Watching Triple Frontier again. You can tell Tom was a fucking officer. Trying to question a pilot on what a what an aircraft can do. Motherfucker, did you go to flight school????? 🙄🙄
I am 100% convinced that francisco morales is the youngest sibling. definitely the only boy. he’s got at least three older sisters and they always tease him for being a mummy’s boy. he gets away with everything cause he’s the baby and the golden son.
but his sisters don’t let him forget that he answers to them.
they spent their childhood playing dress up with him, treating their baby brother like a doll. and as he grew older they taught him to respect women, would smack him round the head if he ever talked back, and would drag him home by the ear if he ever got too cocky around his friends.
and they helped to shape him into a sweet preteen who visited his abuela on weekends and helped his mum in the kitchen. they encouraged him to pursue his curiosities and nurtured the sensitive soul he always had.
but it all changed when he was 14 and his father passed unexpectedly. suddenly he was stood in an ill fitting suit, accepting handshakes from relatives he didn’t even know existed, trying to stop his bottom lip from quivering every time they told him what a good man his father was. he’d winced the first few times when the male relatives would slap him on the back, the side of his face, holding him with a ferocity that he wasn’t used to, insisting that he was the man of the house now. he had to take care of his mother, and his sisters, even though they were more grown than him.
and he signed up for the military as soon as he was of legal age. his sisters had begged him not to. told him that just because he was interested in engineering he didn’t have to go and get himself killed to prove himself.
but the army gave him the opportunity to support his mother financially, even if it meant she would be alone in the family home with him gone. the army gave him a chance to be the man he thought he needed to be for his family. the army gave him the male influence he was told he’d missed out on as the only boy.
and it scared him shitless.
until he met pope. then he realised what it was like to have a brother.
In the months following Colombia, he'd tried to settle into something resembling a life, but the quiet didn’t suit him. It felt like a waiting room between battles, each day stretching into the next without purpose. He never thought he’d miss the adrenaline, but he did. It haunted him in the silence of his rented house outside Miami, where the ocean crashed in the distance like an unspoken threat.
That night, he wasn’t expecting anyone—least of all, her. When he heard the knock on his door, Pope was rotting into his couch with a beer in hand. He grumbled while he made his way through the entryway, preparing a heated warning to whoever dared to bother him. Pope opened the door and for once in his life he was stunned.
His best friend Chase stood on his doorstep, hood pulled up, backpack slung over one shoulder. The security light cast sharp shadows on her face, but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. The last time he’d seen her was before the op went south. Before everything went to shit. Before Tom...
“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was rough, unpolished.
“Nice to see you too, Pope,” Chase smirked, but there was something underneath it. Something wary.
“How’d you find me, Chase?” He stepped aside, letting her in.
“You’re predictable.” Chase dropped her bag onto the floor, rolling out her stiff shoulders. “And you’re not as off the grid as you think.”
That pulled a sharp laugh from him as he said “I should’ve known” between chuckles. There was a brief silence that settled around them as the reality of what happened since they last saw each other.
“I heard about what happened when I left, Santi,” Chase whispered. She turned to face him slowly, meeting his gaze with a soft expression.
“Then you know it’s over,” Pope responded curtly. His jaw tightened. His tone was harsher than he meant; his shoulders relaxed as he shot her a sorry glance.
“Is it?” She snapped back, crossing her arms.
Pope glanced away because he knew she had a point. He didn’t answer because honestly, he wasn’t sure. This mission was still eating away at him. It lingered more than any other mission.
Chase had always been good at reading him. It was what made them a dangerous pair back in the day: she handled the intel, he handled the execution. But that was years ago ... yet, here she was, standing in his living room like she hadn’t ripped out a piece of his heart when she walked away from their world.
“You’re not the only one struggling with ghosts, ya know.” Chase’s voice was low and steady. “I lost plenty of people over the years... Tom was one of my best friends too—don’t forget that.”
Pope gazed back at her with a soft, caring expression. He knew how much Chase admired Tom and how much she tried to protect him.
