Warnings: Canon typical violence, mild mentions of blood, brief NSFW thoughts on behalf of our dear reader. Illusion to past self harm. This fic is basically Santi telling you about his scars.
Excerpt: You slowly raise your fingers to trace along the faint line marring his skin, something you’ve certainly done before but it makes Santi want to cry this time. You don’t notice, don’t look up, too busy watching your fingers move across his skin while your lips form a silent prayer.
Author's Note: I'm back (for now)
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You’ve seen your husband naked before. Of course you have.
You’ve had the pleasure, on obviously more than one occasion, of seeing Santiago Garcia shirtless. You’ve watched the way his back muscles move and flex under his skin, touched his bare chest after he steals his first kiss in bed, buried your nose into the hair on his tummy before you suck his cock. You’ve licked sweat off the fucking man. You’re no stranger to his body, sure you could map every mark and scar if you tried.
So you’re not exactly sure why you’re staring this time, in the dim light of the bathroom while you both brush your teeth before bed. Well, no, you know why you’re staring at him—Santiago is beyond attractive, of course you’re fucking staring at him when he’s standing in only his underwear.
But you’re staring. And Santi can feel it, can tell that it’s different this time. That there’s more meaning, a thoughtfulness behind your eyes that usually isn’t there. Anxiety, maybe, he thinks. But he doesn’t know why.
So he spits his toothpaste into the porcelain bowl and rinses.
“What’s up, baby?”
His words seem to draw you out of whatever hole you fell down, eyes meeting big brown ones in the mirror. Stupid brown eyes.
“Just thinking,” he can barely make out around the sound of your toothbrush. He watches you bend to spit and rinse, letting the comfortable silence carry, knowing you won’t leave him hanging. You wipe your mouth on a towel then turn to face him. “I know your scars.”
Santi’s eyebrows raise into his hairline, and he can’t help the little snicker that rattles through his nose.
You roll your eyes, but also groan at yourself because- “Yeah, okay, that sounded cheesy. But you didn’t let me finish!”
Santiago waves his hand between you as if giving you the floor. He’s afraid you’re going to punch him, but you don’t.
“What I was trying to say was, like, I could tell a doctor every mark on your body if I needed to, y’know?”
“Yeah, and?”
He doesn’t bite. He doesn’t hide his body or shy away from prying eyes at the beach, but you know you’re the only person on the planet who can talk to him about it without teeth.
Well, you and the boys. Frankie, Will, and Benny—his best friends and the very men he earned many of those battle wounds alongside.
So you press on knowing you’re one of those four lucky people. “I only know the story behind a few though.”
Santi’s eyebrows shoot up again, and he tilts his head gently to the side. His eyes are interested, quizzical, but not judgmental. Never judgmental with you. But he quickly pieces it together without needing to ask you.
“You…want to know how I got these scars?”
This time, you snort a laugh while Santi chuckles in the back of his throat. Oh my God—
“That was arguably worse than mine.”
“Oh, no, for sure.”
You’re still giggling quietly, letting it trail off and get lost to silence naturally while Santi smiles fondly at you, adoration clear in those stupid eyes.
Finally, he sighs. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Santiago moves across the bathroom to the shower, reaching in to turn the water warm before pushing his black briefs down muscular thighs. Your eyebrows are drawn together when he looks over his shoulder towards you.
“C’mon, strip. If we’re going to do this I want to be warm and comfortable.”
Everyone knows Santi could spend an unreasonably long amount of time in a hot shower, only emerging once his skin was red and scorched. The habit had rubbed off on you too since meeting him. You know what he means when he says “comfortable”.
You meet him in the shower after taking off your pajamas and putting your hair up. He’s already sitting on the shower floor, waiting for you, body dancing with shadows in the faint glow of the lamp you insisted on having in the bathroom rather than the monstrous overhead. You sit next to him, curling into his side, letting the warm water run over your legs.
You’re both quiet again, and it’s still comfortable. It’s always comfortable with Santi. Everything is so easy with him. Even with a ring on your finger, you still find it hard to believe that you found someone who made breathing feel easy for the first time in your life.
You know he feels the same. You know that’s why you’re sitting where you are right now, with Santi trying to figure out where to start.
“You know…” He thinks for another moment. “All the surgical ones. The one on the back of my neck, my knees.”
You nod. The one at the back of his neck was the first one you had ever noticed, peeking out from under the collar of his shirt not long after you met.
Santi sighs, and you want to remind him that he doesn’t have to do this if he doesn’t want to. But he knows what you’re going to say the second you open your mouth, so he opens his instead,
“This one.” He touches a smooth white line above his collarbone, about two inches long, faded with years of life but still visible, still there. “I was in Panama. Got a little too close to somebody’s knife. He got a good swipe in before I dropped him.”
It’s in that moment that you quickly realize one of the reasons Santi doesn’t like talking about his scars—for each mark he earned, someone’s life was taken in return.
Oh, honey.
You slowly raise your fingers to trace along the faint line marring his skin, something you’ve certainly done before but it makes Santi want to cry this time. You don’t notice, don’t look up, too busy watching your fingers move across his skin while your lips form a silent prayer.
Please protect him.
Santi takes a deep breath before continuing. He gently grabs your wrist, guiding your hand lower until it rests over a few small circles. You knew what these were without him needing to tell you. They were always there when your fingers ghosted across his skin in the middle of the night, always there when you were on your knees and kissing your way down his body.
“The first time I was shot.” His voice is somber now, lower, darker. “Almost ended my career before it even really began. First deployment after finishing the Q.”
The first time rings loud in your head. Of course you know he has matching scars along his shoulder. More on his thigh. But you’d never really put a number to it before. Never thought about how many times he’d been shot.
Your fingers move on their own, drifting to the ones along his shoulder blade. You meet his eyes instead of watching your own hand this time, and as soon as you make contact with the puckered, raised skin, Santi’s eyes darken.
“Venezuela,” he sighs, staring at a random tile on the shower floor just to give himself something to look at. You almost ask him not to tell you, don’t want him to if it’s going to cause his PTSD to flare but you know he’s thinking about it now. He won’t stop thinking about it. “After I got out of the service. I was working intelligence with the DEA, went undercover for a while.”
He sighs again, staying quiet for just a second or two while he decides how much he wants to tell you. “They figured me out, but they made it clear they didn’t want to kill me. Not right away, anyways.”
He doesn’t offer any more detail, and you don’t push him to. He finally tears his eyes off the floor and meets your worried ones, flashing you a quick smile that isn’t all there. It doesn’t really reassure you.
“What are you thinking about?” you ask him softly, nudging him just a bit, looking for a way to pull him back out of his head.
