A/N: So yeah. its more santi smut. I rewatched triple frontier recently and yknow how oscar and pedro look absolutely scrumpdiddlyumptious so i had to write some happy, domesticated santi because HE DESERVES SOMETHING GOOD
Description: Sometimes, Santi can't believe that he's actually yours, that you're his. And, as a good husband, he just wants to make his beautiful wife feel good. (w/c: 3.1K)
Tags: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x reader, afab!fem!reader, Santi really likes that she's his wife, pretty domestic, alcohol consumption, oral (r!recieving), unprotected piv (pls wrap it up irl fuck them kids), breeding kink like quite a bit of breeding kink i may have a problem
Santi sometimes forgets that he’s actually married to you. That it’s his ring on your finger, that he lives in a home that the both of you share.
There’s a part of him, a big part, that looks at you and knows that you’re too beautiful to really be his. With your bright smile and glittering eyes, smoothing out his rough edges and giving something to live for again. It doesn’t feel real, even after years of being married, introducing you as his wife to all of his coworkers and friends, fixing up a house you bought together, living a perfect little white picket fence life that Santi had only thought was a fantasy while in Delta.
He watches you with rapt attention across the bar, grabbing your fruity drink from the bartender while you chat with Frankie at the pool table.
You’re laughing hard to a story that Frankie is telling, Santi’s beer clutched in one of your hands while you brace the other on Frankie’s shoulder. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are crinkling at the corners with your grin, and Santi can’t imagine anyone more perfect.
As your laughter eventually dies down you gaze at Santi across the room, probably unaware that he was already staring, and the breath is nearly knocked out of his lungs as your eyes meet. Your wide smile melts into something softer, intimate even in a room full of people, and his already weak knees want to give out.
He forces himself to walk on shaky legs across the room, setting your drink on your table, fingers itching to touch your soft skin. He spins you around when he reaches you, pinning your back to his front and wrapping his strong arms around your waist while he tucks his face into the crook of your neck.
Your perfume is strongest there, the smell of you invading his senses and swimming through his desperate mind. He vaguely senses Frankie walking away to talk to Will, but he couldn't care less at the moment. Not when he has his wife in his arms, your hair tickling his nose and you giggle echoing in his ears.
Santi presses a kiss to your neck, unable to help himself. “Look so pretty tonight, princesa. Y’wanna let me take you home?” he murmurs quietly into your ear, hearing you suck in a soft breath.
“I don’t know how my husband would feel about that, handsome,” you giggle, and he tugs you just a little bit closer.
“C’mon, baby, I’m sure he won’t mind one bit,” he chuckles lowly. “Can’t let a pretty thing like you go without being taken care of like you deserve.”
“Hm,” you sigh, leaning back against his strong body, “you drive a hard bargain, don’t you?” You reach a hand back to wind your hand into his hair, tugging him up to meet your lips in a sticky kiss. “Promise to take care of me, baby? I’ve been told that I can be greedy. Gonna need you to make me cum as many times as I want.”
Santi feels lightheaded, his vision blurring at the edges. “Fuck, hermosa, anything. Anything you want, you’ll get it, promise I’ll-”
“Hey, lovebirds!” you hear Benny call from the pool table, stick clutched in his hand. He’s disarmingly loud even in a room full of people, your head snaps ahead from Santi’s lips, and you can feel the groan rumble in your husband’s chest at the loss. You smirk to yourself involuntarily, pride blooming in your chest at the fact that you’re the one that can bring Santiago Garcia, ex-military grump with a will of fucking steel, to his knees with a something as simple as a little kiss.
“You guys gonna get a room or what? Think of the kids!” Benny continues, laughing. Frankie chuckles with him, Will smacks him on the back of the head.
“Turning a little green there, Miller!” you fire back, smiling all the while. “Been a while since you got any? Celibacy is not a good look on you, man.” Frankie laughs harder at that, and even Will chuckles, and it’s Benny’s turn to smack his brother on the back of his head.
You turn your head again to whisper up into Santi’s ear, “As much as I hate to admit it, he might be right.” You shift your hips back, just a little, pressing your ass tight against the bulge of his dick in those tight pants he always wears. Santi curses.
“You wanna get out of here handsome?”
“Please,” Santi groans, and you laugh softly at his eagerness before you’re grabbing his hand and walking him to the door of the bar, nodding a goodbye at Frankie as you do.
He’s on you the moment you walk through the door of your shared home, pressing you hard against the door with a thick thigh between your legs, pressed tight against your hot cunt through the material of your panties under your skirt. He licks into your mouth like he’s starving for it, like he’ll never get to again, like it’s not the cold metal of his ring on your finger, pressed against his cheek as you cup his jaw.
“So, so fucking pretty for me hermosa, my god. Got everyone in that bar looking at you, but you’re mine, yeah? My wife, fuck-” Santi says into your mouth, choking on the last word, bucking up into you.
“Bed, Santi, please,” you whine, head spinning with the taste, the smell, the feel of him under your fingertips. Six years of marriage, and you’re both still obsessed with each other the same way you were when you both first met. Clutching into each other like the other will disappear at any moment, like every second together has only been a wonderful dream. He grins into your mouth before taking your hand again, breaking into a jog through your little house and into your bedroom, the both of you giggling like teenagers.
You make him feel young, Santi thinks, laughing into your mouth as he lays you gently onto the mattress. Even with his creaky knees and graying hair, you manage to make him feel young. He presses himself against you, and you mewl, your hips moving in desperate little grinds against the bulge in his jeans.
“Santi, please,” you choke, gasping softly as his zipper catches on your clit through your panties. You’re clenching around nothing, suddenly so unbearably empty that you could cry from it.
Santi shushes you gently, running his hands under your shirt, rucking it up over your chest. You raise your arms to help him along, and Santi wastes no time in divesting you of your shirt. He tosses it behind him carelessly before leaning down again to lick into your mouth, utterly addicted to the taste of you.
There’s something about Santi that brings out this part of you, this desperate, needy part that you’d never felt before knowing him. He makes you feel ravenous, animalistic as he towers over you, kissing you like a man possessed.
You reach down to grab his shirt in a fist, shoving it up his stomach until he finally smiles against your mouth, breaking away from your kiss to yank his shirt off, tossing it in the same direction he threw yours. He moves down, trailing hot, sticky kisses and bites to your neck, your collarbone, right between the valley of your tits.
His thick hands curl around your back, his calluses scratching along your soft skin, raising goosebumps in their wake as he unclasps your bra, dragging it down your arms and leaving you bared to him. It should feel vulnerable, exposed, but you hear Santi groan softly under his breath at the sight of you, and you feel anything but vulnerable. Fuck, you feel powerful, stunning under Santi’s burning gaze.
He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it feverishly while his other hand, warm and rough, tweaks the other harshly. You can’t help how your back shoots up, how a choked moan escapes your throat. Your hands tangle in his hair, a terribly sexy mess of grey and black, holding him to your chest.
“Fuck, oh God, Santi, Santi, need you so bad baby, please. Please,” you mumble, your mind already hazy as Santi switches nipples, his eyes closed and lost in you. He brings his free hand down, down, under your skirt, and presses a thumb harshly over your clit through your panties. The friction of the cotton is harsh against your throbbing clit, but Santi rubs quick little circles into you, reveling in the whines that escape unbidden from the back of your throat.
“So fucking pretty, princesa. Mi amor, god, mi vida. You’re my fucking life, you know that? So gorgeous, angel, and all mine. Fuck, can’t believe you’re mine, baby.” Santi mumbles against your skin, finally releasing your nipple from his mouth. He continues peppering tiny kisses down your stomach, staring up at you as he does. His mouth doesn’t leave your skin even as he brings his hand up from your clothed cunt, tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You can feel how soaked you’ve gotten, the way your thighs are slick with your arousal.
“Fuck, hermosa, what’s got you this wet, huh?” He grunts, his voice gravelly and rough.
“You, Santi, it’s all- it’s all you. Since the bar, baby, since before the bar. Fuck, always want you, Santiago, ‘m ready for you all the time.” You tilt your hips up with your words, your entrance throbbing and so desperate for his touch.
“God, bebita,” Santi groans. “Such a fucking slut, huh? You would’ve let me fuck you right in that bar, yeah? Just let me tug you into the bathroom and fuck you as hard as I want. Would've done it too, sweet girl, you get me so fucking hot. In these,” he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, and you twitch as you feel him breathe a warm gust of air right over your desperate pussy. “In these fucking little skirts you like to wear, god. Got the sexiest girl in the fucking world, yeah? Everyone wants you, but I’m the one who gets to have you. I get to have you for the rest of our lives, mi amor.” He’s so close, so fucking close to wear you need him most. “I get to fuck this sweet pussy for the rest of our lives, baby,” Santi breathes.