“I don’t know how to stop feeling like I should’ve done more,” Pope exhaled, raking a hand through his hair.
“You did the best you could, Santi.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Then, quietly, she added, “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here.”
Chase stepped closer, tentative. His eyes locked onto hers as she came to a halt in front of him, their bodies closer than they had been in months. There had been a time when he believed in things like second chances. Maybe, just maybe, this was his second chance with her. She brushed her hand with his and wrapped her pinky around his—a quiet promise.
The tension eased only slightly as the night stretched on. Pope dug through his nearly empty fridge, pulling out a couple of beers. He slid one across the counter to Chase, who took it without hesitation, popping the cap off against the edge of the counter like it was second nature.
“Still got it,” Pope smirked, impressed.
“You always doubted me,” Chase grinned, winking at him. Her heart fluttered when she saw the way his cheeks blushed.
They sat in the dim light of the kitchen, leaning against the counters, both sipping their drinks in companionable silence. The weight of the past still clung to them, but for the first time in months, Pope didn’t feel completely alone.
“What are you really doing here, Chase?” he finally asked.
“You want the truth?” She stared at him for a long moment after he nodded earnestly. She sighed, setting her beer down. “I kept thinking about you... All I could think about was you, Santi.”
“That so?” His heart did something complicated in his chest. He masked it with a smirk.
“Don’t be an ass,” she shot back, but there was no heat to it. “I mean it. I spent so much time running from this life, trying to convince myself I wanted out. Then, I saw what happened with you and the guys in Colombia and I couldn’t stop thinking what if I had stayed after all… Could I have helped keep things from ending so terribly?”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything. We still would’ve ended up here.”
“Maybe not, but even so, maybe we could’ve gone through it together, Santi. Maybe Tom would still be alive to be a pain in my ass. Maybe we’d all hang out every weekend like we used to when it turned into sleepovers...”
That made Pope chuckled and Chase smiled, swallowing back her tears. She tilted from one leg to the other before adding, “And maybe the two of us would still be as close as we used to be. We were tied at the hip for years so I never noticed how connected we were until we weren’t... I can’t go that long without you again, Santi.”
His jaw tightened; that hit him harder than he expected. He’d spent months drowning in guilt, in loss, in regret. But hearing her say that—knowing that maybe he hadn’t been the only one feeling this way—lit something inside him that he thought had long since burned out.
He reached for her hand, hesitating for only a moment before lacing his fingers through hers. She didn’t pull away; instead, she squeezed his hand, grounding him in a way nothing else had since he left that damn jungle behind.
“Stay,” he said, the word barely above a whisper.
And she did.
The next morning, Pope woke to the sound of soft footsteps in the kitchen. He found Chase standing by the stove, coffee brewing, her hair tied up in a messy knot like she’d been here a thousand times before. Her favorite button up of his hung loosely on her frame, hanging down her thighs. The sight was so normal, so domestic, that for a second he forgot about everything else.
Turning to look over her right shoulder, Chase caught Pope watching her. Her cheeks instantly turned red and she whipped her head back to watch the coffee pot to hide the way she blushed.
“Mornin’, sleepy head,” Chase murmured. “Coffee’s almost ready.”
“You always did know how to make yourself at home.” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
She shrugged and said, “What can I say? You’ve got terrible hospitality.”
He laughed loudly, shaking his head. Pope made his way to her across the kitchen; Chase leaned her back against the kitchen sink. He stopped in front her and placed his arms on the counter, trapping her in a warm embrace.
“You planning on sticking around?”
She met his gaze, something steady and certain in her eyes. She ran a hand through his hair as she whispered, “I’m not going anywhere, Santi. Not again.”
For the first time in a long time, Pope felt something close to peace. Maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something new.
Weeks passed, and her presence didn’t fade like a dream. They settled into something: unspoken, undefined, but real. Late-night beers turned into quiet confessions, sleepless nights spent tangled together, bruised hearts healing slowly, stitch by stitch.