A third sigh. “I didn’t think my team was going to come for me. And with the boys, you know…that wasn’t something I would’ve had to worry about. I mean, fuck, we carried Tom-”
He stops himself by physically swallowing his own words, shaking his head gently. You knew about the mission in Colombia, the one where they lost Tom, the one Santi will never stop blaming himself for. You’d met him just a few months after that, when it was still fresh, when he wouldn’t let you sleep in the same bed because he was still waking up in the middle of the night screaming for his friend. He still did, every now and again, when the ghosts came creeping into the night.
Santi shakes his head again, huffing out a short breath before he reaches over for your hand still on his back. He brings your fingers to his left wrist and the thin white lines he usually hides with his watch, and again you don’t need to ask. This time, he doesn’t tell you.
But he goes on. He moves your fingers to the next scar, a little further up his forearm, jagged and maybe an inch long. He’d fallen off his bike when he was seven, tore his arm open on a rock. He tells you how his mother sat him on the kitchen counter to clean and bandage his wound, kissing away his tears before his dad could see. He’s smiling again, small but real, at least. He always smiles when he talks about his mom.
There’s more. On his back, his thighs, his chest. The one on his cheek. The water is cold by the time he’s finished guiding your hands across his body. Your fingers feel numb. You think Santi feels the same.
So you both move silently towards bed. Santi shuts off the water, grabs your towels off the rack. You dry off, slide back into your pajamas, brush your hair. Santi takes his meds and rechecks the locks. When you climb under the sheets, you’re facing each other, eyes locked, eight fingers crossed on the pillows between your heads.
Your gaze is hazy, tired and drooping. The bags under Santi’s eyes are swollen and dark. The silence is still comfortable though, even with new revelations and the heaviness sitting on both your chests.
Santi breaks it first. He usually does.
“You okay?”
Your eyes shift from lazy to confused instantly. “You’re asking me if I’m okay?”
He nods slowly, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“I feel like I should be asking you that,” you huff gently, scooting your face closer to your intertwined hands, kissing over his knuckles a few times. He practically purrs.
“I’m fine. I’ve lived through it already.”
That seems to be Santiago’s mantra whenever he does talk about his past, whenever he tries to downplay his PTSD. He’s already lived through some of his worst days, worst moments. They can’t possibly still hurt him.
You know that’s not how it works. He knows it too really, he’s just fucking stubborn.
So you remind him. “You’re allowed to not be okay.”
Santi falls into a brief silence again, and in the darkness you can still see the gears in his head tick-tick-ticking. He closes his eyes before he speaks again.
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it was worth a damn thing.”
You know he’s not only talking about the marks on his body. You know he’s talking about Tom, about the other friends he lost while they were fighting for their lives, for a mission they weren’t even sure they believed in anymore. The nightmares he shares with Frankie and the breakdowns Will had in grocery stores for years after they made it home. Benny, sweet Benny with all that anger and nowhere to put it. The drugs, the alcohol, the sex, the money. All of their different gambles and vices. All of the blood.
“Most of the time,” he sighs a moment later. “Most of the time.”
You wish you knew how to take it all away. The self doubt and the loathing. You wish you knew how to help him heal from it, how to help him realize it still means everything.
But you know all you can do is try to comfort him. So you kiss over his knuckles again and swing your leg over his hip to drag your bodies closer.
“Every choice you have ever made led you to me,” you settle with finally, watching the way Santi’s eyes soften as your words register. “Even the ones covered in blood. You did what you had to do to survive and make sure you found your way to me. And I think that we’re worth something, don’t you?”
Santi doesn't miss a beat, your words barely off your tongue before he’s gripping your chin between two fingers and leaning in close to really drive his point home—don’t you ever doubt it.
“Oh baby, I’d do it all over again just to fall back into this bed with you.”
Summer Project Masterlist
Brothers' Best Friend!Santiago Garcia x Younger Sister!virgin!Reader
If you don't like x reader, the same story exists with Santiago x OC
Santiago Masterlist • Main Masterlist
Join my tag list• fic archive @ivy-just-my-fics • updates blog @ivystoryupdates
Summary: Santiago Garcia is lifelong friends with your three very protective brothers, who happen to be the Millers: Will, Ben and (new character) Jace. You’re home for the summer after your college graduation and you have a little project in mind for you and Santi.
Overall Story Content: legal age gap - reader just graduated college and is about to start grad school, much younger sister of Ben and Will Miller, so Santiago (in this story) is about 15 years older than her. Brothers (particularly Ben) call(s) reader Ducky*.
Family angst and drama, arguing, misunderstanding, violence, injury, blood, references to past abuse, secrets, jealousy, language, romance, fluff, idiots in love, yearning, lifelong family friends to lovers, drinking, being intoxicated, mentions of food, self-worth probs, discussions of combat and PTSD, discussions of sexuality, innuendo, loss of virginity, kissing, grinding, dry humping, p in v, fingering, spitting, hand job, nipple play, praise kink, dirty talk, creampie, oral-m and f rec., references to sex toys, semi-public sex, lingerie, discussions of safe sex and sexual health, aftercare, language, not beta'd
Issue #1: Three Rules...or Four?
Issue #2: First Base...or Second?
Issue #3: Rule 1...or 3?
Issue #4: Too Much...or too Little?
Issue #5: Can I Touch You...or Not?
Issue #6: Keep the Rules...or Break Them?
Issue #7: Brothers...or Bosses?
Issue #8: Should I Stay…or Should I Go?
Issue #9: Feelings...or Just Sex?
Issue #10: Rare
Bonus: How Frankie and Angelica Morales met. feat. Santiago
Issue #11: Is it Like This Every Time?
Issue #12: The Feelings Rule
Issue #13: Family
Issue #14: There's My Girl
Bonus: Mateo Comforts Benny
Issue #15: Wait...Or Start Something New?
Issue #16: Family Part 2
Issue #17: Home
Cast of characters:
Triple Frontier Boys:
Santiago "Pope" Garcia
Francisco (Frankie) "Catfish" Morales
William (Will) "Ironhead" Miller
Benjamin (Benny) Miller.
Tom is mentioned but is not a part of this story.
The main reader character is Will and Ben Miller's younger sister. I am planning to re-write this entire story, turning the reader character into a fully fleshed out OC, so readers can enjoy either version.
Original characters:
Jace Miller - the other Miller brother. Birth order is: Will, Jace, Benny, sister
Frankie and Santiago are older than all the Millers. Diego is the same age as Will
Angelica Morales Moreno, Frankie's wife
Vicente (Vinnie) Morales, Frankie's baby boy
Diego - next door neighbor and lifelong friend of the Millers. He also served in the military with the TF boys
Elena - Diego's fiancée, then wife
Mateo - Diego's younger brother
Anna and Fiona - sisters and main character's high school besties, close to her age. All thee girls are home from college for the summer
*Special thanks to @cosmickid-inmotion who listened to me hammer out some world building issues and help name Frankie's baby!
If you like this story, you will love his Leather and Lace universe - a huge inspiration for this story!
