#santiago garcia

[felix24601]

Triple Frontier 2 UPDATE: script was finished, never got “polished”

so I had the chance to meet attend a Q and A with Garrett Hedlund and he’s lovely!

I asked about TF2 and this is how the convo went-

I said I was introduced to his works through the three films he did with Oscar Isaac. Garrett interjected and asked if I was a pretty big fan of Oscar, I said “huge” and he said “Oscar’s a good person to be a fan of”

I said Triple Frontier means a lot to some very queer people online and he smiled

I said I knew a few years ago Charlie Hunnam said he had and idea for TF2 and I asked if he knew if it had gone anywhere or was still potential to happen.

I joked “might be kinda hard to get Pedro Pascal now” but Garrett said not to count him out and seemed to think he’d do it

he said there was a full script, but that it had never gotten “polished” enough and said he hasn’t heard anything else.

Garrett did say that he had a great time filming, said him and Charlie had been “best buds” for 15 years by that point and that it was his third movie with Oscar and so getting to do the movie with friend was great

he also said “if Charlie does make that m movie, his baby brothers gonna be there”

he was super thoughtful in his answer and answering everyone’s questions I love him 🙏🏻

plz rb to spread word

[lotusbxtch]

What's The Magic Word?

A Santiago in the Tub Challenge fic

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x f!Reader Word count: 4.4k Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI!

Summary: You and Santi make use of the huge bathtub with a sexy challenge — but what comes out of his mouth is a surprise.

Warnings/tags: course language, striptease, dom!Reader, sub!Santi, pre-established safeword rules, sex toy use, orgasm denial (like… a lot), oral (f receiving), bathtub sex (obviously, that’s the theme of the damn challenge lol), unprotected PIV (be smart! don’t do this!), creampie, overstimulation, fluff and emotions because it’s me, untranslated Spanish (sentences and pet names/nicknames), Santi’s bum knees are referenced. Reader is described as having breasts and female genitalia, is able-bodied, using birth control of some sort, but is otherwise undescribed. 

a/n: thank you for your patience while I got this together! I rang in the new year by writing Santi smut, and honestly, I couldn’t think of a better way to do it. Thanks to @beefrobeefcal and @for-a-longlongtime for co-hosting this challenge, to @mountainsandmayhem and @for-a-longlongtime for beta-reading and reminding me to “just write it already!!!”, and for @sin-djarin for screaming at the excerpts I sent her lol. Much love to everyone who has participated in the challenge thus far, those reading our works, and if you haven’t jumped in but want to – take this as your invitation to join us! (Click the challenge title above to go to the main info post.)

Oh, and big thanks to Santiago Garcia for being A DAMN MENACE jfc maybe I can get some rest now…

(dividers/banners by @saradika-graphics)

MASTERLIST

After 5 hours of driving, you and Santiago reached the Santa Barbara boutique hotel you’d be spending the weekend in — your first getaway together. The nervousness and excitement traveled through your limbs when you climbed out of his car, but mellowed into pure joy when you spotted your accommodations.

“Finally,” you nearly moan in relief when you swing open the door to your suite. You run, jump, and flop onto the bed flamboyantly, making Santi chuckle and shake his head. 

He’d wanted to spring for the casita-style suite since it had no shared walls, while you’d squealed with delight at the enormous spa bathtub. “We can finally have a soak together!” you’d exclaimed, followed quickly by a playful slap to his shoulder when he wiggled his eyebrows and mentioned the other things you two could get up to in it. 

Santi toes off his sneakers at the doorway, walks inside with both of your bags, and sits on the side of the bed with a dramatic sigh. “Must be so hard being Passenger Princess,” he quips, and you stick your tongue at him with fake derision. “Just snacking and controlling the playlist.”

“I had the very important job of navigating, I’ll have you know,” you grouse playfully. “Without me, you’d be lost.”

“You mean without Google Maps? Because if you didn’t use it, you would definitely be lost,” he titters.

Rolling your eyes then grinning, you roll over towards him and bite his plush buttcheek.

“Malo,” he warns, then swats your ass in retaliation before you can block him.

Giggling, you nod your head towards the bathroom. “I’ll unpack our things. You get in first, baby,” you nudge. “Your knees need it.” You scooch towards him to kiss each kneecap, and he smiles softly at you. 

“Damé un beso,” he orders, so you purse your lips as he leans down and kisses you gently. He pulls away, biting your lip with a playful little growl, then flashes that easy smile that melts your bones before getting up and sauntering towards the other room. You watch his plump ass sway invitingly in his black jeans. He never fails to distract you with it, and he knows it - because he glances back quickly before impishly winking and throwing his olive green button up at you, eliciting a riot of giggles that you attempt (but fail) to smother with your hand.