You nearly scream as he licks a long stripe up your cunt, lapping up some of the mess you’ve already made of yourself. He sucks your clit into his mouth, sucking at it hard and unrelenting. The sensation of it is almost too much, and your thighs clench around his head quickly, before Santi brings a hand up to grab at your inner thigh. He pulls you apart, keeping you spread for him as he licks and sucks and plays with you until you’re already shaking. He keeps you spread with only one of those strong hands, pressing his tongue harshly against your sensitive little clit, and you suddenly feel the thick presence of his other hand, a calloused digit sinking slowly, so slowly into your cunt.
“Santi, Santi, oh fuck, Jesus fucking Christ baby, it’s so- shit, it’s so,” you can hardly get the words out, especially as he crooks his finger up and presses it against your g-spot without any trouble. Santi groans against your clit, sinking yet another finger inside you along the first.
You should be used to it by now, after so long together, but every single time Santi fucks you, it’s like he’ll never get to do it again. He throws himself, his mind, body, his fucking soul, into only making you feel good. It’s nearly sacrilegious, how he worships you, praying with his tongue at the altar of your body.
But it’s not enough, not when you know how it feels when he’s inside, not when you’ve been thinking about his thick cock stretching you out until you feel like you’re about to break. You tangle a hand back into his hair, tugging him harshly away from your pussy. He keeps his fingers inside, spreading you apart as he looms over you, meeting your lips in a sticky kiss. His lips are sticky with your arousal, but you can’t bring yourself to care, gasping, “Please, baby, Santi fuck me, ‘m so empty, need to be filled up, need you to stuff me full.”
Santi grins, smug against you as he presses a third finger into your tight cunt, relishing in how your body jerks hard in response. “Just a little longer, baby,” he mutters, “Gotta make you cum first, right? Wanna feel this pretty pussy clench around my fingers, fuck baby, you’re so sexy. Want you to cum, princesa. Cum like you fucking deserve.”
You choke on a gasp as he hammers hard into you, overwhelmed tears filling your eyes as he abuses your g-spot with a practiced hand. You can feel your orgasm building inside, threatening to drown you in it’s severity, as Santi leans down again, whispering harshly, like it’s a threat, “Be a good little wife for me, baby, and cum. Now.”
And you can’t do anything but that, whining high as your pussy clenches and gushes all over Santi’s hand, your hips jerking wildly. Santi is murmuring little praises into your ear, but you can hardly hear him over the ringing in your head, the effort it takes to breathe properly again.
“You okay, mi amor? Need to stop?” Santi whispers, petting his hands across your thighs, calming, but your eyes snap open all the same.
“Santiago Garcia, if you leave me here without getting fucked, I’m filing for divorce.”
Your statement shocks a quick laugh out of your husband, but he leans down to kiss you all the same. “So greedy, mi amor,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you giggle as he stands quickly, shucking his pants and boxers off before kneeling between your spread legs again.
You gasp softly as he notches the head of his cock against the entrance of your abused cunt, winding your arms around his neck to tug him close. He presses in slowly, agonizingly slow, and you gasp against his mouth.
You’ve had Santi for years, but taking his cock always feels like the first time, all over again. He groans so lowly it almost sounds like a growl, holding your hips up to meet him as he finally bottoms out inside you. So deep he feels like he’s in your fucking stomach.
“Shit, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he groans over you, his eyes clenched shut. He draws his hips out and shoves back in quickly, and you can’t do anything but gasp wetly, nails digging into his shoulders as he breaks you open around his cock. “So tight for me, always so fucking perfect.”
“So big, Santi,” you slur dazedly. “Stretching me out so good, it’s so fucking deep, baby.”
“You like me deep, bebita? So deep I’m in your fucking guts? Gonna fill you up, princesa, shit. Get through that fucking birth control, yeah? Get you,” he fucks into you again, hard, “get you fucking pregnant, sweetheart.”
“Oh God,” you whine, mind swimming with the overwhelming mixture of Santi over you, surrounding you, inside you. Fucking you full of him, enough to render your IUD useless, get you pregnant no matter what. “Fuck, Santi, please.” He works himself in and out of you, his thick hands holding onto your hips hard enough to bruise.
“You want it, baby? Want me to fuck a baby into this little pussy? Shit, you’re sucking me in baby, so fucking desperate for it.” He shifts closer, just a little, lifting your hips further into the air to throw you hard onto his cock, and he can’t miss your sweet spot like this. His perfect cockhead just jams into your g-spot at an angle like this, and Santi knows it. “My needy little wife, you wanna cum on this cock? C’mon, do it. Wanna see it baby.”
Tears are finally escaping, leaking slowly from your eyes as Santi fucks into you like only he can, practiced, harsh, unrelenting. You can faintly hear yourself babbling, a mixture of praises, and pleases, and Santi’s name.
Santi brings a hand from your thigh to press a thick thumb to your over-sensitive clit, and you want to fucking scream. “C’mon baby, show me how good I’m giving you this cock. Show me how good I fuck this pretty pussy.”
“Yes, yes, yes, it’s so good, it’s so fucking good, gonna cum, oh god, gonna give you a baby, Santi, oh god, oh my fucking god-” you gasp, unable to get a full breath into your lungs before you’re cumming again, nails digging hard enough into Santi’s back that there will be marks, marks that Santi will tease you about later when he looks in the mirror, but you can’t care. Not when it feels like your body is on a live wire, muscles and nerves strung taught and pulled apart.
“Just like that, sweet girl,” Santi groans above you, his hips stuttering into you. “Fuck, just like that, so fucking tight for me. Fuck, you’re mine,” he mutters, barely even speaking to you at this point. “Can’t believe you’re fucking mine, mine forever.”
He’s lost in it, muttering to himself, and you tug him down, trying to ground him back to Earth against your lips as you whisper, “yours.”
Santi kisses you hard as he cums, emptying himself inside you. He wraps you in his strong arms, the both of you shaking softly against each other as you breathe through the aftershock of both your orgasms. He slips out of you at one point, and Santi takes the opportunity to roll you onto your sides. It’s quiet between the both of you for a few minutes as you brush a hand through Santi’s sweaty curls, and he brushes a thumb over your cheek, wiping any tears away.
“Love you so much, Santi,” you whisper after a while, and Santi smiles wide, wider than he ever had before he met you.
“I love you too, baby, more than I can describe.”
“Do you- do you think we could start trying? For a baby?” you whisper, tentative. There will be a bigger discussion tomorrow, about the future, especially if you throw children into the mix. But you need to know, for now.
“Mi amor, mi cielito,” Santi whispers, pecking you softly on the lips. “I would love nothing more.”
Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader, throughout the series: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader
Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.
Warning: some violence
A/N: sorry it's been a while. my heart hasn't really been into fic writing, but im determined to finish this series eventually so here you go
Series Masterlist
You felt a little bit more like yourself in this universe. It seemed like you were in some sort of military group? The only woman, surrounded by men. The men, your colleagues, seemed to respect you and valued your opinion, which was very nice.
When the hostiles were taken care of you, you all met at the rendezvous point where you all piled into a heli, piloted by your friend in the Standard Oil hat.
'Pope' plopped beside you, nudging your knee with his, "You good? You look a lil' dazed."
You give him a lop sided grin, "Think I hit my head too hard when you tackled me to the ground, but I've had worse."
Pope lets out a hum and leans back in his seat, "You called me Marc back there. Who's Marc?"
You shook your head, "I-Someone I knew. Guess I just got confused for a sec."
Pope pulled out a flashlight and pointed it towards your eyes. You tried swatting it away, "What're you doing?"
"Trying to make sure you're not concussed."
"I'm fine!"
"What's my name?"
"Pope."
"My real name."
"Santiago." His name rolls of your tongue and you're surprised that you know his name.
He hummed and narrowed his eyes at you, "You're still getting checked when we get back."
You rolled your eyes, "Whatever." You let out a deep breath, but the action made you hiss.
Pope cocked a brow at you, "What's wrong?"
You rubbed your side, "I think I got a few cracked ribs."
He snorted, "'I'm fine' my ass."
You stuck your tongue out and Pope tried to grab it. You started swatting his hand away, but you were interrupted by a fake gagging noise.
You look across the heli to see Will fake gagging.
"What's up with you?"
"You guys are such a fucking couple it's disgusting."
"You're just jealous you haven't found your person yet," Ben smirked, nudging his brother.
You shrugged, settling in your spot, resting your head on Pope's shoulder. Your eyes started fluttering close, sleep taking you a lot quicker than you expected.
"Rosie," Ben nudged your foot and you slowly woke.
"Hm?" you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You looked around and noticed that the helicopter had landed. You were back on the airstrip and the only one left.
"I told you I'd get her," Pope flicked Ben's ear and pushed him to the side. He then looked to you, "You need help getting out, baby?"
You slowly maneuvered out of the aircraft, trying to keep your breath steady as your ribs screamed at you in pain.
You winced as you stepped out, Pope catching you as you fell forward, "I gotcha, baby. I gotcha." he turned to his young friend, "Help me out, Ben."