*Ducky nickname thanks to @moonknightly
Santiago Masterlist • Main Masterlist
Join my tag list• fic archive @ivy-just-my-fics • updates blog @ivystoryupdates
request: I'm thinking about fall and watching a sunset with Santi. maybe it's just starting to cool down and the days are getting shorter and...that's all I've got lol 😆
pairing: santi garcia x f!reader
wc: 1,854
contents: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, get together fic, simp!santi, kissing
an: i feel a little rusty writing santi after so long so be nice to me 😭 hope you enjoy this @campingwiththecharmings and sorry it took me so long to get it out to you <3
oscar isaac characters masterlist
Maybe if you just look at the melting colors of the sun it won’t hurt so badly to have him here. Your friendship, your feelings about Santiago have always been difficult— you want him more than anything, and in the same breath you want him gone.
But he’s here now, and your heart can’t help but cherish every drop of time together you get. So here you are, dragging him outside to watch the sunset, forcing him to take in the beauty of something he seems to take for granted with every mission he accepts.
The air smells like smoke and leaves, sharp in your lungs as you tug Santiago by the sleeve toward the porch.
“Come on,” you say, laughing at the way he drags his feet. “You’re gonna miss it.”
He mutters something under his breath, a complaint of some sort probably, obeying you anyway.
That’s how it always is.
You’re the one who points things out, who insists on noticing and appreciating the world while he pretends he’s above it. Pretends, but never resists.
The sky is a blaze of fire when you sit down on the steps, a blanket tucked around your shoulders. He lowers himself beside you, forearms resting on his aching knees, gaze following yours toward the horizon.
The two of you are quiet for a while, soaking it all in. There’s a soft flutter to your heart beat as you let your mind wander, pretending this is real. That you and Santiago could be something besides best friends. When you dare a peek at him out of the corner of your eye, you see a look you’ve seen many times before. His brows are scrunched together, nose just slightly wrinkled. It’s not the look you’ve grown to be concerned about— the one where his eyes glaze over, where his body tenses and his breath hitches every so slightly. It’s…perplexed.
You lean over, knocking his shoulder with your own, pulling him out of whatever world he’d gone to.
“You’ve got that look again,” you say softly. “Like you’re about to solve world hunger instead of just watching a sunset.”
He huffs, mouth tugging like he might smile, but doesn’t. And he doesn’t answer right away. Silence hums between you heavier than usual but you don’t try to close it. It’s in these moments you’ve found that he’ll say something that has meaning.
Finally, he says, “I made a decision.”
That gets your attention. You stare at him now, the slope of his profile sharp in the dying light. “Yeah? What kind of decision?”
“I’m staying stateside for a while. Few years, maybe more. No more bouncing back and forth, I’m just— I’m tired,” he admits.
Your eyebrows lift in disbelief. The Santiago Garcia is staying stateside. Anchoring himself. You try to stop your mind before it even starts. It revs anyway.
“You? Staying in one place? Settling down, giving yourself some reprieve? Is there a girl I don’t know about?” you ask, trying to keep the edge out of your voice.
He looks pointedly at anything but you, a soft flush in his cheeks. His voice is sandy, cautious in a way you’ve never heard when he speaks again. “Settling down for the girl you do know about. If she’ll settle for it.”
Something catches in your chest. The blanket slips a little as you shift farther away, not wanting to make any assumptions. “What do you mean by that?” your voice is deathly quiet.
Santiago is typically smooth, he’s sauve and you’ve seen him say all the right things. And right now he’s anything but as you watch him swallow nervously, exhaling like every word of vulnerability is costing him something.
“I’m done running from this. From what it could be I— I want to try. With you.”
Your throat tightens. You’ve wanted this, wanted him, for so long—but you’ve also been the one carrying the weight of wanting, of the unspoken thing between you while he kept you at arm’s length. “You can’t just say that after all this time. You’ve always known how I feel, and you never—”
“I know,” he cuts in, his voice rough but steadier this time. Resolved. “I know, but, honey, you didn’t want me like this. Not really. I couldn’t do that to you, being across the world, one bullet away from…” he trails off, letting his eyes return to the skyline. “What kind of man would I be if I made you a widow? If I promised you something, and left you here alone? A shit one. Shittier than I am now.”
“Santi, you don’t have to—“
“Sweetheart, I do. If I’m gonna give it up, I’ve gotta give it all up. And there’s nobody who’s worth more. I always wanted you, thought about you,” he reaches for you then, cupping your face in his hand.
His palm is rough but warm, infused with everything you’ve ever wanted. You feel like the earth is spending, and close your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. “This is…this is a lot.”
“Tell me to back off, and I will,” he says, voice dropping as he leans in, thumb brushing slowly against your jaw. “But if you feel even half of what I do, then let me show you.”
You let his thumb drag slow along your jaw, every careful stroke saying more than the words. For a breath you consider the easy route—close your eyes, lean in, let the ache that’s lived under your ribs for years unclench. But years have taught you better than to hand him everything on the first admission.
“You can’t just show up and say you’re staying and expect me to… to hand you my heart like it’s been sitting on a shelf waiting,” you say, voice small but steady. The blanket pools between your knees. The sky is a bruise of purple now, the last gold bleeding away.
He swallows hard, the set of his jaw so sharp it hurts to watch. “I know,” he says, and the apology in it is almost tangible. “I know I’ve been a selfish—” He stops, shakes his head like he’s flinging away a thought. “I don’t get to make it easy for you. I get that. I only get to be better.”
You press your lips together. “Better is a lot of words, Santiago. Do something that proves you mean them.”
There it is. The small, reasonable request you’ve been practicing in your head for years. You expected him to bristle, to argue that his whole life should count, or to promise theatrics he’d never keep. Instead his face collapses into something raw and real.
“You want me to grovel?” His brow quirks with a humorless sort of grin. “Because I can grovel.”
It should be ridiculous. It should make you laugh. But his next words tumble out in a rush, humble and sharp. Nothing like the Santi you’ve known for years, but everything you’ve ever wanted from him. Everything you know he could be if stopped running.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you wait. I’m sorry I left you with a heart that had to harden around the edges just to keep from breaking. I’m sorry I treated you like a luxury I could have if the timing was perfect. There’s no perfect, and I used that as an excuse. I don’t want to use anything as an excuse anymore. I want to be the man who shows up. I want to do the boring, small things that prove I’m staying—wake up on time to make you coffee, pick up whatever’s left at the grocery, be shit at taking directions to your mom’s house but still try every Sunday. I want to be the kind of man who calls when he says he will. If you need me to show you, I’ll show you twenty times over. Tell me what you need and I’ll tell you how I’ll do it.”
He’s saying concrete things; mundane, domestic promises that feel like armor against the chaos of his old life. The list is ridiculous and perfect and makes your chest ache because it’s everything you never let yourself hope for.
You let out a laugh that’s more breath than sound, and it startles you how soft it makes you feel. “That’s a long list for someone who used to live out of a duffel.”