One evening, as they walked along the shore, the cool wind threading across their intertwined fingers, Chase studied him closely. Pope could feel her eyes on him, but he was focused on watching the waves roll in; he squeezed her hand in silent recognition. She nudged him lightly before she looked out at the horizon.
“You ever think about what’s next?” Chase asked quietly.
“I used to,” Pope exhaled, “but then I stopped.”
“Maybe it’s time to start again.”
“You mean start thinking about what’s next for you and me?” Pope asked as he turned to her, watching the way the fading sunlight danced in her eyes.
“Yes, but only if you want me, Santi.”
He didn’t have to think about it. For the first time in years, the future didn’t feel like a battleground—it felt like a promise. And this time, he wasn’t going to let it slip away. He leaned in and kissed her softly, wrapping his hands around her waist. She leaned into him and relaxed against his chest.
“I've only ever wanted you, Chase,” Pope answered. Chase smiled, soft and certain in return.
Days turned into weeks, and the tension that had once ruled his life began to ease, replaced by something quieter, steadier. Chase didn’t just stay; she integrated into his world, piece by piece, in ways he never thought he’d allow someone to again.
She reorganized his kitchen when she claimed his system made no sense, teased him when he grumbled but let her do it anyway. She stole his hoodies when the mornings were cold, even though she had plenty of her own. And when the nights grew heavy with old ghosts and restless memories, she was there—her presence an anchor, her touch a reminder that he wasn’t alone.
One evening, he found her sitting on the back deck, feet propped up on the railing, a glass of whiskey cradled in her hand. She looked so at ease that it took him a moment to realize how rare it was to see her unguarded, just as much as she had seen him when he was vulnerable.
“Getting comfortable?” he asked, leaning against the doorway.
“It’s starting to feel like home,” she grinned, tilting her head toward him. “It feels like our home, Santi.”
Something in his chest tightened—not with fear, but with something warmer, something he hadn’t dared to hope for in a long time. He walked over, taking the glass from her hands and setting it aside before pulling her into him. She fit there, against him, like she belonged. Like she’d always been meant to.
“You ever think we’re just two stubborn idiots who took too damn long to figure this out?” she murmured against his chest.
“Oh yeah we’re definitely stupid,” he laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“I’m not going anywhere, Santi, but I need to know…” Chase pulled back just enough to look at him, her expression more serious now. “Are you really here? Not just for now, but for good.”
“Yeah, I’m here.” He met her gaze, no hesitation in his answer. “I’m here for the long haul, Chase.”
She studied him for a beat longer, as if making sure he meant it. Then she nodded, satisfied.
“Good,” she replied firmly with a smile.
And just like that, it wasn’t a question anymore. They weren’t perfect, and the past still lingered in the shadows, but they were building something real—something worth fighting for. And this time, Santiago Garcia wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers.
warnings: oral (afab receiving), fluff and feels (be warned)
words: 2.9k
a/n: this comes from a request from my lovely bestie @flightlessangelwings. it uh... well it got away from me a bit and therefore is a full fic. talk about coming back to tumblr fanfic writing with a vengence. sorry not sorry.
The storm outside was loud. So loud that every boom of thunder felt like it was shaking your entire house. You held your cat on your lap while on the couch, curled up with your favorite blanket, and the television turned on to the romance movie you had started earlier in the week. The plus side to working for the small town bar was that your boss, your best friend, didn’t force you to come in during storms.
The unexpected night off meant you got comfy in a large oversized t-shirt and soft cotton sleep shorts. Which was the call for the blanket as the temperature outside cooled down more than you were expecting. Your calico Ellie also helped keep you warm as she purred on your lap.
The lights flickered, but nothing else seemed affected, so you ignored it and returned to watching the movie. After months of built-up flirting, the male protagonist had just gotten the nerve to kiss the female protagonist. His hand on her chin made goosebumps rise along your skin. You were hopelessly romantic and loved all those movies and seeing the characters kiss for the first time. It was electric, and you always dreamed of having that for yourself.