Both men wrapped your arms around their shoulders and escorted you to the van. All of the men insisted on getting you to the hospital first before heading home.
"We take care of our own, remember?" Will reminded you as he started the drive to the hospital.
_______________
You definitely had a few cracked ribs. You were prescribed some pain meds and plenty of ice packs. After making sure you were okay, the group of you headed back home.
Well, you thought you and Santi were, but he wanted you to heal more to ensure you're okay to travel back home. So he graciously reserved a room at a nice hotel on the beach. There, he played the dutiful boyfriend; making sure you iced your ribs, you took your medication if the pain became too much; and overall made sure that you were comfortable.
You couldn't be completely active, but he did take you on walks on the beach. He kept his arm around your hip to keep you up and he matched pace with you.
"This is nice. Kinda like a mini vacation," you say as you slowly lower onto a beach chair, "Sad we'll have to leave this place soon. Back to reality." You sigh, rubbing the side where your ribs were injured.
"I know," Santi decided to sit behind you on the beach chair, you settling between his legs, your back against his chest, "I wish we could stay longer too. Maybe in a few months, we could ask for some time off. Come back here or go somewhere else? A romantic getaway?"
You look over your shoulder, "Romantic getaway? Who are you and what have you done to my stone cold lover?"
"I'm not stone cold," Santi says with a snort.
"You kinda are, babe. It's okay," you pat his shoulder, "I still love you."
Santi chuckles and wraps his arms around your waist, "I love you too, my beautiful rose," he kisses your neck and proceeds to rest his chin on your shoulder.
You close your eyes, relishing in the warmth of your lover, the slight breeze of the beach, the sound of waves crashing. You take in the moment. For once since this whole universe thing started, you felt truly content and at peace.
______________
You hear the sound of your name and you open your eyes. You look around and notice that you're in a jail cell.
You sit up and look at the door. A man, familiar, similar to your previous loves, but more plump, held out an envelope to you, "Your cousin wrote to you again."
You stood up, walking over to your cell door and taking the envelope from him, "Thank you, Officer," you eye his name badge, "Garcia."
His lips go into a mini pout, "I told you, Y/N, call me Richard."
You nod, "Richard."
He nods back and continues on to hand out mail to other inmates.
"Interesting," you say to yourself. It seems you're an inmate at a prison in this universe and your husband's doppleganger is an officer at said prison. Very interesting indeed.
Summary: Turns out, Santiago gets a little possessive when he notices someone else watching you the entire day.
Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader (no use of y/n)
Wordcount: 2.4K
Warnings: Teasing. Voyeurism. Some mild possessiveness/jealousy. There is a hint of a thing with a mirror, but that’s not what we’re here for. Little bit of dirty talk. No mention of a condom (established relationship) (please be careful IRL, loves). Honorary mention of Santi’s Shitty Knees™
This fic is not beta read.
This work will be part of a holiday series I will reveal when I have it further established!
Dedicated to the lovely @dameronscopilot who caused severe Santi brainrot and was very lovely when I asked for some input 🧡
“I have been waiting to touch you all fucking night.”
You’re not quite sure if it’s the icy wind or the words that accompanies Santiago’s entry, but a shiver wracks through your body nonetheless. He closes the door behind him with more force than necessary, causing the window to rattle as he does.
“Tease,” he continues, stalking forward as if he were approaching prey. “Did you even notice that your nipples are visible through your top?
“Guess I didn’t,” you lie easily, bending down to take your heels off, the shoes hitting the floor with a clack. You had noticed: the eyes of your brother in law had been on your chest all night, practically burning a hole through the soft fabric of your blouse.
There had also been Santi’s hand, heavy as lead on your thigh throughout the night, smile tight towards said brother in law.
“His eyes were on you all night, cariño.”
“He’s done that ever since I’ve know him, Santi. He’s been dating my sister since I was 18,” you reply, not a single word of it a lie. “That’s what he does. He stares, asks if I have a boyfriend yet and proceeds to get drunk off two whiskey,” you continued as you step into the small bathroom, lighting the candle on the counter. You make a mental note to thank your mother: you didn’t count on her remembering that you hate showering with the overhead light on.
He follows behind you, leaning into the doorframe with his arms crossed, making eye contact in the mirror.
“Can you close the black out curtains?” you ask as you start to pull the collection of bobby pins from your hair, catching soft light of the garden lanterns behind Santiago from the corner of your eye. “Please?”
“Extinguish the candle,” he merely replies, voice so low it rumbles through the small space like a thunderstorm.
You pause, the final bobby pin hitting the counter. “What? Santi—”
He crashed into you, almost doubling you over the counter with the amount of force, his hands catching on the material of your blouse as he runs them from your waist up, cupping your breasts. Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes glued to the imagine in front of you.
There's something poetic about it: the dark figure behind you, clad in a tight fitting turtleneck crowding your space, hands creeping into your cream coloured blouse, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror.
“All day,” he starts, voice soft, breath ghosting across your skin. “All day, I have been watching him stare at you. His eyes following you. Knowing as well as I do that your nipples are visible through this top,” he says, thumb brushing over the lacy fabric of your bra. “You do know he wants to fuck you, right?”
You do know. You vividly remember the proposition he made when you were 21 and the way he cornered you the following morning when you told him no, begging you not to tell your sister. You hadn’t to this day: not for his sake, but for hers and hers alone.
You don’t reply, but wordlessly start unbuttoning your blouse as well as Santiago allowed, fully exposing the lavender bra beneath.
Santi’s expression remains neutral, but his blown pupils are the first giveaway that he is practising a surprising amount of self-restraint. He backs up ever so slightly, giving you a little more space as he pushes the fabric of your blouse past your shoulders, the garment pooling at your elbows, caught on the few buttons still done up at your waist. You know his expression is a façade: the second tell takes form of his cock against your back, achingly hard in his pants.
“So what are you going to do about it, Santiago?”
He falters for a split second, the moment so brief you almost doubt the reality of it. Time seems to freeze: you’re both suspended in the moment, waiting for the other to make the next move.
“Well?” you push.
In the blink of an eye, he turns you around, leaning past you to blow out the candle and tosses you over his shoulder in one swift motion, causing you to let out a loud yelp.
“What the fuck are you doing?! Santi, you’ll blow your knees out, you fucking idiot!”
“Don’t give a shit,” he replies curtly, exiting the bathroom and tossing you on the bed, where you land with an oof.
“If you don’t close the curtains, someone could see us,” you tell him, propping yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he stands at the foot of the bed. His frame blocks the lamp behind him, the light casting a halo around him.
“I don’t care,” he growls, pulling his top off. “Who will see us? That asshole? Let him watch.” He tosses the shirt onto the chair in the corner of the room, not caring that the fabric immediately slithers to the floor. “Wouldn’t even surprise me if he actually did.”
You scoot down to the end of the bed, sitting back on your heels in front of him, laying your hands over his as they moved to unbuckle his belt. He pauses, dropping them to his side, his eyes on you, quietly watching.
“Do you really think,” you start slowly, pulling the leather strap free from the beltloops, looking up at him through your lashes.
He suppresses a shiver, something that might’ve gone unnoticed with someone else, but not with you. You can read him better than anyone, something he realises all too well. His eyes follow you as you rise, first onto your knees, then standing up at the foot of the bed, this time crowding his space instead of the other way around. Your fingers ghost over the waistband of his pants, tracing his cock through the fabric, pulling a strangled noise from his throat.
“That I would let him touch me, Santiago?” you finish your question, your lips brushing against the muddled grey stubble on the edge of his jaw. You smile, stepping past him as he lets out a breathless chuckle, pulling at the fabric of his pants in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.
You finally finish unbuttoning your blouse, bending down to pick up Santiago’s disregarded top and placing both on the chair before moving to close the curtain, pausing for a split second when you spot a figure across the garden.
Watching from the living room of your parents’ home, you spot your brother in law, eyes firmly trained on the window of the small guesthouse you were standing in. You huff out a laugh, catching Santi’s attention.
“What’s so funny?” he asks as he presses against your back, brushing your hair aside before pressing his face in the crook of your neck, mouth trailing hot kisses on your skin.
You drop your head back onto Santi’s shoulder, revelling in his touch as one hand rests at the base of your neck, the other flat on your stomach, slowly creeping down.
“He’s watching, isn’t he?” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
The question floats in front of you, prickling the air like static electricity and for a moment, you weigh your options.
You can’t quite place the feeling clawing at your chest: you're desperately turned on, your lace panties no doubt ruined, but there was also wave of anger coursing through your veins, directed at the asshole your sister has married.
Then, before you’ve even finished thinking it through, you move forward, closing the sheer curtain with force, leaving the black out one alone. You turn the lamp at your side off, leaving only the one on the other side of the room lit. A shadow play would be the only thing visible, and only to someone that was purposefully watching.
He wouldn’t get to touch you, but you’d let him suffer a little, just for a little while.
“No.”
