.

“Frankie…” you try, your voice wobbling as you recognize the signs in him but he just shakes his head.

“I had a few drinks with Joel, I’m not fucking high,” he mutters but Santi shakes his head.

“C’mon, Fish, I know you’re struggling, she knows it too, we just wanna help you,” he takes a few steps towards Frankie, the frustration seeping through into his voice and Frankie backs away, turning around and going for his backpack.

“I’m not fucking high,” he snarls over his shoulder, rifling through his backpack.

“Fine, you’re not using,” Santi says, “then show us your pack.” He motions towards the bag at Frankie’s feet and the way Frankie reacts makes your stomach sink another notch. His hands clench instinctively around the opening, pulling it closer but Pope steps in and reaches for the bag. Frankie abruptly stands up and stumbles back, grabbing it but his movements are slow and Pope’s faster, he snatches the backpack from Frankie, holding it away from him.

“Coño, pendejo!” Frankie snarls, trying to grab the bag back from Pope, “What the fuck are you doing?!” “What the fuck are you doing, Frankie?” Pope replies with a sneer, shoving him back and Frankie, already unsteady on his feet, stumbles backwards and falls onto the couch. “You told me yourself, never trust a fucking junkie.”

Keeping an eye on Frankie, while you stand stunned by the kitchen door, your hands gripping the door frame so hard your fingers ache, Pope opens the backpack and digs through it. It doesn’t take him long, under Frankie’s dull eyes he soon pulls out a small baggie with white pills. Pope sighs and holds it out to Frankie.

“What is it?”

“Painkillers,” Frankie mumbles, but his eyes drop from Pope to his feet, his lie so obvious it forces tears into your eyes.

“Frankie…” you whisper and he glances up at you and meets your eyes for a second before he looks away. But even in that brief glance you see the pain and guilt in his eyes and it pushes you to move, walking around the coffee table and sinking down on the couch next to him. You raise your hand to put it on his shoulder but before you touch him he’s on his feet, snatching the bag from Pope’s hand.

“It’s fucking painkillers, ok?!” he yells, his aggression flaring up as he stumbles towards the front door.

“Catfish, for fucks sake,” Pope shouts as his patience snaps, “get your fucking shit together, man!”

“Please, Frankie, you know this is your PTSD making you spiral, we’ve been here before,” you plead with him, standing up again as he stops with his back to you and the room. But whatever is in his system has control of him now as he shakes his head, his fingers twitching around the small baggie in his hand. Neither of you are getting through to him now, his body language closed off, even with his back turned you see the walls go up. But still, you go up to him where he stands by the door. His chin is on his chest, his shoulders up by his ears, you can feel the tension rolling off him as he fights whatever demon is in his mind. Gently you put your hand on his arm, and he trembles under your touch, giving the smallest shake of his head.

“Frankie…” you whisper, “please, stay with me, we’ve done this before, we can do it again, I love you.”

He shudders, a long held breath rushes out of him and he shakes his head again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I love you, I’m sorry.” He pushes open the door and his arm slips from under your hand. You hear him run down the stairs and Santi comes up behind him, he’s got his coat on.

“I’ll follow him, I won’t let him get into more trouble, I’ll get him back,” he gives you a quick squeeze and hurries after Frankie.

…

Frankie rushes through the streets, the bag of oxy burning a hole in his pocket. He has no plan for where to go, he left his coat back at the apartment and the cold March air is making him shiver. Picking up his pace he turns at random, down a street, and then another, losing himself in the narrow alleys of North End, but it doesn’t surprise him when he finds himself in front of Joel’s apartment building, a dirty red brick block. It makes sense; to end up here. He pushes the door open and stumbles up the stairs.

Joel’s slow to answer his front door, Frankie’s almost given up, prepared to sit and wait by the door, when the older man finally opens up and looks him up and down. “Hey Frankie, what’s up? You’ve got no jacket on.”

“I ran out on it, left in a hurry,” Frankie mumbles in reply, his mind is still foggy, he can’t quite focus on Joel. “I got some of your supply on me, Pope found it in my bag.”

“Ah, bet he wasn’t too happy about that,” Joel says, waving Frankie inside. “He ain’t too happy about me wanting to trade what we got up in Concord.” He closes the door and motions to the couch and Frankie slumps down on it as Joel goes to the kitchen and pulls out two glasses and a bottle.

“Give me one of those too,” Joel motions to Frankie’s pocket and sits down at the other end of the couch. Frankie pulls out the baggie and pour out the pills on the coffee table, handing one to Joel, taking another one for himself and they both down it with the whiskey.

Joel’s not one for talking much and Frankie’s grateful, he just needs a place to forget everything for a while. And for a long time both men sit at opposite sides of the couch, lost in their own minds as the chemicals take over. Frankie tilts his head back, his eye following the cracks in the ceiling until they slip closed and he just feels himself breathing, finally peace takes over in his mind as the fog settles.

Joel slips in another pill and another few large mouthfuls of the liquor, leaning back against the back of the couch and rubbing his eyes with his hand.

“You lost your daughter,” he says, almost surprising himself when the words come out.

Frankie doesn’t move, his eyes closed, “Yeah,” he squeezes his eyes shut, little sparks of red and yellow blossoming behind his eyelids, but he sees something else in his mind.

He tilts his head forward, opening his eyes and focusing on his hands, “Yeah,” he says again, rubbing his thumb over the fleshy part of his hand, he can almost see the blood on it. “I did, right at the beginning.”

“She got infected?”