You are so gone for this man, it’s nearly embarrassing. 

You and Santiago met when your childhood best friend, Francisco, invited him to play billiards with the two of you on a humid summer night. You’d just moved back home from the East Coast, and Frankie had dragged him out, determined to inject some levity into his life after a particularly crushing mission abroad. You never asked Santi about it directly, but you knew from Frankie that he’d been trying to help the Colombian government clean up the narcos, until he discovered that the people he was helping were just as ingrained in the corruption as the criminals they were supposedly hunting. It made the distant, haunted look he got on his face when he thought you weren’t looking make sense. He was an emotional flight risk, not wanting labels, but craving connection despite being terrified of it. That night, after Frankie left, he pressed you against the side of his car, kissing and grinding into you feverishly while you gasped his name into his neck. You left hickeys that Frankie teased him mercilessly about; but separately, Frankie warned you that Santi might run if you tried to get too serious, even if he seemed happier than he’d been in awhile after your billiards night. So you’d approached him with a no-strings-attached setup that worked for you, too, not sure if you’d be setting roots back home or relocating again. 

That was eight months ago, and now Santiago has carved a place into your heart, and you could see he feels the same way. Neither of you are dating or sleeping with other people. He hasn’t told you outright that he loves you yet, but you feel it with every reverent drag of his fingers across your curves; the way he kisses the tip of your nose to wake you up every morning you begin in his sheets; by the pride clear on his face when you beat him in Mario Kart for once; and the way he breathes your scent in at the nape of your neck when he falls asleep spooning you from behind. You don’t push him, not wanting to rush things, but you try to convey your emotions in your actions as well.

The squeak of the faucet as Santi finishes filling the bath brings you back to the present. He’s been teasing you all day, but not indulging you fully, and it’s got your desire for him roaring through your veins. You hear him get in, sighing loudly, and decide exactly how you’re going to exact your revenge. Shuffling through your luggage, you smile when you find just the thing you need, palming it before walking towards your man.

When your feet hit the cool Mediterranean tiled floor of the bathroom, your senses immediately sing at the sight in front of you. Santi reclines in the tub, strong bronze shoulders peeking out of the water that is fragrant with your favorite bath oil. His broad chest rises and falls gently; a warm wet washcloth lays over his handsome face. His troublesome knees are barely submerged, and your breath quickens slightly as you notice the dark thatch of hair between his thighs under the surface of the water. When he shifts positions slightly, it breaks the spell you’re under, and you slink closer to him. But before you can reach him, he teases, “Are you gonna join me or just stand there staring? It’s actually kind of rude.”

Snorting out a laugh, you bend down, kissing his hairline daintily, and he hums in response, the washcloth still on his face. You peel back the fabric from one side, kissing his eyelid. Santi blinks it open a second later.

“Well?” he presses, then arches the exposed eyebrow. 

Your lips curve into a wry smile. “Thought you might like a show first,” you suggest and drop the clit suction toy in your hand on the bath mat. Santi rolls the rest of the washcloth off his face in clear interest with that mischievous sparkle in his eyes you love so much.

You grab his phone, putting on The Chain by Fleetwood Mac, then set it back down and move towards the tub. As the first beats of the song exit the speaker, you sway your body to the music. Your hips undulate, hands caressing your curves. Santiago sits back in the tub with a widening smirk on his face and eyes becoming increasingly dark. Your fingers slip under the waistband of your leggings, then you spin around with your back to him and start to slowly shimmy them down. The stretchy maroon material pools at your ankles, revealing a black lace thong, and you step out to kick them away. Looking over your shoulder at your man, your hands slide up to the globes of your ass, lifting and squeezing them. Santi growls lowly, water churning quietly as he shifts in the tub, and one glance down confirms that his cock is rapidly hardening. 

Next comes your thin, white crop t-shirt, teasingly stripped off your torso and thrown onto the floor. When you turn, Santi eyes your nude lace bralette.

“Fuck, bebita,” he groans, moving to stroke himself underwater. “Your nipples are so fucking hard.”

Your fingertips caress the buds, and you shiver slightly at the contact. “They’re always like that around you, baby,” you croon. “They just want attention.” Walking over to the tub, you gently drop to your knees so your chest is level with his face.

Santi’s eyes lock on yours. “I can help with that,” he purrs, then leans down and takes a stiff peak between his lips, sucking through the delicate material. A gasp escapes your mouth, head tipping back in pleasure. Santi’s hands cup the meat of your breasts, moving to slip your other nipple between his teeth, gently biting down. You moan wantonly while he continues to tease you.