The lights flickered three more times in rapid succession before everything went dark. Even though your heart rate elevated with anxiety, you managed a breath before muttering, “Damn it,” and getting up from your comfortable spot. Ellie gave a soft chirping meow to let you know that she didn’t like being moved, but she managed to get to the other end of the couch and curl back up to sleep. You shook your head at her before heading to the kitchen. In one of the drawers, you dug through the piles of receipts and take-out menus, rubber bands, and scotch tape until you found the little purple sparkly flashlight.
Just as you pull it out to turn it on, a loud knock at your door makes you jump—your heart races as you try to steady your breathing. You get the flashlight turned on just before you reach your front door. You peeked out the top window from your tiptoes just enough to see the top of a head covered in onyx-colored curls. You opened the door to find Santiago, your neighbor, soaked to the bone and panting.
“Santi,” you sighed as you lowered the flashlight and stepped back to allow him inside. His head is lowered as he steps in but remains on the indoor welcome mat, seemingly trying not to drip water all over your hardwood floor. You closed the door, rushed to the oven to grab the hand towel, and handed it to him. He offered a soft “thanks” while drying his face and arms.
“Well, I see you’re out of power too,” Santi mentions as he stands up straighter and looks around your living room with a soft chuckle, then back to you.
“Just lost it. Interrupted my movie too,” you offer with a soft laugh; turning off the flashlight as the moon glows from outside is enough to see Santi as you converse.
After an awkward silence, Santi hands the now-damp towel back to you, and you put it on the counter beside you.
“Didn’t know if you and Ellie needed anything,” he finally spoke after clearing his throat. His brows lifted as he looked at you. Even in the dark, there was no denying how handsome Santi was. Add in how wonderful of a neighbor he had been over the last year since you moved in, and he was pretty accurately the perfect man.
He had helped change the spark plugs in your car, repaired the front gutter, helped build your back deck, and replaced the upstairs bath’s faucet. All for free. He never asked for anything in return except for some free pastries when he’d stop by your bakery. You couldn’t say no. His sweet tooth was like no other, and for the rugged man he appeared to be, knowing he had a soft spot for your cupcakes and brownies made you just that little bit mushier.
“It’s fine. We’ve survived worse,” you commented, a wry laugh being pulled from you. The words and meanings were heavier than you intended them to be. Santi seemed to catch on as he stared after you, watching you move further into the kitchen.
“Did you want some water?” you offered as you reached into the cupboard for two glasses. The fridge, thankfully, still worked for a few minutes after a power outage. You knew it would eventually run out of the reserved energy to keep things cold, but at least you had the water jug in there.
“Sure,” Santi answered, wiping his feet before venturing toward you over at the sink. But as he waited, he did so very close to the side of the fridge. You turned after filling the first glass and bumped into him with your elbow, causing the cold water to splash onto you, eliciting a shriek.
“Oh! Shit, I’m so sorry,” Santi started apologizing and immediately grabbed the towel from the counter you had let him use. He started patting you down with it, but the dampness of the towel from his usage and the cold water already absorbing into your shirt caused you to shiver and shake your head. You set the glass on the counter by the fridge and mumbled to him that you were okay. He handed you the towel but stood dumbfounded as he watched you.
“Are you sure? Can I get you something else? Where are your other towels?” he asked rapidly before hurrying around the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets to find something else to dry you off.
“Santi,” you said with a laugh. “I’m good. Let me get changed. Help yourself to the water, though. I’ll be right back.”
You disappeared around the corner and down the hall. Stripping off the T-shirt once in your bedroom, you opened your wardrobe to find... nothing else in the comfort level to be worn. Your dirty laundry was still in the washer in the basement, and you hadn’t switched it over to the dryer before the storm. You mentally and physically facepalmed. “Great,” you muttered before closing the drawer and moving to your closet. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but it would have to do.
Walking back out toward the kitchen, fiddling with the buttons on your ex’s dress shirt, you didn’t notice Santi had moved, and you ran head-first into his solid chest. “Whoa,” he laughed, his arms coming out to steady your shoulders. His hands were warm on your cold skin, even through the shirt's material.