The single word confirmation is enough for Santi, his hand diving down, past the waist of your jeans, beyond the underwear that left nothing to hide.
“Fuck,” he moans lowly, voice rumbling through his chest. “Fuck, baby, you’re soaked,” he breathes as a calloused finger brushes past your clit, causing you to hiss and clasp his arm. His hands dives down deeper and you can feel him grin against your shoulder as you try to bite back a moan, the sound strangled as it escapes your throat.
Santi may have been the one to proclaim that he has waited all night to touch you, but you were a goner from a moment he had appeared in that fucking turtleneck at the beginning of the afternoon.
Which he knew. He knew damn well what he did when he pulled it from the suitcase. He knew the way he filled it out, the fabric stretched tightly across his pecs and arms, years of active combat still visible on his body.
It wasn’t until after dinner that it fully hit you, when his hand had found its way onto your thigh, the casual display of possessiveness the definite cause of your ruined panties and the hot want burning in your lower stomach.
“Santi,” you whine, the sound breathless on your tongue. “Santi, please,” you beg when his fingers merely tease, one finger teasing at your entrance, his thumb brushing over your sensitive clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body but never quite helping to relieve the tight feeling coiling in your lower belly.
“Mhh,” he hums in reply, his free hand lightly trailing up and down your side. “Because you asked nicely.”
He picks up a steady rhythm, mouth on your shoulder, a low hiss breezing past your skin as one hand digs crescent moons into his forearm and the other tightly tangles in his curls.
You outright moan when he finally plunges two fingers inside, somewhat relieving the downright ache that had started to announce its presence, but not enough.
“Santi,” you whimper, hating how small it sounded. The want behind the word was far bigger than that: you needed more.
“What do you need, baby,” he rasps, reading your unspoken request, groaning when you push back, bringing both your attention to his rock hard cock, still trapped in his pants. “Fuck, don’t do that. Gonna blow my load— “
You ignore him, repeating the motion, unable to stop the whine that leaves your mouth as his rhythm pauses as he pulls his fingers out.
“I think that’s enough of that, no?” he asks lowly, his fingers glistening in the soft light as he brings them up, sucking them clean and releasing them with a vulgar pop.
He leaves his spot behind you and for a moment, you think this is it: playing games came at a risk, and today was the day you fucked around and found out.
You press your legs together as he moves past you. desperate to relieve your aching, sensitive clit and the empty feeling haunting you, lip almost quivering as you try to supress your disappointment.
What he does next, however, is close the black out curtain with force and turn back, crashing his mouth into yours, hands flying all over your body as he guides you to the bed, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed. He briefly pauses, working your pants down your legs, taking in the matching set on your body, the lace so sheer it does nothing to hide how turned on you are.
“Shit, baby,” he breathes, wide grin spreading across his face. “You’re beautiful.”
His steps out of his pants and underwear, cock springing free, the head glistening with pre-cum.
“I’m about to ruin that set,” he confesses, giving himself a quick pump as he leans against the edge on the bed. “That’s far too pretty to take off your gorgeous body, baby.”
“Santiago—” you start, protests morphing into a hiss as he slides inside, having pushed your panties aside to gain entry. Where he normally has to take his time easing in before he can fit to the hilt, you’re so wet that he immediately slides all the way down, a slew of Spanish desperate as prayers brushing past his lips as he pauses for a second.
Your hands slide across his shoulder blades, eliciting a strangled noise from him, his arms trembling as he takes a deep, controlled breath.
“You okay?” you ask softly.
“Yeah,” he replies, pressing his forehead against yours. “Don’t think I’ll last long.”
“That’s okay, baby. Take what you need.”
His picks up where he left off, fingers finding a steady pattern as he starts moving, one hand tangling with yours, fingers clasped together above your head as he coaxes his first orgasms from you, mutters praises as it crashes over you unexpectedly, shushing softly as you buck against his continued touch, unsure if the feeling was a welcome one or overwhelming.
He starts to stutter in his rhythm, a sign that his own climax wasn’t far out.
“Shit, I’m sorry baby,” he moans, his strokes getting deeper and more uneven. “You take me so well, are so good for me—”
“’s okay baby,” you tell him. “Come for me, baby. It’s okay. Want you to— want you to come inside,” you continue, voice breathy, the threat of another orgasm on the horizon as Santiago is unrelentless in his rhythm on your clit. “Fuck, Santi, please.”
“Yeah?” he asks, “Inside? So you can go sit at your family’s kitchen table tomorrow morning with my cum coating your thighs? Is that it?”
The orgasm that crashes over you is blinding, so overwhelming that you’re sure you black out for a second, feeling Santiago’s cum hot on your thigh as he pulls out, dropping next to you on the mattress, the pair of you breathing heavily as you catch your breath.
“Shit,” you laugh. “Don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life,” you confess. “Think I should make you jealous more often, baby.”
“Don’t,” he replies half-heartedly. “My dick ached the entire evening, you fucking tease. Had to tuck it into my waistband halfway through dinner, thought I was gonna have to—”
“Seriously?” you ask, looking over at him. “If you had said the word, Garcia, I would’ve found an excuse to leave far earlier into the evening.”
“Yeah, well. There’s no fun in that. Teasing is a two way street, baby,” he grins widely.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“And yours,” he adds.
“And mine,” you agree, snuggling closer to his side and slinging an arm over his waist. “That, too.”
summary: reader compromises themself for pope. for nothing.
pairing: gn!reader x santi “pope” garcia
contents: canon typical violence, guns, gore, shooting, murder, blood, angst, assumed unrequited love, pope being an asshole
an: first TF writing ever. might be it, might do a second part blurb to this, to resolve it, i’m not sure. i gave reader the codename Phoenix. gif credits are @damerondjarin.
word count: 1.2k
oscar characters masterlist | requests are open
You’ve always felt stupid, burning for Pope. It’s pointless, always fruitless, because he doesn’t get attached to anyone but the guys. He sleeps with informants or club girls to pass the time of operations and then he cuts them loose when it’s over. He can be callous even with the guys, who he blatantly and openly cares for. You’ve seen it happen time and time again as you work besides them.
It would be easier to fall for them, except Frankie. He too kept you at arm’s length, protecting you from his darkness and the spiral he felt was inevitable. Frankie at least jokes with you, grabs a beer or dances with you in a club. He sees you as a friend, someone who cares about him, that he can let in partially.
Will and Benny are easy. Soft and sweet, always there to smooth out your expression when you’re worried or angry. They’re the sun and the moon, those two. They’re your best friends. Your family.
It’s not like that with Pope. It feels unfair to say because Pope is your family just like rest, but he’s withdrawn. Distant. Corrective and sharp. Every gesture of care that he’s ever given you feels calculated, measured carefully so as not to overstep some false boundary. He doesn’t do that with the guys, he’ll yell and laugh. He let’s go with them. With you he’s stiff as a board, nothing but regulation. If you do something he doesn’t agree with he keeps his voice deadly calm, sinking his grievances into you like hooks. If you do something he likes, it’s a simple nod, sometimes a faint raise of the lips if he’s feeling crazy.
You hate it. You hate that he refuses to direct any semblance of emotion towards you when you feel so much for him. You’re always pissed off about it, but then you save his ass.
You shoot a man at point-blank range, which is out of character for you. Everything about it is. You’re the least acquainted with blood and gore, you’ve been doing this for a while but it can still make your stomach roll. The smell of it, especially when one of them has to torture someone. Thick and coppery, tinge with the sour of infection. No point in keeping someone’s wounds clean if you plan to put a bullet in their head anyway.
You shoot this man, up close and personal, slow and a little sadistic by your standards for Pope. Because the way you burn for him is dichotomous: docile, and sickly sweet, but always simmering with the possibility of full-blown rage. Deranged. Jaded. Protective. He brings out sides of you didn’t know existed.
The man has Pope pinned against a tree and you slide up to it nimbly, silent and smooth like a panther. You send a bullet through one of the man’s knees before he can even register you’re there and then he’s crying out. You blow through his other knee, and he falls to them, another blood curdling shriek running through him at the impact.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Each word comes out of you hard, punctuated, and full of venom.
Before he can finish his apology, you shoot him in the head, right between the eyes, the spray of his blood and some brain matter coating your pants and part of your shirt.
You do all of that and Pope just looks at you like it’s any other day before saying, “Thanks, now let’s get back to the others before we have to do that again.”
Thanks? Before we have to do it again? That’s it? That’s all.
He starts back through the way you came through the trees while you stand firmly in place, in shock. Realization and anger bubble deep within your gut, blistering your insides.
He doesn’t hear your steps behind him, and pauses to whirl around and look at you, “You coming?”
“Thanks?” You repeat his words.
“What?”
You gesture to the corpse just feet away from you both, “I shoot a man three times for you and all you have to say is thanks?”
“We kill all the time. Now come on, we don’t have time to waste.”
“I killed him in a way I never kill,” You state matter of factly, and Pope dares to chuckle and shrug.