“And I’ll make it longer.” He leans in, the blanket rustling as he closes the inches with the kind of certainty that leaves no room for second-guessing. “But if you want me to prove it first, tell me how. I’ll do it. I’ll do it all.”
You study his face, the honest lines, the way his eyes are asking for permission and offering everything at once. You nudge your shoulder against his. “Start with Sunday,” you say. “And call in the morning. And…and be where you say you’ll be.”
“I will,” he says, low and immediate. “I’ll be there. Every damn time.”
He doesn’t wait for a longer litany of tests. His hand tilts your chin up and his mouth finds yours with no hesitance—no tentative brushing away like apology. He kisses you like a man who’s kept a map of you in his head and finally has permission to navigate. It’s rough at the edges but exact in the places that matter, all promise and claiming, and when he deepens it you feel the years between you crack open like old wood giving way.
The kiss is fierce and steady; it makes you forget to weigh the future for a moment, forget that you’re supposed to be cautious. His other hand finds the base of your throat, anchoring you as if you might drift, and you give in—not because you’ve been convinced by words alone, but because his body, his heat, his absolute certainty say what he’s not yet proven with actions: that he wants you, all of you.
When he parts, his forehead comes to yours. “I’ll keep proving it,” he whispers, breath hot against your skin. “Not for show. For you. For us.”
You let out a long, shaky breath and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, letting the softness you had been guarding unfurl just a fraction. “Okay,” you say finally. “Start with Sunday.”
He smiles then, no shade of irony, no deflection. Just Santi. “I’ll be here Sunday. 8 a.m.”
“9 a.m., not all of us want to wake up at the crack of dawn.”
He chuckles but concedes. “9 a.m.”
The sun has gone. Night wraps the porch around you, and he slips his hand into yours, a tangible promise. It’s small, ordinary, and utterly devastating all at once. You press your fingers against his palm, feeling callus and warmth. The steady thrum of someone who intends to stay.
“Good,” you murmur, and when he answers by kissing you again—this time slower, sure—you let yourself fold into it.
Because sometimes the only way forward is to let the one who finally came home hold you while the colors drain from the sky.
Summary: A rough day, a warm bath, and the softness that brings you back together
Tags: Established relationship, allusion to smut, wet!Santi, brief mention of trauma, Santi having a bad day, hurt/comfort
Word count: 2.2 k
Author's note: Here it is my humble contribution to @beefrobeefcal @for-a-longlongtime & @lotusbxtch 's SANTIAGO TAKES A BATH challenge 🤭💜
The door closed behind him with that familiar sound. Not loud, not harsh, just… tired. You knew that sound. It meant one of those days.
Santi didn’t say a word. He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door, his phone on the table, and carried the weight of the world all the way to the couch. He moved like exhaustion was something stitched into his skin, like it belonged there.
You watched him sink into the cushions, shoulders heavy, eyes somewhere far away.
“Rough day, baby?” you asked softly, your fingers brushing the edge of his shirt.
He gave a half-shrug.
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t really an answer, and you both knew it. You tried again, a light comment, a little smile, something to pull him back toward you. But the ghost of a grin he gave you wasn’t relief; it was distance.
“Santi…” your voice came out quieter this time. “Talk to me, what's wrong?"
He exhaled, long and slow, scrubbing a hand over his face. His eyes stayed fixed on some distant point, as if he could stare the ghosts away. When he finally spoke, his voice carried that edge you hated, the one that said he was closing the door before you could even knock.
“Nothing. Just… let it go, okay?”
The words landed heavier than he probably meant them to. You felt them catch somewhere behind your ribs, turning warmth into distance.
You nodded slowly, trying to smooth over the sharpness of the moment. “Okay,” you said, even though it wasn’t. You wanted to reach out, just to touch his arm, to remind him he wasn’t alone in whatever corner of his mind he was trapped in, but the set of his shoulders warned you off.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. For a few heartbeats, neither of you moved. You could hear the tick of the clock, the low hum of the fridge in the next room, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down between you.
Finally, he pushed himself up with a weary sigh.
“I’m gonna take a bath,” he muttered, not quite meeting your eyes.
You watched him disappear down the hall, the soft thud of his footsteps fading into the sound of running water. The door didn’t close all the way, just enough to tell you he wanted space, but maybe not too much of it.
Steam curled lazily through the half-closed door, carrying with it the soft scent of soap and the faint echo of running water. Santi sat in the tub, elbows resting on the sides, head tilted back against the cool porcelain. The water lapped quietly against his tanned skin, heat seeping into the knots in his shoulders, but it didn’t reach the kind of ache he was trying to drown.
He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh; it was more like the sound of someone trying to exhale everything they didn’t know how to say. The scene in the living room replayed in his head, sharper now that the house had gone quiet. Your voice, gentle. His, cutting.
He rubbed a hand over his face. You didn’t deserve that.
It wasn’t the first time he had pushed when someone got too close. Old habits, older ghosts. They came in waves: guilt, noise, the flashes of memory that felt too loud to ignore. He had spent all day pretending to be fine, carrying conversations like weights, smiling at things that didn’t reach his eyes. And when he finally got home, when he finally had the one person he could be soft with… he had built another wall instead.
Smooth move, García.
He let the water run over his chest and down his arms, tried to let it wash away the heaviness, but it stayed. The heat only made it sharper, like the ache had sunk too deep to rinse out.
He tilted his head to the side, eyes half-open, watching a ripple move across the surface.
“Eres un idiota,” he muttered to himself, voice low, roughened by the echo of regret.
From the other side of the door came the soft creak of a floorboard. You, maybe hovering, maybe thinking whether to knock. He didn’t move, didn’t call out, but a part of him wished you would. Wished you would ignore the space he had asked for and just be there.
Instead, he sat still, letting the quiet swallow him whole. The water had gone warm, not hot anymore, and his pulse had slowed with it.
For a long moment, he stared at the faint steam curling in front of him, and whispered, barely audible:
“I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t sure if the words were for you, or for himself.
The silence stretched between you and the bathroom door, thick with everything left unsaid. The running water had quieted to a gentle trickle now, but no one moved to stop it.
Inside the tub, Santiago’s fingers trailed absently along his forearm where old scars hid beneath tanned skin, marks from battles long past that still whispered in moments like this when he was alone with his thoughts.
He should have talked.
Shouldn’t have shut you out.
But some wounds never quite healed right; they just learned how to bleed quietly instead of loudly enough for anyone else to hear.
You hesitated by the door, fingers hovering over the wood. The sound of running water had stopped a while ago, but the quiet on the other side felt alive. Soft, heavy, uncertain.
You told yourself to give him space. He had asked for it, in his own way. But the thought of him sitting there, alone with whatever was eating him alive, made something twist in your chest.
So you knocked, even when the door wasn't completely closed. Once, gently.