“Take it off,” he commands, so you rip the offending garment over your head and throw it across the room. 

Santi chuckles. “So eager.” Before you can form a retort, his hot tongue licks at your chest again and the words get caught in your throat. He sucks and bites, moans directly into your pebbling skin, until you’re trembling with desire.

He pulls off of your breast with a pop. “Come here, let me taste you,” he murmurs.

You shake your head. “Your knees,” you protest. 

Santi’s eyebrow cocks up and he smiles wickedly. “Oh, I’m not gonna be the one on my knees, baby,” he teases, then grabs your hips to guide you into the tub.

“Santi, what are you —“ you start, then realize what he wants when he moves you to place your knees on either side of his head, resting them on the wide, plush bath pillow at the edge of the tub.

You laugh incredulously. “You need it that bad?” 

He responds with a wet slap to your ass. You moan, slick already starting to gather between your thighs. Santi slides the gusset of your thong to the side, exposing your pussy. “No, you clearly need it that badly,” he rumbles. He looks up at your glistening cunt, parting your lips with his thumbs, and inhaling your scent audibly. You whine.  “Pobrecita,” he mocks. “Look at how soaked you are for me already.”

All you can do is pant in anticipation. When he licks a hot, wide stripe right through your center, you keen and tilt your head back. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” Santi asks rhetorically, a fingertip tickling your sensitive clit and making you twitch.

“Of course I liked it, cabron,” you fire back, frustrated at the way he drags things out. A swift swat to your pussy stings but simultaneously makes pleasure skitter down your spine. 

“Watch your mouth,” Santi warns, then bites the inside of one thigh. 

“I’m trying to watch yours on me,” you grumble, then grab his curls to move his mouth directly onto your pussy. Your taste has him growling, completely giving up on the teasing when he’s drowning in your essence -- the complete opposite reaction you thought he’d have to being manhandled.

You hiss through your teeth at the contact and his slippery tongue working inside of you. His eyes glaze over as he looks up at you. “Fuck, you did want it bad,” you gasp. His hands come up out of the water to grip the fat of your buttocks to spread you wider for his exploration.

Santi has always been an enthusiastic lover, but your jaw drops at the way he gives himself up wholly to pleasuring you right now. The heat of his mouth soothes the ache while simultaneously stoking the fire inside your belly. Your hips rock and wind to the rhythm of the CCR song now playing from the speakers, grinding down on his tongue and gripping those gorgeous silvering curls for purchase. He’d started to grow his hair out, and getting to yank on them in the throes of passion has been particularly sexy to you.

“So goddamn pretty like this,” you pant, and he moans into you in response. His tongue spears into you for a moment, making you cry out, then he moves his mouth back up to your throbbing clit. 

He flicks it with his tongue, and more juices trickle out of you at the stimulation. “You should see my view,” he counters and nudges the bundle of nerves with the tip of his nose. “Looking like a goddess up there, bebita.” Santi reaches two of his fingers towards your mouth, which you eagerly suck in and swirl your tongue around. His eyes turn a shade darker.

“Give it to me,” he demands, then slips both spit-slick fingers into your pussy while sucking your clit into his mouth. A whine escapes your lips and you tighten your fingers against his scalp, chasing the high Santi is coaxing from you. 

“Santi,” you moan, “I –”

Before you can finish your sentence, you squeal when your orgasm rips through your body. Pleasure ricochets down your limbs while your legs shake from the intensity. Santi groans in response, suckling your bundle of nerves steadily and pumping his fingers into you rhythmically to draw out the waves while steadying you with his other hand. Your slick runs sticky sweet and unctuous down his palm and forearm. He burrows his face further into you greedily. Strong brows furrowed in concentration, he doesn’t let up until you beg him to stop.

“Good fucking girl,” Santi praises and helps you ease off of the ledge and into the warm, soothing bath water. You straddle his lap, then surge forward to kiss him deeply, moaning again at the taste of yourself on his tongue. 

“Just as good at licking pussy as you are at running your damn mouth,” you giggle.

Santi bites your lip playfully and laughs. “Malo,” he warns again, then presses his mouth to yours for another kiss. The intensity ratchets up as the two of you continue making out, hips seeking friction against each other’s flesh. Santi’s cock catches your clit momentarily, igniting a flurry of pleasure-soaked noises from the two of you, and both of you scramble to remove your wet thong and slide him inside of you. When he breaches your entrance, you gasp and immediately sink down on him. 

“Now who’s desperate?” Santi pants teasingly. His lopsided grin quickly melts into slack-jawed awe when you clench around his entire length.