“I know, I was surprised. Good job. Now, come on.”
“Good job?” You repeat again, your voice incredulous.
He lets out a slow, frustrated breath.“Is there something you wanna say to me?”
“I just did that for you and nothing. Nothing. Do you understand how much that means?”
His eyes soften for only a fraction of a second, it’s so quick that you convince yourself you imagined it. Especially with what comes out of his mouth next, “I didn’t ask you to compromise whatever values you think you hold on to for me. This is the job.”
“You’re telling me that there’s nothing beyond a professional responsibility? That we’re not even friends?” You hate how pathetic and desperate you sound. Begging for him to show even a thread of emotion, to show that you haven’t imagined everything in your head. He cares right? He has to.
Wrong.
“I can’t care for you like the other guys. I’m in charge, the one who thinks with his head. I don’t have to worry about you and I won’t make time for it. It makes things too complicated.”
“You care about them,” You retort, crossing your arms against your chest as you lean forward.
“They’re my family,” He spits defensively.
Oh. Oh.
“And what am I?” You ask expectantly, a small glimmer of hope in your chest. It dies when his eyes go lifeless, deep and dark and empty.
“Work.”
Your mouth drops open, eyes widening with surprise and a sadness that disarms him. He prays to God that you don’t cry, he can’t handle it if you do. He’d have to take it all back and tell you the truth. That under his snowy, iceberg exterior he burns for you too. Bright fire that threatens to pour out of him at every second, his mouth burning like it’s full of hot coals.
You save him for a second time by clearing your throat and straightening up, your face shifting into a glare. He’s thanking every god and deity that he didn’t have to witness it or be honest; your tears would be a truth potion for sure.
“Got it. You’re understood.” You murmur, voice thick with the sobs trapped in your throat.
He closes his eyes, disappointed with how this is gone. He feels guilty and clumsy in his attempt to care for you in the way he believes he should. He never knows how to be gentle about it, it came out all wrong. Like he doesn’t care at all when really, he just cares too much. He doesn’t know how to express that to you, but he wants to apologize for everything. “Phoenix-“
“Fuck off, Pope,” You snarl at him before pushing past him.
Part of him wishes it was him that was lying dead in these woods. He already knows it would be a better fate than dealing with your grudge and the questions from the other men.
part 2: here.
if you’d like to be on my santi taglist, let me know!
“so if you don’t like them, then you won’t mind me asking them out then, right?” With Santi from Triple Frontier?
why would i? (s.g)
summary: you’re the youngest Miller, a baby girl. protected by your older brothers. your brothers’ lives finally intertwine with yours at your eldest brothers wedding when you meet their friends.
warnings: timeline wise at the end its right before they leave, kind of slow burn, female reader, age gap (15 years), language, mentions of blood, violence, consumption of alcohol, some rando getting his shit rocked in
word count: 4.6k
Ever since the moment you opened your little eyes. You were a princess, the baby, doted upon and spoiled endlessly. The Miller family weren’t expecting you. Especially not two teenage boys who had to fight the urge not to throw you like a football, most of the time.
They were only fifteen and thirteen. The appeal of a baby sister was lost the second they saw pink confetti at the gender reveal party. Over time, and with your parents' persuasion, no doubt. They started to warm up to the idea of a baby sister, someone to look over.
It gave new meaning once they both got to hold you in their arms. To watch you struggle to open your eyes. You were so small, so fragile. They loved you from that day on. Whatever you said, went. You got everything you wanted, but you were taught to be grateful, caring. In the short time you had with them, your brothers would follow your every beck and call. You were barely a toddler by the time Will was finishing high school. But you were always in attendance at all of his games, matches, club and school events. You always did assist in helping bring girls’ attention to him. He looked like a total sweetheart with you around.
Will was nineteen when he left. You only had four short years with your eldest brother before he shipped himself off to the military. Benny followed at nineteen too. You were six by then. You had grown closest to Benny. Even though you had always made sure Will never lacked your attention. You exchanged letters and drawings and packages. Your mother bought a camera to take pictures of you growing up for the two of them through your letters. Your sloppy penmanship would always put a smile on the brother’s faces. Will would tell you the lighthearted stories about his army buddies, jokes they told and funny stories about their time there. And as you got older Benny would allow you to hear more of the truthful stories. Stories where things went wrong, someone almost got hurt. How one of their fellow troops was killed. Things your mother would faint at the sound of. That made you wonder if your brothers were truly okay out there. It very rarely gave you enough comfort to sleep at night knowing they at least had each other and their friends.
For a couple years the letters had become sporadic. You would always wait for the mail to arrive and instantly run to the mailbox. Soon enough, weeks would come without any word from either of them. Benny would eventually send them on behalf of the both of them. They were shorter, mostly telling you that they were okay and they missed you. That they had gotten ‘promoted’ and they were important. They were just busy. And while you were sad. You knew it probably was true, they were busy. You would continue to send letters, though. Explaining things you felt were important to your life, hoping it would ease some of their anxieties.
You were seventeen when they both briefly came back. Right as you were going to graduate high school. They claimed they came home because they could never miss a moment like that. But you aren’t sure how likely their stories are. They watched you throw your cap in the air, just like you had done many, many years prior. They both felt such a strong sense of pride, although both admitted to each other that the guilty feeling of missing most of your life was present, persistent. Will more than Benny. Benny tried to convince him you would never be upset at them. You could never be, they fought for you, in many ways. Truthfully, you were just happy they were home and safe. You cried when they left again, you were still just a kid. Refined, more poised than a four year old. But it still hurt them all the same, watching the tears that formed in your eyes. Trying to hold back your staggered breaths with a smile. A simple. “Don’t forget to write again. I love you guys.” Was the last they heard.
Three years later your mother had begged the two boys to come back home and live as a family for a couple of years. ‘Just to get settled into life again.’ She would say. But you know it probably didn’t take much convincing for them to stay. It was exciting, after so many years of the hallways being quiet. There was finally a joyful noise that filled the house. Banter over dinner and rowdy movie nights. It wasn’t all perfect, of course. There were many nights that were just as loud in the worst kind of way. Fights and arguments. Your dad hated that Benny fought petty street fights for money. And Will had nightmares a lot, the kind that left him with his head in his hands at the kitchen island. You always seemed to wake in time to join him. Comfort him in the way he seemed to be so seamlessly able to soothe you as a child. Your hand on his back as a crutch. To say, “I’ve got you.”
It was two years before Will moved out. He had met a woman six months after his return. Fell head over heels. Your family adored her. She was kind, accepting, and comforting. Most importantly she was willing to be with your brother no matter what. It made you swoon. You were so happy for your brother to find that kind of support. Love. He deserved it. You couldn’t believe he was really all grown up. You were too, but it was different. You were the baby, you were always going to be. Will wasn't some ragged teenager anymore. Somehow you blinked and found yourself at his wedding. It was a lovely little reception, the venue was beautiful and it was a perfect summer day. You didn’t really date as of lately, you had gone on plenty of dates as a teen. But it was a little harder when you had two older brothers standing over you like two gargoyles. You had a short term boyfriend but it wasn’t more than a few dinner dates and maybe a couple kisses here and there. Not that your romantic life bothered you. You were young, twenty two was too young to stay in a long term romantic relationship. There were options, you just didn’t take them. You were content in your life. Or that’s what you kept telling yourself, noticing that you seemed to be the only one at the wedding who didn’t bring a date, or at least someone to stand next to. Jesus. You should’ve taken the chance to call your friend to be your plus one. You take a deep breath to avoid your mind falling into an even deeper hole, but the sound of Benny’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
“Yo, kiddo! We want you to meet some people.”
You take his extended hand and follow him over to a table that seemed to have three other men, followed by two women who you presumed were their dates. You exchanged pleasantries. And came to learn of their names, Tom, Francisco and Santiago. Once you were introduced to their dates you noticed Santiago didn’t come with one. For some reason, it puts you at ease. Hoping to ignore the later questions of “Why didn’t you bring a date?” Benny brings you a chair to sit and you find yourself sitting right in between Santiago and Francisco. Although he prefers to be called ‘Frankie’, you’ve heard. The dinner goes smoothly, you finally get the speeches. One by one the friends take their turn speaking about Will. How headstrong he was, what a good friend he was. How happy he seemed now that he was married to the love of his life. How proud they all were of him. It gave you a sense of pride to be related to someone so selfless. The moment Santiago stood up your eyes immediately trailed his stature. The way the suit was fitted to him, and his cufflinks had a quick glimmer when light passed through. You quickly turn your gaze to Will, sending him a sweet smile. He nods in acknowledgment and turns his eyes back to Santiago. You follow suit, hoping no one noticed you staring and also hoping the quick detour would have your mind back on track. Although whatever track that is, you’re not completely sure. His speech is heartwarming, you can’t tell if he’s showing his charisma off or if he is really that charming. You watch the guys shake with a hearty laughter at one of their inside jokes being thrown in.