There was no answer at first, just a faint rustle, a sigh that could have been the water shifting or Santi himself. Then his voice, low and tired:
“Yeah?”
You pushed the door open a few inches more. Steam curled out to meet you, warm against your skin. He was there in the tub, half-sunk into the water, head tilted back, eyes closed. For a moment, you almost turned back. The scene felt too raw, too personal, like you were stepping into a moment he hadn’t meant to share.
But then he opened his eyes. And whatever words you had meant to say vanished.
There was no anger left in them now, just the kind of exhaustion that went deeper than bone. The kind that carried guilt, and apology, and the quiet need to not be alone.
“Didn’t mean to snap,” he murmured, voice roughened by steam and regret.
You shook your head, stepping closer, the floor cool beneath your bare feet. “I know.”
He watched you for a second like he was trying to figure out if he deserved you being there.
“You don’t have to stay”
“I know,” you said again, softer this time.
You sank down to sit on the cool tile beside the tub, your arm resting on the edge near his. Neither of you spoke for a long while. The only sound was the quiet drip of the faucet and the small, steady rhythm of his breathing.
After a moment, he reached out, fingers brushing your wrist carefully. A silent apology, maybe. A thank you.
You didn’t pull away.
His fingers lingered at your wrist for a moment, then slipped away, tracing little ripples on the water’s surface. The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore; it was full, stretched gently between breaths.
You rested your chin on your arm, watching him. The steam had softened every line on his face, made him look younger somehow, or maybe just more human.
He caught your gaze, a tiny crease forming between his brows. “Sometimes I can't believe you are still here,” he said quietly, like it surprised him.
You smiled, just a little. “Where else would I be?”
Santi’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough. He leaned his head back again, eyes flicking toward the ceiling as if trying to find the right words. “Sometimes I don’t make it easy,” he said after a while.
“No,” you agreed softly. “But you don’t have to.”
That made him look at you again. Something in his expression shifted then, the tension in his jaw loosening just a bit. He didn’t speak, but his hand surfaced again, this time resting on the edge of the tub near yours. His fingers brushed the back of your hand, tentative. You turned your palm upward, letting his fingertips trace along your skin, slow and uncertain. It wasn’t a grand gesture, not even deliberate, just connection. Something small, but real.
“I hate when I take it out on you,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.
You shook your head. “You don’t. Not really.”
He gave a quiet laugh, the sound a little rough. “You’re too kind.”
“I just… know you.”
You shifted a little, the cold tile seeping through the thin fabric of your clothes. The warmth from the bath curled around you in waves, but it didn’t reach the spot where you sat, half in his world, half out.
“Floor’s freezing,” you muttered.
“Didn’t ask you to sit there,” Santi watched you from under lowered lashes, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.
You tilted your head, caught his gaze, and held it. “Would you rather I joined you?”
For a second, the room seemed to still. His eyes lifted to yours, dark, vulnerable, raw.
A whole storm paused in that look.
He didn’t say yes.
He didn’t have to.
He held out a hand. You took it.
You rose slowly, your movements quiet, deliberate. The fabric rustled softly as you slipped out of it, your eyes never leaving his. You undressed without theatrics, without hurry, without shame. Not seduction, just truth. His eyes followed the slow reveal of skin, not with hunger, but with something rougher, more fragile. Like he was watching hope walk toward him barefoot.
You stepped into the tub. He shifted, guiding you between his legs, arms circling you like instinct.He held you like you were warmth itself.
The water rippled around you both, stealing the last inch of distance. He exhaled against your hair, a sound that was half a sigh, half relief.
“Do you feel better now?”
He didn’t answer right away. You felt him hesitate, then exhale, slow and deep, the kind that seems to let go of something invisible.
“Yeah,” he murmured at last, his voice rough but honest. “Yeah, I do.”
You smiled softly, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Good. That’s all I wanted.”
He pressed his lips to your shoulder, soft and grateful. You could feel the apology in the way he held you. In the way he exhaled against your skin like you were the first good thing he had touched all day.
“Maybe...” you teased, voice barely a breath “I can help you feel even better...”
His small, broken laugh against your neck was the closest thing to sunlight you had heard from him all night.
“You, little demon” he murmured, amusement warm in his tone.
The water sloshed gently as you turned to face him, your legs tangling with his beneath the surface. The warmth of his skin pressed flush against yours, steam curling around both of you like a veil. His hands found your waist immediately, rough fingers dragging up your sides with a reverence that made your breath hitch.
"Mi vida," he breathed against your lips before kissing you, slow at first, just the brush of his mouth testing the shape of yours. But when you sighed into it? His restraint shattered.
One hand slid into your hair while the other gripped your thigh to pull you closer; water splashed over porcelain edges as he deepened the kiss, until there was nothing left between bodies but heat and need so thick it choked every thought beyond I need you.
He kissed you not gently. Not carefully. He did it like he needed to feel alive. Like he needed you to anchor him back into his own body.
The water sloshed. Your breath tangled with his. His hands gripped your waist with quiet desperation, not just lust.
Need, not only hunger.
Yearning, not only heat.
Two people trying to find each other in the rubble.
Santiago touched you like someone relearning softness. Like someone terrified of breaking the only steady thing in his life. His hands trailed you as though remembering a prayer, like mapping his way back to something he had thought lost. The ghosts that haunted him all day fell silent; the walls he had built around his heart began to dissolve in the water between you.
Every sigh became a kind of language. Every heartbeat, a promise. It was not perfection, it was raw, human, trembling with the ache of people who had lived too long in chaos and had finally found a place to rest.
↳ Santi's back...will you and Frankie forgive him for being away so long?
pairing: Santi Garcia x black!reader x Frankie Morales
wordcount: 2.1k
warnings: SMUT mostly, 18+ minors DNI, throuple stuff, set after the movie, slight angst, PIV, oral sex, slight dubcon (?), Santi x Frankie, squirting, lmk if i missed any!
“Ohhh shitttt….”
You moaned, spilling your entire personal lexicon of curse words as Santiago fucked his thick cock in and out of you. It had been so long since the two of you had seen each other, let alone touched or fucked. It felt like he was splitting you open for the first time all over again.
“I missed you so much, baby..” Santi continued stroking you, dragging his hips up as he slid in and pulling right back out until his tip was kissing your glistening lips. Then he pushed back in, stretching your cunt and matching your cries with his own grunts. Your hands gripped his sides, nails slowly digging into the tender flesh.
In the corner of the low-lit room sat Frankie, more turned on than he’d admit. He was the one who brought Santi to your place tonight, thinking that you would finally be open to having a conversation with the ever-elusive man. He was wrong, but you stopped cursing and complaining when Santi stepped to you, calmly wrapping his hand around your throat and using that sweet and deceptive tone he used to employ all those years ago. Frankie watched as Santi put out that fire inside you, temporarily pacifying you. Reminding you of how things used to be.