You swallowed thickly as you looked up at him. The moment was fleeting, but it was there, and you swore you saw the sparkle in his deep brown eyes. But perhaps that was just the lights flickering back on. You heard all the machines in your kitchen turn on, and it must have cleared Santi’s mind because he, too, backed away and cleared his throat.
“Well, look at that,” he said and nodded slowly, looking around to see everything turn back on - including the television. The movie must have paused when the power went out because it picked right back up where it had left off. The two main characters were getting into their kissing, and the music was swelling, indicating which direction things were going in.
“Oh!” you shouted as the moans from the actors started to fill the room and romantic close-ups of their bodies began to show on the screen. You practically fumbled and ran from Santi to find the remote. The moaning and panting got louder, and you swore the remote was on the couch. You bent in strange ways, trying to see it, lifting the blanket from where it had crumpled, and felt your heart racing faster and faster with each passing moment.
Santi looked on, bemused, a smirk on his lips, taking a mental note of what kind of movies you enjoyed. Was it because he wanted to know you a bit better? Yes. Was it also because the noises from the tv sounded erotic and affected him? Also yes. And how you bent over at one certain angle, perhaps giving him the slightest hint of the bottom of your backside? Absolutely yes.
He walked over after you seemed to be failing at locating the remote. “Can I help?” he asked, standing closer to the tv, the actors getting into the steamy sex scene now. You could barely hear him over the thumping in your ears from your heart. Where the fuck did that little remote go, and why was there so much moaning on the television now?
You turned and saw Santi watching the tv as the sex scene played. It was rather raunchy for being a romance film, but it was steamy and sexy, and you swallowed thickly. You cleared your throat, staring at how Santi watched the scene play out.
“What movie is this?” he asked before facing you and noticing you staring at him.
Caught off guard, you stumbled through an answer. “Oh, uh, it’s just some romance movie based on a book series.” Vague, yes. Keep it vague.
Santi’s smirk took over, and your knees would buckle if it were a romance movie like the one on your screen. He was so ruggedly handsome, and you were brought back to just a few minutes before when his hands were on you. The feeling had this moment of staring at each other, turning you into a puddle. Especially as Santi moved away from the tv and toward you, his head cocked to one side, seemingly studying you.
“Do you like romance novels? And movies?”
There was no judgment, no mocking in his tone. He was genuinely asking. You quickly ran through the scenarios of what a yes answer and a denying no answer could look like. You opted for honesty. After all, other than your crush on him, your neighborly friendship with him had always been honest and straightforward.
You nodded as he moved closer and now stood directly before you. His nod was much slower than yours, thoughtful, and you noticed all of the stubble along his jaw. That hadn’t been there the last time you had seen him. But it suited him. His hand gently came up in front of your chest but paused, his eyes searching yours. Your gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips and back as your head gently nodded.
His rough, calloused hand ghosted in front of your chest and to your jawline. The contrast of the feel of his hand against your jaw and your skin caused both of you to take shuddering breaths in. “So you enjoy the idea of being kissed… softly?” Santi asked, his soft, graveling tone sending a shiver down your body.
Your heart felt like it had jumped into your throat, making words hard to come out. Instead, you nodded and breathed in, holding it. Your gaze on Santi was soft but begging him to move even closer. You had wanted to feel his kiss for so long, but you didn’t know that he even had an inkling of romantic feelings toward you.
“May I?”
The question surprised you. Santi didn’t seem the type to ask. You had seen him with women at the neighborhood picnics and gatherings. He always seemed so in control and cocky. The first time you officially introduced yourself to him, his smirk nearly made you hate him because he looked so full of himself.
But it was becoming more apparent that that was a facade, and with that, you nodded and mumbled a soft “please” in answer. His look was pure contentment as he leaned in, his hand sliding over to hold your chin and lifting it ever so slightly. He leaned in, his lips nearly at yours before he spoke, causing you to whimper.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for six months.”
You blinked and looked up at him. Your face did a slight double take, blinking harder.
“What?”