After a while, the moment starts to die down. Couples are moving to the dance floor. You opt out of the dance for a glass or two of champagne that you so gracefully took from a walking server. Sitting in a chair on the sidelines you appreciate the atmosphere. The slow music, dull lights and overall happiness in the room. You feel bubbly by the time the next song plays. And through half lidded eyes you notice that someone took a seat next to you. “You good there, chiquita?” The voice calls out. You find yourself tensing up and turning to face him. “No, yeah, I’m fine.. Sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you..” You mumble out. There’s a stretched out silence before he speaks up again. “You wanna dance? You’ve been sitting here all night.” His question doesn’t sound like a question at all. He seemed certain you would say yes. You nodded at him, standing and walking out to the dance floor. He took your hand and placed it on his shoulder, while he planted his hands firmly on your waist. He set a distance between the two of you that made you want to laugh. Quite the gentleman, it seems. The two of you swayed kind of awkwardly for a bit until he suddenly seemed to give a little slack. The distance closed slightly. One continuous slow song after the other and you soon found yourself with no distance from Santiago. Your chests touching and his hands rubbing up and down your back. Your head tucked in the slot between his collarbone and shoulder. The smell of his cologne was all you could feel in the air surrounding. You swayed to the music, falling into a comfortable rhythm. The next song was fast paced, causing the two of you to pull away as if you got singed. Both of you frantically looked around, almost as if waiting for a punishment. Like dancing with someone at a wedding was wrong. It hadn’t felt wrong, you clear your throat and say your goodbyes. The rest of the party continued on as normal, no one seemingly noticing the two of you in such close proximity. You spent the rest of the time exchanging stolen glances at each other.
You didn’t hear of him much after the wedding. Just little hints of his life from your brothers. You came to learn his nickname was ‘Pope’. Every time the name would pop up your attention was just suddenly on whoever was talking. After a month there was complete radio silence on anything Pope related. You were settling back into life and that little fantasy was just that. A small moment you could cherish once in a while. Until one night, you were sitting with Will and your sister in law at their house. Watching some random romcom that the two of you had picked out to force Will to watch. It was going pretty well, you had a bowl of popcorn in between your thighs as you sat legs crossed on the couch. Suddenly his phone rang. And you pouted as he paused the movie to answer it. “Hello?” Then silence, and more silence. Then— “Jesus, Pope.. Colombia? Are you sure? Alright. Only the best, my brother. Be safe.” The call had ended as abruptly as it started and Will was playing the movie without a second thought. He shuffled back into the couch and wrapped an arm around his wife. You couldn’t focus on the movie after that, and you hoped neither of the two could sense the same tension in the air you felt, but it’s likely they did. Life continued on after that, you managed to push every and all thought of Santiago to the back of your mind. It seemed to work, you got a job, started to go out more. Arranged things to move out, almost an hour away from home. Into the city in a small apartment. Your brothers were right there as you twisted the key into the lock for the first time. You slowly and surely started to root your life in your space. You saved up enough money for a cute little car. A black sedan. You were starting to mature, but it would’ve been nothing without the help of your family. It would be another three years before you saw his face again.
The heat of summer was enough for you to contemplate jumping into the pool with your dress on. The barbecue was lively, there was Tom and his now ex-wife, Molly and their daughter, Tess. Frankie and his fiancée with their new baby. Your darling brothers fighting over who starts up the grill. Your excitement fell slightly at the thought of Santiago not being here. But from what you finally heard from the group, Santiago had been down in South America for the better part of the three years since Will’s wedding. You sigh and head for the table with all the drinks. The sound of cheers and laughs makes your eyes turn to the fence gate. Where Santiago now stands. Hugging all of his friends. You smile, getting ready to go up and greet him when you realize there’s a woman standing by his side. You halt in your tracks and settle for a slight wave and a quick ‘hello’. Your gaze lingers on the woman for a second too long before you turn your face to see Will finally starting up the grill. You sink your teeth slightly into your bottom lip and sit by the pool in a lounge chair. She was gorgeous, older than you, but not by more than five years. She seemed so refined, effortlessly beautiful even in the scorching heat of summer. The curls of her blonde hair bounce almost as to taunt you as she wraps her arm around his. You groan and let the back of your head hit the back of the chair. Your face was on fire. You felt childish, to have an on again off again crush on a man who clearly isn’t single and is the same age as your older brother. And not to mention they're best friends. You purposely want to ignore how you haven’t shared more than six words with the man. When you think it aloud in your head, you were crazy to believe there was anything there in the first place. Unless you misread the tension and he felt more like you were an annoying sidelines sister instead of a person.
Around eight pm Will’s next door neighbors had stopped by to join. They were nice enough, two parents and a single son. No other children. You had spoken to their son once or twice before while you were visiting but didn’t think much of it. It was perfect timing for them to get in and eat. You kept your position by the pool, only moving to get drinks or change seats. You had your feet dipped in the water while you stared at the night sky. You were so engrossed in your own thoughts you didn’t hear the sound of the back door sliding open and closed. You didn’t pay much attention until the sounds of clothes shuffling and a soft grunt came from next to you. It was Santiago, with his pants rolled up his calf and his feet in the water with you. You beamed immediately, then deflated and avoided his gaze when you remembered who he came with. “How are you?” He broke the silence first. You took a second to think before answering his question with one of your own. “Don’t you think I should be asking that?” He chuckles at you before glancing at your reflection in the water. “Yeah that’s.. You’re right there, chiquita.” You smirked in triumph. The sound of the nickname rolling off his tongue made you instinctively press your thighs together. You watch his eyes flicker to your legs before back to your face. If he notices, he doesn't say anything. “I’m good. By the way..” You finally say. He hums in acknowledgment with a small smile on his face. “You look gorgeous, I like the dress.” His compliment cuts your breath short. Face going hot as you turn to look away from him. “Thanks, Santiag—“ “Santi. You can just call me Santi.” You smile. “Thanks, Santi.” This time it’s his turn to avoid your eyes and he clears his throat before getting up and out of the water. “I’ll uh, see you inside?” You shrug and lean back on the palms of your hands. He runs a hand down the lower part of his face and neck before turning on his heel and walking back towards the sliding door.
Once the door is shut Santiago shakes his head and shoulders. Trying to ignore how beautiful you looked in your dress. Trying to forget the twitch of your thighs when he called you that. Did you like that? Did you find it creepy? Trying to focus back on being able to maneuver his way through endless conversation and questioning. Forcing himself to interact with a woman he really couldn’t care less for. Albeit he feels bad that he can’t care more for her, she was pretty nice. He grabs another beer and takes a seat on the couch once he’s dried his feet on a beach towel. His date takes a seat tucked underneath his arm and he goes to take a heavy swig. He looks down at her, her blue eyes staring right back into his brown ones. He forgot her name. She was meeting what he considered family and he couldn’t even remember her fucking name? Santiago needed to get his life on track. But after three years looking for that cockroach in South America all he wanted was to take a breather. At least before he went back to finish the job. That meant finding a new girl to be under him every other week. Santi had heard this record millions of times before, the same skip in the track. Where he can’t take the different woman to fill the void anymore. But he isn’t there yet, he tells himself. He’s at a nice summer barbecue, there isn’t anything or anyone that’s looking for him back in the states. There is no one with a gun to his head or far off with a scope that has him in clear sight. He can take a breath without having to worry if it’ll be too loud and alert an enemy.
He’s so deep in thought he doesn’t even notice the kid shaking at his shoulder asking him to talk. Santiago grunts as the boy pulls him into a room deeper throughout the house. He recognizes him as the neighbor's kid but just barely. What was his name? “Uh.. Tony? Right?” Santiago asks him. “Yeah, Anthony but Tony works too.. Just wanted to ask..” He clears his throat and places his hands on his hips. Paces around. Santiago sucks air through his teeth. “Ask what, kid? Spit it out.” After hearing what the boy had to say he wishes he didn’t ask. “Are you and the youngest Miller like, fucking or something?” Santiago takes a step back in shock. “What? What the fuck, no?” Tony raises an eyebrow and sends a condescending smirk Santiago’s way. “Alright, so if you don’t like her.. Then you won’t mind me asking her out then, right?” Santiago scowls. “Why would I? Listen, man. That’s your fucking business. Not mine.” He lets out a deep breath, wishing he could walk away from this moment. This horribly awkward moment. Santiago wanted to sink into the floor. Had people thought they were? Together? The thought ran a shudder down Santiago’s spine. His jaw clenched before he heard the young man in front of him speak again. “Good. I was worried you were her fucking sugar daddy or somethin—” Santiago didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence before his fist collided with the boy's chin. It shoved Tony back a couple steps and sent him against a side table, shoving a vase to the floor which managed to catch the attention of Will. Santiago shook his hand before reeling back and throwing another punch. Sending Tony to the ground this time. Crouching down to the floor he whispers to Tony. “You can ask her whatever you want. But don't forget to have some fucking respect. ¿Entiendes?” Tony nodded his head furiously. Not soon enough was the door swinging open with Will pulling Santiago up from the ground and pushing him aside to lift up Tony.