The three of you, stealing glances at one another and sneaking around to avoid the judgements of your other friends. Secret dates and hangouts, followed by the hottest sex either of you would ever have. Although there were never any labels placed on your relationship, you were all aware of the love and respect that ran deep between the three of you.
And after Colombia, Santi shat on it all. Ten years he’d been gone, and the whole group was pissed, but especially you and Frankie. He let go of his anger much sooner than you had, even when Santi decided to show his face again just a couple days ago. He was “back in town for good” now. Yeah right.
When would he leave next? You didn’t know and at this moment, you didn’t care to know. You missed the way Santi would fill you to the brim and have you begging for more all at the same time. The way his eyes would stay on yours while you were losing it, losing your grip on reality, eyes fluttering and rolling back while your body jerked and shook under his. And even more than you missed the two of you together, you missed when it was all three of you—lips, tongues, limbs, juices, everywhere. Tangled up within the mess that was each of you.
You looked over at Frankie, catching his eyes, needy. You moaned his name, beckoning him over. Santi growled above you, pushing himself harder. The air was snatched from your lungs as he pounded into your cunt, his hips slapping against the backs of your thighs. Your gaze returned to him, mouth dropping wider and wider.
“Yeah?” He tilted his head, eyebrows raising up just a bit.
You scanned his eyes, searching for any sort of hint to not let yourself fall again, but there was nothing. Only an intense form of passion burning behind those umber irises, one you hadn’t seen before.
You nodded your head, slowly, almost in disbelief. Feeling that familiar tightening deep in your tummy, your eyebrows furrowed, trying to focus in. Trying to reach your peak without too much trouble, especially with the confusing mix of emotions flowing through your system.
He could feel you squeezing him, growing tighter around his cock with each passing second. If you kept going like that, he knew you’d end up losing it. “Relax, baby, breathe for me…”
You followed his instructions, taking your deep breaths in and out, slowly, matching his decreasing pace in your cunt. Santi circled his hips, finding a way to get deeper inside, kissing your spot over and over again. It was agonizing.
“There you go.”
You closed your eyes, soaking in the pleasure, feeling the intensity seep into your system. Moans filled the air and your back arched up off the bed, you were right there, so close. You suddenly felt a wet warmth on your left nipple, and your eyes shot right open. Santi sucked on your hardened nipple, and just the feeling and sight of it pushed you right over the edge.
Santi watched you cum, that same face of ecstasy spread across your features identical how it was before. You trembled underneath him, fingers latched into his back. Both of you were damp with sweat, glued to each other like pieces of a puzzle. After only a few more strokes, Santi was cumming deep inside you, groaning roughly and filling you up with his seed.
He didn’t stop his movements, dragging his hips slowly, almost like he wanted to torture you both.
“Fuck, Santi, I can’t…please.”
You looked over at Frankie, noticing the way he was rubbing his bulge through his jeans. Watching you and Santi. You knew he wanted to join, but they both insisted that the two of you had a moment together. Especially since they had already had their fun little reunion, without you.
“Frankie, please..” You wanted him to come over, soothe you or even just take your place. It was all too much, you needed a breath.
Santi narrowed his eyes at you—this was the second time you’d called for Frankie while he was balls deep inside of you. This was supposed to be his time with you, Frankie was supposed to be invisible, until it was even, equal.
Through the memories of just a couple days ago—Santi on his knees, taking an angry Frankie’s length down his throat…then the both of them on the sofa, rubbing cocks and making out until they were cumming all over each other, eventually taking turns remembering how good it felt to be inside the other—he was able to refocus, zoning back in to making you feel good, making you remember the bond between you all.
“Look at me.” Santi used a hand to point your attention back to him.
You shook your head, “Please, s’too much..”
“You can take it, mama, didn’t you miss me? Miss how I could make you cum back to back to back, just like this? Hm?” Every other word was enunciated with a particularly deep thrust, touching a heavenly button inside you that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back.
“Mmmpphhh, I hate you…”
“You hate me?” He swirled his hips in slow circles, face close to yours as he held it in both his hands.
You nodded. “Want Frankie…”
“Frankie,” He glanced back at him for a quick second. ”…can join us once you’ve forgiven me, how about that? He’s already accepted my apology, what do I gotta do to get in your good graces again, hm?”
You rolled your eyes, weakly, the sassiness not a strong enough match for the fluttering in your cunt. Your body shuddered and Santi chuckled. “I think you need more, cariño.”
You mustered up the strength to say what you really wanted to say. “Fuck you, Garcia…you could make me feel like I went to heaven and met God face to face, and I would still hate you..”
“Really?” He pouted, tilting his head to the side, but you could tell he was mocking you. He could still see right through your bullshit, even if you did mean half of it.
“Yep.”
“Okay then, let’s test that out, sweetheart.”
Santi sat up on his knees, pulling out of you temporarily, cock still nearly as hard as it was thirty minutes ago. He pulled you toward him by your hips, tucking his hands behind your knees and pushing your thighs back till your pussy and ass were up in the air.
You watched, with a genuine pout on your lips as Santi stuck his big pink tongue out and licked from your hole up to your clit. He wrapped his lips around it, sucking for a few moments, smiling into your cunt at your immediate reactions—grabbing at his hair, moaning and crying for him to stop while you did nothing else to move him away from your body.
He pulled back, looking down at your glistening pussy, watching you clench around nothing. He wanted nothing but to devour your sweet lips for the rest of the night, but he had a point to prove first.
Keeping your thighs pinned back, he lined himself up with your hole once more, letting it slide right back in. “Ohhh—”
“Christ..” Santi mumbled under his breath, eyes moving between your face and your cunt, which was swallowing him up as if it had been starving for him since he’d left. He knew you and Frankie never stopped hooking up, and he had a feeling there was something deeper there, but he hadn’t asked about it yet. He almost didn’t want to.
He was so deep in this position, it felt like he was touching your heart with his cock, piercing straight through you. You couldn’t think. You could barely speak, babbling out broken and slurred phrases through your cries.
“You like that, mama?”
You groaned, head falling to the side. You were obviously enjoying it, but still not ready to let him act like everything was fine all of a sudden. He brought a hand down to your cunt, placing his fingers on your throbbing clit. They rubbed side to side, picking up the pace as he kept on fucking you. “Ohh, shittttohmygoddd… you’re gonna make me, I’m gonna—”
It all hit you at once.
Your body shook, as though you’d been struck with lightning. Your voice was stuck in your throat, and you both watched with wide eyes as you squirted around him. He pulled out, drawing a gasp from your lungs, fingers still strumming your clit to pull all he could from you. Santi’s fingers were dripping with your juices as he played in your drenched pussy, growling out his praises above you.
“Gooddd girllll”
“Cum for me, baby”
“So fucking beautiful”
“Pretty pussy cumming all for me, mhmm”
You were panting by the time you were coming down, still in his grasp, under his dark eyes. The sweat dripped down his muscles, glistening in the low light of your bedroom. “You got more for me, sweetheart?”