Frankie balks at the question, the image of his little girl, mycelium under her skin, flashes up in his mind. He’s seen multitudes of infected since, killed so many, seen the thin white strands wriggle towards him as they attack and die in front of him, but he never lets himself commit what they look like to memory. This one is the only one that he remembers.

“Yeah,” he nods, “one of the first days.”

He and Joel have never talked about this before. He never talks to anyone about Lucía or what happened to her, not even to the one person who knows what he went through in the aftermath.

He glances over at Joel, he’s still leaning back on the couch, his hand rubbing over his eyes.

“D’you ever talk about Sarah?”

“No.” The answer is fast and curt.

Both men sit in silence for a few minutes, Joel shifts on the couch, looking over at Frankie, “Everyone’s lost someone. No one wants to hear about her.”

“How did she die?” Frankie locks eyes with Joel, suddenly it feels important to know how Sarah died. Joel knows how Lucía died, it feels important to know how Sarah died too. Joel meets his eyes for a few beats before he drops his gaze and stares at the wall opposite.

“It was the first night. We were trying to get away from town, ran into the military perimeter, a soldier shot at us. She…” Joel loses his words, his jaw clenching shut as he grinds his teeth, dropping his head between his shoulders.

Frankie feels the fog swirl around his mind, letting the minutes slip by while Joel stares down at his watch.

“I shot Lucía,” Frankie says, like a confession to Joel, to the man whose daughter was also shot. As if it makes a difference how they died. The daughters died and so did the fathers, when they failed.

The fog in his head clears slightly and behind the mist he sees the gun in his hand, aimed at his little girl, who no longer recognises him as she screeches and flails under the weight of her mother’s body. He reaches forward to the coffee table and takes two more pills, swallowing them down with the last of the whiskey in his glass, letting the fog cloud his mind again.

Joel blinks and looks at Frankie as if he has to think about what the other man just said, “You shot her?”

“I had to, I’d seen what they were turning into. I couldn’t…”

Joel leans forward, refilling his own glass and Frankies before he leans back, “I would’ve done the same.”

The two men sit in silence as the fog swirls through them, making thoughts slow to appear and slow to disappear.

“Sarah,” Frankie says, pushing a thought to the front of his hazy mind, “S-she was a great kid, L-Lucía loved her, fucking loved her. Didn’t stop talking about her for days after we got back.”

He grips the glass and takes a sip, shaking his head, trying to remember the comforting thought he just had, it’s stuck somewhere in his chest, he can feel it.

“I don’t…I do-don’t believe in God, I l-lost any faith I had in the army, you know. S-so many fucked up things that I saw, that I did,” he says, lifting his glass, motioning to the world outside. “I don’t believe in any god, any-anything. But I wish I did, because if Sarah d-died on that first night, that means that wherever they went, our kids, our little girls…Sarah was there waiting for Lucía. They weren’t alone,” Frankie pauses, he feels his chest constrict, that feeling like he can’t breathe threatening to overtake him. “I’d like to believe they weren’t alone,” he whispers, but in the quiet room, Joel still hears him.

Frankie slumps back down on the couch, spilling whiskey down his shirt, his burst of clarity suddenly spent, “They would’ve had each other…”

“We failed them,” Joel says, his voice low, Frankie can hear the fog in his mind too. “We should’ve kept them safe, but all we did was stand there. Couldn’t keep ‘em safe.”

Frankie nods, he feels his brain slowing down again, “I made so many mistakes…but she was the best mistake I made…couldn’t keep her safe,” he takes a large mouthful of the whiskey, it burns on the way down, distracting his mind for a second as he coughs.

“I don’t talk about Sarah, not even to Tommy,” Joel says, rubbing his thumb over the rim of the glass. “ ‘S’no point, just makes me angrier, I get by better if I don’t think about her.”

Frankie slumps down deeper into the couch, curling himself around the glass in his hand, watching the whiskey swirl around as the fog in his brain follows the motions.

“How do you stay alive,” he mumbles to the room and Joel tilts his head to look at the younger man, curled into the corner of the ratty old couch. The question is more for himself than for Joel but Joel answers anyway.

“For family,” he nods slowly, once, to himself, “for family, for Tommy. And for your woman, she kept you alive.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement and Frankie sighs.

“She doesn’t think I should do runs any more, and she’s right, I know she’s right,” he mutters, pushing his cap off his head and rubbing his temple with his free hand, the fog is lifting again and he feels the edge of panic in his mind, but he can’t remember what he’s should panic about.

“Why not? The drugs?” Joel motions at the dwindling pile of pills on the coffee table and Frankie grabs two of them, knocking them back with the whiskey still in his hand.

“My head is fucked up. From the army. ‘S’gets worse sometimes, ‘s’gets worse when I do runs, when I do violent things.” Frankie sighs, “She doesn’t like it.”

Joel snorts, a mirthless sound, “Men like us, you ‘n me, we do the violent things so others don’t have to, you keep her safe.”

“S’what I t-told h-her,” Frankie grumbles, he can feel his head getting heavier, the fog is so thick he can’t even push his tongue through it, it’s sticking to his teeth. “I do it-do it, t-to keep he-her safe.” He sinks further into the couch, his head leaning on the back of it as he wills his hand to lift up the glass to his lips and drain it. “I-I do it t-to come b-back t-to h-er.”

Through the fog in his own mind Joel sees Frankie tip forward, the empty glass in his hand, as he passes out. Joel’s glass clatters to the floor as he stumbles to his feet and staggers into the bedroom, falling onto the bed, passing out as his head hits the pillow.

Chapter 31

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa @jwritesfanfics @vickie5446

144 notes · View notes