“What the fuck, Pope?”
Santiago just wiped his nose with his hand and walked away. As he walked towards the door of the room the stupid boy had brought them into, you rushed in. You overheard Will's voice and then the sudden questioning of Tony to ask if he was alright. The blood that dripped on the floor contradicted his next statement. “I’m fine. I guess I just struck a nerve.” Santiago’s jaw clenched before he turned on his heel and left. The girl he came with followed behind. Will sighed. Then got up and went to grab a first aid kit. You stared down at where Anthony was sitting. “What happened?” You asked. He smiled up at you. “Nothing, darling. I guess he just got defensive when I asked if you guys were a thing. That’s all.” You blinked at him. “A thing? W-We’ve spoken like four times in the past six years I don’t think that's considered a thing.. Plus he brought a woman.” There was a slight edge to your voice. You wouldn’t describe why this conversation had started to aggravate you so quickly. “Careful. You sound jealous.” Anthony sent a chuckle your way. And while it was supposed to feel like a warm joke you only felt the ice coating the words of his sentence. Jealous? You were jealous. You liked Santiago, you liked the idea of being a thing with him. You just know he wouldn’t feel the same. You gave him a dry chuckle. “Right. Feel better, Tony.” You sent him a cold glare before crossing your arms and walking out of the room. You walked out onto the porch where you saw Tom, Frankie and Santi standing around his jeep. At a closer inspection you noticed the woman he came with sitting in the passenger seat of the car. You made your way to them. They dropped silent when you approached, which you met with a scoff. “All quiet now? What was that about, Santi?” He sighs before turning his back to you and starts to walk to his car door. You scoffed again and rolled your eyes. Looking at Frankie while Santiago started his car and began to back out of the driveway. “Seriously, what the hell is his problem?” You ask the taller man, who only responds in a chuckle. “You make him nervous, that's all.” He brings his hand up to ruffle your hair before he and Tom both walk back into the house after Frankie drops that on you.
Nervous? You made Santiago nervous? He made you nervous, he made your heart speed up and your breath catch in your throat. You tried so desperately to blame it on his lover boy persona but you knew you found him attractive for your own reasons. You sighed and sat on the porch steps. You just needed to be away from the party, You weren’t expecting him to roll back up. And clearly, he wasn’t expecting you to be sitting at the front entrance. “Were you waiting for me?” He asks hesitantly, you look up at him and smile slightly. “Not necessarily, but it’s a nice surprise that you came back.” You pat the space on the steps next to you. “I know what made you hit him. But how did he word it?” Your question makes Santiago uneasy, you probably thought he was a total creep. Strange for hitting a younger man who probably would capture your attention more than he would. “He asked if we were fucking. Then he said he thought I was your sugar daddy.” He spits out the sentence through gritted teeth and tense shoulders. He only relaxes the second he hears you cackle beside him. He looks over to you in surprise. “Oh god he’s so stupid. That’s hilarious. I appreciate you hitting him for me. Defending my honor and all that.” A heat bubbles in Santiago’s chest at the sound of your laugh. He wants to hear it again and again until you can’t laugh anymore. He chuckles and elbows your arm. “Come on, wouldn’t you wanna be with a fun guy like him?” You stop laughing and look into Santiago’s eyes. “No way, he isn’t my type at all.” Your sentence is more of a whisper. “What’s your type?” Santiago’s question goes unanswered, instead turning your head to lean in.
Santiago starts to lean in too, and for a second you wonder if you’re imagining it. Then, as if he regains some form of self restraint he pulls away from you before swallowing harshly. “Shit, I–We can’t.” You frown at him. “Why can't we?” Your kicked puppy expression has Santiago wishing he could kiss it off of you, give into you. Give you what you truly wanted. But he isn’t meant for that, the white picket fence and family with a dog. Three bedroom house with a backyard and a mortgage. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it. He just didn’t think he could actually achieve it. “–You know why. I think I’d die a fatal death by Millers before my actual time. No way authorities would find my body, either..” He laughs dryly to himself. But you continue to stare at him with a stern expression. “I'm not a child, you know. I can make my own choices.” He sighs and places a hand on the side of your face. “I know, princesa. It’s just complicated.” You sigh and lean into his touch. “Tell me you don’t want me then.” “What?” His voice is a whisper as he gazes into your eyes. “Tell me.. You don’t want to be with me, try with me. And I’ll drop it.” You watch as his jaw clenches. The silence makes you wonder if that’s his answer to you. You go to wiggle out of his space before he pulls you towards him into a bruising kiss. You hum into his lips and wrap your arms around his neck. His hands move towards your hips, and with a soft grunt he’s lifting you up into his arms, carrying you and walking towards his jeep before setting you down in front of the passenger door. “You want this? Me? Won't be easy.” He chuckles once more, this time it’s genuine. You smile up at him, face flushed, with your pupils blown out and your lips plump from the earlier kiss. “Have for years, Santi. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
pairing: (santiago ‘pope’ garcia x fem!reader x frankie ‘catfish’ morales)
fandom: triple frontier
pronouns: she/her
type: smut and a little fluff
warning: sex (p in v), fingering, eating out, sixty-nining, three somes
word count: 2259
date:
masterlist
It was your birthday, and you dreaded this day. You just hated your birthday, not the getting old part but the attention that came with it.
You like being left in the background observing.
You were sitting on the couch watching Sixteen Candles, reminiscing about your childhood, when a knock came from the door.
You got annoyed and opened the door to see your two best friends, Santi and Frankie, holding a slice of your favorite cake with a sparkler for a candle on it.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Y/N, happy birthday to you,” they both sang and chuckled.
You just stood there blank-faced and then slammed the door in their face.
“Oh, come on, Y/N!” Frankie yelled.
They opened the door, and you were back on the couch. They put the cake in the kitchen and sat next to you.
“What? Did you not like the cake?” Santi asked.
“How did you guys figure out it's my birthday? I've known you guys for a long time, and I've never told anyone.”
“We have our ways, Mi Amor,” Frankie said, nuzzling into you playfully.
You roll your eyes, “Well, now that you've wished me a happy birthday, you can leave me alone.”
“Oh, come on, Y/N, we are taking you out tonight, so go get ready,” Santi said.
You just stay there with your eyes fixed on Molly Ringwald. The guys got up from the couch and headed over to your room, and then you had to follow them because they would snoop through everything.
You stand in your door frame as they raid your closet, discussing amongst themselves.
They were nodding and smiling when they came upon one thing in your closet.
“Here, put this on, Lovely,” Santi said as he handed you the hanger, and they both walked out of your room.
You closed your door, stripped down, and went to your drawer to find something that complimented their dress.
With everything put on, you looked at yourself in the mirror and felt beautiful.
You were nervous to show the guys. You took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked down the hall.
The guys were on the couch finishing up your movie, but their eyes quickly were fixed on you when you were in view.
Santi was just staring at you with lust-filled eyes and a visibly open mouth. Frankie had to hit Santi on the arm to make him fix his face.
Frankie stood up and grabbed one of your hands, “Give us a little spin, Lovely.”
You shyly did so, and Santi gave you a wolf whistle making you turn red.
“Okay, so are you ready to go out?” Frankie asked.
“Do I even have a choice?” you asked.
The guys looked at each other and said in sync with a smile, “Nope.”
They took you to a fancy-ish bar; it was an upgrade from the local dive bar you guys usually go to.
You sat at a table by yourself while they went to get drinks.
They were walking back with a cocktail for you, beers for them, and a round of shots for the table. Throughout the night, you kept drinking and ordering more shots.
People were dancing and having a good time on the floor, and you wanted to do that as well. When the guys went to get another refill, they saw that the table was empty. They placed the glasses on the table and scanned the bar to see you in the small crowd.
They looked at each other, smiling. You looked over at them and were motioning them to come over.
They shook their heads, but you were moving your hips to the beat of the music; you were feeling yourself without a care in the world.
After a few seconds of watching you, they looked at each other again and moved to the dance floor.
Frankie quickly got in front of you with his hands on your waist and your arms around his neck. He swayed with you close, so close that your chests were touching.
You were lost in the moment when your eyes met up with Santi, who was slowly dancing but looking at you with jealousy and neediness.
You extended your arm, and he grabbed it, kissing it up to your neck. He was behind you, and his hands were also on your waist.
Santi did not stop kissing your neck, and Frankie saw what he was doing and decided to go for your collarbone.
The music was loud enough to cover the moan that escaped your lips, but the guys heard, and their eyes locked like they were hatching a plan.
The three of you never did this. It was something you've only thought about, touching yourself at home in bed at the thought of your friends kissing you and railing you into oblivion.
“Do you want to go home, Amada?” Santi whispered into your ear.