You shook your head, feeling the trembling across your limbs. “Nuh uh, please, I can’t take it, Santi…Frankie, tell him..”
Frankie stood up from the chair, hard cock straining against the front of his dark blue jeans. He walked over, eyes never leaving yours. He stopped at the side of the bed, to your right, dropping down to get on eye level with you. One of his big, callused hands came up to your cheek, stroking gently, wiping away a tear that fell down your cheek.
“Mi vida, my angel…”
“Frankie, please..” His eyes strayed, attention being pulled to your pretty pussy, up close and being teased by the thick, dark head of Santi’s cock. His mouth watered at the sight, wanting nothing more than to taste the both of you.
Santiago had always been an insatiable man, that’s what both of you loved about him…until you didn’t. He chased other cases, other partners, leaving the two of you behind as he searched for something better to occupy his time with.
“Let him make it up to you, baby, then we can both take care of you, okay?”
Your bottom lip poked out, and as soon as Frankie could read the pout on your face, he leaned in for the world’s most tender kiss, wiping it all away. You yearned for them both, for more, for everything.
Frankie pulled away, watching your swollen, kiss-stained lips as he remained close. “Okay?”
You nodded your head, and relaxed in Santi’s hold, returning your energy back to the man you couldn’t truly hate even if you wanted to.
His eyes were softer now, understanding more that leaving you and Frankie didn’t put a pause on everything like he’d imagined. You guys kept on, staying close throughout the years, supporting one another mentally, physically, emotionally. He
fought off the thoughts claiming he didn’t belong here anymore, pathetic echoes reflecting the state of his mind for the past decade. Broken. Undeserving.
“Fish…”
Frankie stood back up to Santi’s level, coming in closer to meet his lips with his own. You watched as they kissed for a few moments, their hands tugging at the other’s body. With your right hand, you grasped Santi’s hip, pulling him deeper into you. Your head lolled back, feeling that sweet blend of pain and pleasure as he filled your overstimulated pussy again.
They broke the kiss, both focusing back on you. Santi’s hips stuttered as he felt your tight squeeze.
“Actually, mama, let’s flip this over.”
You raised your eyebrows, not holding back your whine as you felt him snatch himself out of you half a second later. He pulled you forward, helping you to spin around and kneel on the bed.
“C’mon Fish, let’s get her right, hm?”
“Fuck yeah.”
i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.
Santiago saying “that’s right baby, say my name” ?
𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐈 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞
Thank you for the request. You are really feeding my Santiago obsession, I wrote this instead of working on my exam project...
summary: Santiago comes home earlier than you had expected, catching you in the middle of pleasuring yourself, and as the good boyfriend that he is, offers to help you out.
pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x afab!reader
word count: 2.3k
note: Explicit (18+) Established relationship. Female mastubartion, vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V (with use of contraception), creampie. No use of (y/n). This has not been beta nor proof read and English is not my native language. Title from ‘Movement’ by Hozier.
...So move me, baby
Shake like the bough of a willow tree
You do it naturally
Move me, baby...
A shaky sigh escapes your mouth, as you slowly slide your fingers from your sternum down through the valley between your breasts to your stomach, letting the pads of your fingers run down your lower abdomen to the middle of your pelvis. Your other hand is palming the soft flesh of one of your exposed breasts, fingers sliding lightly over your nipple.
You are lying sprawled out on the middle of your and your boyfriend’s shared bed, your upper body slightly elevated by the pillows that are supporting your back, your legs spread open with your knees bent, the soles of your feet planted on the mattress. All you can think about as you lay in this possession is Santi. Making you imagine that it is his hands that are touching you as you let your hand wander further down, letting your fingers slowly slide through your wet folds. A warm rush runs through you, your skin tingling at the memory of his touch. You drag your fingers towards your entrance, coating them in the wetness of your arousal before slowly moving them up toward your clit.
Your fingers start to move in slow circles around the nerve bundle, slowly teasing yourself as you feel the heat in your stomach grow. Your eyes are closed tightly shut as you let yourself get lost in the sensation, your mouth slightly agape as you reminisce the feeling of Santiago’s broad, skillful hands touching you. You see him so clearly in your mind, easily recalling his handsome features. The lines of his strong jaw. The curve of his nose. The shape of his lips; lips you so desperately wish you could kiss right now. Those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes of his. You imagine them looking at you as you touch yourself, imagine his dark irises roaming your body through heavy lids.
His name is on your tongue and it spills from your lips as you begin to move your hand faster, adding a bit more pressure which makes your body jerk slightly. You keep moaning out his name as you imagine that it is his fingers that are bringing you pleasure.
“Babe?” A familiar voice utters and you are immediately pulled out of your fantasy.
Your eyes snap open and you squeeze your thighs together, more from instinct than anything else, it is not like he hasn’t seen you in more vulnerable positions before, but something about him catching you like this still makes you feel a little bit of embarrassment.
Santiago is standing in the door of your bedroom, you had not heard him come home, too lost in your little solo session to hear the front door opening or him going to through your house to your shared bedroom. His side is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, an amused smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth like he is having a grand time seeing you like this, but something is flickering in his eyes, something darker, a deep and intense lust.
“You didn’t have to stop for my sake.” He says, uncrossing his arms as he starts to walk over to the bed.
“I… I thought you wouldn’t be home until late?” You mutter a little flustered, he was supposed to be out with the guys tonight, you had not expected him to get home before you had gone to sleep, but the clear look of enjoyment in seeing you like this is making it hard to feel real embarrassment.
“I missed you so I went home early.” He confesses. “Sounds like you were missing me too, huh?” The mattress dips as he climbs down on the bed, placing a hand on each side of your body, caging you under him as his eyes lock with yours.
“I always miss you when you’re not around.” You say, bringing your hand up to his face to cup his cheek, your thumb gently sliding over his cheekbone.
“Well, I’m here now.” He says, his voice low and deep, before leaning down to kiss you hard and passionately, it’s the kind of kiss that you would have you afraid of your knees giving up under you if you had been standing.
“Need you.” You whisper into his mouth as you finally break the kiss to get a breath of air and Santi takes the opportunity to pull off his shirt, throwing it on the floor before he comes crashing down on you again, kissing you like it was the only reason he had been put on this planet.
“Your jeans too.” You pant against his lips as he finally breaks the kiss.
He hums, leaving another quick kiss on your lips before he lifts himself from the bed to get rid of the rest of his clothes. You let out a little moan when his already hard cock springs free as he slides off his boxers. Throbbing and ready, the tip glistening with precum, he must have been standing in the door for a little while you think. You stretch out your arms towards him, gesturing for him to come back down on the bed to you. A devilish smile on his lips as he crawls back down over you.