“I came over to help you fix more stuff because I had this ridiculous fantasy of coming over sometime and finding you half-dressed. I’d take you on the couch and devour you, tasting all of you. Like some romance movie,” he admitted, and your entire body became alight with lust. You couldn’t even stop your hands as they lifted to his fitted t-shirt and gripped the front of it, pulling him to you so that his lips had no choice but to land on yours.
The groans he let out let you know that you had done something right in taking the first move. His free hand slid down the side of your body to your hip, where his rough fingertips dug into your flesh, crumpling the shirt. You took a step back, tugging him with you until your knees buckled at the couch, and you both landed, Santi’s knee on the left side of you on the sofa.
Your hands moved up to his face, cupping his scruffed jaw. His lips chased yours, but you had other plans as you held his face and moved your lips along his cheek and to the soft spot behind his ear. Your tongue played against it, licking him before moving to his jugular. His hand on your chin slid down to cup your breast through the shirt, and you moaned, arching your back into his touch.
“Oh, that’s what you like, hm?” he breathed out, moving his face down to echo the licking and nibbling at your neck that you had just done to him. His smirk could be felt against your skin as you mewled in pleasure.
Hands moved all over; mouths continued to explore the upper parts of your bodies until they were reunited again in a heavier, hotter, more passionate kiss. Santi’s hand trailed down your body to between your legs, where he found your moist center. He groaned, his thumb pressing gently against the sensitive button that had your hips wildly thrusting toward him. His hand continued to move but in such a teasing manner that it was starting to frustrate you. Just having his body on yours was better than anything, but having his hand at your most needed part was already better than all your nights with your toys.
His mouth ventured down, suckling at your breast through the shirt, moistening it before moving down until he was on his knees on the floor in front of the couch and you. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing the oversized shirt out of his way. He leaned in, kissing up one thigh, then, when he barely reached your apex, his mouth moved to the other, starting the trail north.
“God, Santi, please,” you murmured, a mumble. Your brain was working on overdrive that this man would do this to live out the fantasy he had admitted to you.
His hands worked down your shorts and panties in one fell swoop. A master at undressing you already. Either that, or you were just that needy and desperate. He leaned in the moment he saw the glistening of your sex. His tongue swiping along your slit, bottom to top, your hands nestled into his curls.
“Santi.” You breathed out his name in pants and moans, and he was done for. His mouth closed over your warm cunt, lapping at you before stiffening his tongue and pressing into you. The curl of the muscle of his tongue pushing into you had your breath catching in your throat. His mouth was magic, and you were sure to come undone quickly.
But just as your peak nearly hit, your hips pressing up against his face, he pulled back, his hands pushing your hips back down. “Oh, baby. Not yet. I want to see you crumble and hear you scream, but I want to keep tastin’ you. I want to know that I’m making you shudder and shiver from pleasure. Okay?”
You whine, but if the last few minutes were any indication, Santi had no plans to leave the space between your legs soon. His tongue gently licked at you, to which you shuddered from sensitivity. His hands worked in slow circles on your thighs, and when his mouth wasn’t against you, his eyes were studying his fingers played gently against your clit, watching the way you would tense and clench around nothing.
And you were right. Three orgasms from his lips and mouth alone later, Santi finally comes up for air, his scruff glistening with your wetness. You reach out for him and pull his head up to you so that you can lean forward and capture his lips against yours. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue and in his mouth as you deepen the kiss.
When you broke the kiss, Santi leaned his forehead against yours to catch his breath. “I.. am not done with you,” he grinned as he kissed you chastely and pulled back. Showing you the wicked grin on his lips and the devilish glint in his dark eyes. You laughed and shook your head.
“You really shouldn’t wait six months to kiss me next time,” you quipped. His chuckle seemed to rumble deep into his chest.
“Oh, so you’re sassy too, huh?” he laughed as his hands gently tickled your sides before sliding one up to hold your chin again to you could look directly into his eyes.
“I’m never waiting to kiss you ever again. Ever,” he told you sternly, the laughter dying off as his lips retook yours in a soft, gentle, but firm kiss.
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