You nodded, and it was a blur when you got into the car with them and on top of Santi while Frankie was driving.
You were practically sucking on his lips and grinding into him. You then trailed your kiss down to his neck.
“Guess our girl is eager, hey, Frankie?”
“Seems so, giving me a hard-on just by watching the two of you,” he chuckled.
You realized that Santi was getting all the attention. You got off of Santi and sat in between the two of them. You were drunk, but you knew that he had to keep his eyes on the road.
So the tamest thing you could do was kiss his neck. You were practically on your knees on the car seat and left him hickies along your neck. Your hand closest to the steering wheel went towards his crotch, and you just started palming at him.
You heard groans escaping his mouth.
Santi was getting impatient and starting rubbing your already soaked panties.
Frankie was getting distracted and almost veered off the road, and he wasn't having that.
He grabbed your hand aggressively, “Sit back right now,” he said sternly.
You did as you were told and sat back against Santi. He whispered gently, “Spread those legs for me, Mamita.”
You hitched your dress up and spread your legs.
Your head was resting on his shoulder, and your eyes were fixed on Frankie.
Santi was slowly rubbing you, and your hands were holding onto him. He kept rubbing quickly, and you were moaning loud. You were squirming, and Santi kept nipping at your ear.
He moved over your panties and stuck a finger in. You moaned again as he pumped his finger in and out of you. He slowly added two, then three stretching you.
Your eyes were still fixed on Frankie. He kept looking back at you and then focusing on the road.
“Frankie,” you whined.
“Yes, Mi Vida?”
“I need you, please.”
“You already have three of Santi's fingers in you, and you want more?”
You nod pathetically.
“Such a needy girl tonight,” he said.
“It is her birthday, Frankie,” Santi said.
“Aah, that's right. Since it's her big day, we gotta give her everything she asks for.”
“Those are the rules,” Santi said, still pumping in and out.
Then the car came to a halt, and Frankie opened his side of the door; Santi took his fingers out of you, and Frankie grabbed you by your thighs, pulling you down closer to him.
You were now on your back, and the bottom half of you was fully exposed. You grabbed your legs, pulling them up to your chest. Frankie bent over and aggressively started sucking on your already sensitive clit.
You started to moan loudly in your driveway. You didn't care if your neighbors heard; you wanted them to hear. Just the thought of them coming outside to see what was happening made you wet by the second.
You didn't realize you were closing your eyes until you heard Santi say, “Open those pretty eyes for me, Lovely. I wanna see how good Frankie makes you feel.”
The way he talked to you made you almost combust on the spot.
You then felt Frankie stick two fingers in your soaking hole and curl up to meet your sweet spot. You were a moaning blubbering mess.
It didn't take long for you to squirt all over Frankie's face and fingers; with his attention to your clit and Santi’s praising, it was hard not to.
You caught your breath, and the guys looked at each other, smiling. You put your legs down and sat up, you got a little light-headed, and Frankie extended his hand, and you got out of the car.
The three of you walked up the driveway and into your home and quickly went into your bedroom.
You took off your dress and everything under it and sat on the bed. The guys took their clothes off as well.
It was like a dream come true, but now that you were all in the light, you got shy because you remembered that you were all friends. What is going to happen tomorrow morning? Were you all going to forget what happened and go on with your life?
“What's going on in that pretty little mind of yours, Lovely?” Frankie asked as he sat behind you, kissing your neck and rubbing your sensitive nipples.
“I dont wanna ruin the moment,” you nervously chuckle.
“Nonsense communication is key to Mi Amor. What is it?” Sant asked, standing in front of you, lifting your chin to meet his eyes.
You take a deep breath, “What will happen to us after this?”
“Well, I and Frankie both like you, and we had an idea of maybe us all being together? Us sharing you?”
“Really?” your eyes lit up.
“Yeah, if that's what you want as well.”
You nod your head, and both of them smile. Frankie whispers in your ear, “Good. Now lay back and let Santi fuck you.”
You do as he says and lays back. Your head was closer to the edge of the bed. In the middle of the mattress, Santi spread your legs open and placed himself at your entrance.
“You ready, Mi Amor?” Santi asks.
“Fucking ruin me, Santi.”
“You heard her, Santi. Fucking ruin her,” Frankie said, bending down to your face and kissing its side.
Santi slowly entered into you, teasing you, and sunk into you. You held back a groan, but Frankie was in your ear praising you.
Santi was slamming into you, not holding back, and again you were a mess.
“You're doing such a good job, honey. Do you like feeling his big dick in your tiny hole? Does it feel good?” Frankie asked, cooing at you.
All you could do was nod and hum.
Santi threw your legs over his shoulder and pulled you into him, hovering over you. The new angle was pure heaven, and he was looking down at you biting his lip and moaning.
He was close, you could tell, and he didn't want to be, so he pulled out, and he and Frankie switched.
Frankie was on top of you and again whispered, “Flip over, Mamita.”
You did as you were told and flipped over, lifting your ass in the air and putting your face in the mattress. Santi then aggressively grabbed your face.
When he did that, Frankie entered himself into you, causing you to gasp and roll your eyes in the back of your head. Santi then kissed you while Frankie pounded into you.
Santi then moved his arm under you to your clit and started to rub you fast.
You were moaning and on the verge of screaming.
“S-Santi,” you moan.
“Yeah?”
“I wanna taste you, please.”
He smiles and flips over, he slides under you, and his cock is right near your lips, and you grab it and start pumping him in your mouth.
He grabbed your hips, lowered you to his lips, and attached them to your clit.
With all those sensations of Frankie pounding you and Santi sucking on you, you knew you weren't going to last.
You detached your mouth from his dick to moan loudly, but Frankie slams your head back onto Santi.
Frankie was moaning, and he was close, as were you and Santi.
Then it was pure bliss and all of your fell undone. Frankie came in, filling you up, and Santi came all down your throat.
You swallowed him and plopped on Santi and Frankie's side, cuddling into them.
You were all out of breath, and every time you tried to close your legs, you hissed at the overstimulation caused by Santi.
You started to get sleepy, and then the guys got out of bed and went to the bathroom to clean themselves up. Frankie came back with a towel and cleaned you up.
He spread your legs and cleaned up what was still spilling out.
After he was done, you sat up, put on your shirt, and got under the blanket. The guys came back into the room and just stared at you, admiring how beautiful you looked.
They shut off the lights and went into bed with you.
Your back was towards Santi, and he had his arms wrapped around your waist; Frankie was facing you, stroking your face.
“Did you have a good birthday Mi Vida?” Frankie asked.
Congrats again for your celebration! 🎉 From your prompt list, could I pls have the assigned seats next to each other at a wedding with my slightly less grumpy man Santi? 🥺 Or any prompt that takes your fancy with him 🙏☺️ TIA and no rush or pressure, but looking forward to reading if/when you get a chance! 🧡
Prompt 1: You had an assigned seat next to them at a wedding for a mutual friend.
—————
Pairing: Santiago Garcia x gn!reader
Warnings: none (okay maybe 2 seconds of angst but it’s all good in the end), Catfish cameo, soft Santi, barely proofread as usual it’s 3am
A/n: well this took forever but finally finally wrote something I don’t hate. So here you go 💕
———
The man’s eyebrows are scrunched together as he thinks too hard on a question that shouldn’t take so much effort. But it’s endearing anyway. Like the sleeping toddler he’s gently cradling against his chest.
You wonder if it was well past the time in your acquaintanceship to ask for his name. Nor do you remember if he had already given it to you and you missed it. You guess you’ll just have to keep him in your memories by his infectious smile and the salt and pepper stubble. Should luck befall you, you’d meet him at another wedding where you’d once again be assigned a seat next to him.
“Star Wars, originals,” he says, a soft smile on his face. “And yours?” You blink, taking a moment to think back to the question. Favorite trilogy ever.
“Kung Fu Panda,” He barks out a laugh that gets lost in the music and laughter from the dance floor. “What? It’s a masterpiece,” You say, grinning as your heart soars in your chest.
If you were a better person you’d at least try to hide the fact that you’re irrevocably in love with a man you met less than an hour ago. A man who probably has someone to go home to. A man currently holding his sleeping daughter, for heaven sake. But it seems your heart has renounced all logic.
“Well, I guess you’re not wrong,” he concedes and you feel triumphant.
A stranger joins you at the table before the man could ask his next question. Then he is lifting the toddler from your man’s lap into his arms. The little girl throws her arms around the strangers neck and nestles into him.
“Thanks, hermano,”
“Drive safe, Fish,” a friendly slap on the back and then the stranger leaves you with a polite nod in farewell.
Oh.
Your heart beats a little bit faster.
“You wanna dance?”
“Can’t be that great for my knees,” your man groans but follows you up out of his chair.
“I’ll go easy on you, I swear,”
His eyes flit to your mouth for just a second.
“Please don’t,”
———
A/n: Kung Fu Panda is and forever will be a masterpiece.