“You looked so beautiful spread out like that, touching yourself as you moaned my name.” He says as he begins to leave a trail of kisses down your throat. You let out a light moan as he continues his trail of kisses further down your body. He stops when he reaches your lower stomach and looks up at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide, he is looking drunk on love. “Wanna taste you, baby.” He mutters, which makes you let out a little whimper.
You spread your legs wider, you need him so desperately.
“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby.” He coos, sitting back on his calves to get a better view of your glistening pussy now on free display. “So pretty…” He says in awe. “Are you gonna let me have a taste?”
“Mmm.” You hum through closed lips, nodding to let him know that you are more than willing to let him have a taste of you.
He brings his middle and index finger to your core, slipping them through your folds as he coats them in your slickness.
“You are so beautiful.” He murmurs, letting his fingers explore your vulva. “My sweet, beautiful girl.”
“Fuck, Santi….” You moan as he finally slips his fingers into you. Slowly pumping them in and out of you as he positions himself between your legs. You tangle your fingers in his curls, letting out a little whine as he removes his fingers, making you feel empty, but it turns into a low moan as he lowers his head, taking your clit between his lips and starting to hungrily suck at it.
You grab his hair a little tighter as he brings up a hand to spread your lips open, giving him better access. He brings his other hand to your entrance, sliding his fingers into you once again, slowly pumping into you while his tongue licks and sucks at your clit. He is moaning into your cunt, enjoying the reaction his movements have on you, making you grip his hair even tighter. He keeps lapping into you, keeps working his magic and you feel how your climax is building up, getting ready to explode, and when he curls the fingers inside of you just right you know you’re a goner.
“Fu-ck… Santi, I…” You pant out, your hips jerking up into his mouth.
“I know, baby, I know. You can, baby. Please cum for me.” He hums into your pussy.
It is all you needed to hear, your climax washes over you in hot, electric waves. You whine out as you soak his face and your cunt clenches down around his fingers. Santi keeps pumping you through your orgasm, letting you ride out your high until you get too sensitive and you feel like you can’t take it anymore and you have to tuck on his hair to make him stop. Santi lets out a gasp as he finally detaches his mouth from you, humming happily as he licks his lips.
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Can’t get enough of you.” He sighs as he climbs up over your body, caging you between his arms once again before leaning down to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his lips. It sends a warm rush through your body.
“I need you inside of me.” You confess, making him smile down at you, dipping his head down to kiss your lips again.
“Then you shall have me.” He grins into your mouth, kissing you as he takes his cocks in his hand, giving himself a few pumps before he positions himself at your entrance. He kisses your mouth as he starts to slip into you. You feel how your walls stretch as you take more and more of him. You raise your hips, lifting your legs to cross them around his body. You are relishing in the sensation of him filling you up so completely, even with the preparation of his fingers and with your wetness the girth of him still stings a little, but it is not an unwelcome feeling. Santi kisses your cheek and you feel so loved and so content in this moment like you are exactly where you are supposed to be. You can’t help but push your hips upwards, the need for him to move, getting almost unbearable. Your movement has him moan slightly.
“Ready?” He asks, leaving another kiss on your cheek.
“Yeah.” You nod, grinding slightly into him, which has him let out a little grunt. He starts to slowly pull out of you until only the tip of his cock is remaining inside before rolling his hips, pushing all of his cock into you again with one fluid motion, making you cling to his back as he begins to fuck into you, lifting your legs from his waist to his shoulder. The position is letting him thrust deep inside of you with each roll of his hips.
He starts out with a slow, rhythmical pace but his thrusts are quickly getting faster and more desperate as he loses himself more and more in the overwhelming feeling of you. “You feel so good, baby…” He pants out as he keeps thrusting into you. “Fuck, I love you so much.”
“Love you too.” You breathe out, as he keeps pounding you into the soft mattress beneath you. “Fu-uck, love you so much, Santi.”
Your words have him fueled up, the way he is now pounding his cock into you, so deeply and purposefully, makes you cry out in pleasure. “Yes, Santi! Fu-uck, right there! Right there…” You shriek, the pleasure building up to a whole new level. “Santiago, I…I-” You are so close now, and you can feel him twitch inside of you as his name falls from your lips.
“That’s right baby, say my name” He growls “Love when you say it, makes me know that I’m yours.”
“You are, Santi. You are all mine.” You gasp out. His name keeps spilling from your lips over and over again, you’re chanting it like your life is depending on it like it is a prayer you are devoting to a life-giving deity. Your breasts are being squeezed against his broad chest, your sensitive nipples rubbing against his warm skin. Your arms are desperately clinging to his back. His heavy balls are hitting your skin with each strong thrust, and the sound of your skin colliding is filling the room.
“I’m so close.” You babble into his shoulder.
“Yeah, I can feel it, baby… You can, baby, you can cum for me.” He says, bringing a hand to your head and gently guiding it back onto the pillow, as he follows you down kissing you so gently as the last string that is holding you together snaps. Your walls squeeze down around him, sucking him into your warmth as your climax washes over you. He kisses you through it as his own climax comes over him. You hum into him as you feel the warmth of his release filling you up, coating your walls. He keeps thrusting into you, fucking his cum deep into you until it is leaking out around his cock.
You only break the kiss when you physically can’t keep going as your lungs scream for air and you have to catch your breath, but you don’t mind as it makes it possible for you to watch his handsome as he keeps thrusting into you as he rides out his orgasm until his movements finally come to a halt. He sneaks his strong arms around you, kissing you before flipping you over so you’re now laying next to him instead of having him on top of you. He holds you close, the secure feeling of his strong arms around you making you feel safe and secure as he hugs you tight. His softening cock is still inside of you as you both lay and catch your breath.
“I’m glad you came home early.” You finally break the silence, as you whisper into his chest.
“Me too.” He says, squeezing you a little tighter.
The two of you lay like this for a while, until you start to yawn and Santiago gets up and leaves the bedroom. He is soon coming back in with a glass of water for you and a damp washcloth. He cleans you up as you sip the water, soon joining you on the bed again, pulling the warm covers over you both as you snuggle into his broad chest. He is gently stroking your back, whispering sweet nothings and ‘I love yous’ into the room until you fall asleep, completely engulfed in the warm feeling of his love.
...So move me, baby
Like you've nothin' left to prove
And nothin' to lose
Move me, baby...
Rules: Make a 24-hour poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It’s fine if you only have one; still make a poll for the vote count.) Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every vote received.
make me write
young single dad Joel gets laid in a car park
harry/escort reader discuss societal pressures in between fucks
fwb frankie who doesn’t stick to the rules
reader discovers the elusive bisexual mmf threesome with frankie and santi
marcus pike moves to london and falls in love over the course of a year
young frankie in boot camp taking orders from sergeant!reader
closeted mr ben crushes on frankie, his student’s dad
tlou jackson epic - reader navigates survivors guilt, politics and birth control
dave york’s affair with dark reader assassin who “fixes” his life after death