“Still you,” you reply, breathless and squirming, feeling him punching the air from your lungs with the exquisite stretch of him inside you. You smirk when you pull a groan from him in response to you winding your hips in a circle while keeping him buried deep. “Always you.” 

You let your body follow the rhythm of the music, massaging Santi’s length with your slick walls and lighting up your nerves with each pass. Soon, he’s punching up into you to the beat, your heady moans adding sultry background vocals. After a bit, though, you notice him wincing.

You stop your movements immediately. “Santi, it’s your knees, isn’t it?”

He glares a bit at you, but acquiesces. “Yeah, damn things hate long road trips.”

Your hand cups his heavily-stubbled jaw. “Baby boy, can you be good for me?” you ask him, and he nods compliantly. “Can you sit still and hold off on coming until I say so? If it becomes too much, just say our safeword, but I want to see how long you let me take control.”

He scoffs a bit, but you can see the once again glazed look in his eyes, so you know you’ve got him right where you want him. “You can’t make me break, even if you want to,” he jabs at you. A wicked smirk graces your lips.

“You underestimate me at your peril, Garcia,” you retort smoothly. His hands come to your hips, fingertips dragging down from the flare of your waist, dimpling your wet, plush curves with desire. 

He smiles challengingly right back. “Do your worst.”

You lean over to the bath mat and grab the suction toy, turning it on low before positioning it over your clit. A hiss escapes your mouth as pleasure skitters down your center. Santi moans gently, eyes getting heavily hooded but still on you. As the music transitions into the next song, your hips wind and rock to the beat, the pulses on your bundle of nerves making the stretch of his cock inside you rocket you closer and closer to your second orgasm. When you click the suction up a notch, you clench on him, and he grunts in pleasure.

“Pretty little pussy is squeezing me so tight,” he purrs, the twitch of his fingers on your hips betraying his desire to pummel into you exactly how you like.

But this isn’t about what he wants.

You tut at him. “Be… good,” you remind him in between heavy breaths while you work yourself on him. The pleasure begins gathering in the base of your spine, melting and pooling, and you know you’re close.

“Let me see you break, baby,” he coos, pinching and rolling one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. The extra stimulation triggers your second release with gasps and a cry of his name into his neck. Santi clenches his jaw as your cunt locks down on his shaft through the waves, trying to milk his own release from him. He murmurs sweet filth in your ear, telling you how good you’re being, how gorgeous you sound when you come. As your shaking subsides, he tilts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger and kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth with a moan. 

“That’s one,” he states, breaking from your lips. His eyes glitter when he asks, “How many more do you think you can give me?”

You huff, slightly out of breath from your orgasm. “How many does big, bad Santiago Garcia think he can take?”

His smile turns feline. “You’re always the one to beg first.”

“I’m going to bring you to your deteriorating knees, pendejo.”

Santi didn’t realize how serious you were being.

Sweat drips down your temples as your moans bounce off of the walls of the tiled room. It’s been three hours of sweet torture for him and hedonistic indulgence for you. The bath water has been partially drained and refilled to refresh the heat. There’s been a rollercoaster of action in the tub — bouts of frenzied bouncing, screaming, and body-shaking orgasms interspersed with long moments of motionless cockwarming and slow, sensual kisses. You’ve built Santi up so many times just to deny him of sweet relief. For a while, he was grinding his cock into you, spitting filthy words to get you to come. But now? Santi is nothing but a buzzing, trembling mess.

You’re coming off of your fifth orgasm, your bones gradually becoming jelly, but you can feel the next one building in your core. Suddenly, Santi’s hands grip the sides of the tub, and his eyes flash desperately. 

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna…” he warns.

You immediately shoot off of Santi’s lap, and the frustrated groan he grits out from between his clenched teeth makes you giggle a little. Glancing down, you notice his cock is an angry red, flushed with heat at the tip, twitching erratically. He curses at you in Spanish, so you tut playfully, then weave your fingers through his hair and tug his head back harshly. Santi is so gone, he whimpers.

“Nuh uh,” you chide, looking down at him from above. “You told me you could handle this, and I didn’t say we’re through, nor did you use your safeword. So quit your bitching or I’ll leave you high and dry for the night.”

Santi breathes deeply, glossy eyes closing, attempting to center himself. Then he nods.

Gold Dust Woman by Fleetwood Mac starts playing. You take your place astride him again, this time flipping around to face the foot of the tub, then slide him deep inside of you. Another pathetic whimper erupts from his lips.

“Oh, pobrecito,” you tease and look back, relishing the thick stretch of him, his cock kicking at your words. “Need to come?” He nods rapidly, eyes wide and dark, perspiration pearling at his hairline as well. 

You lean back towards him, arching your back up seductively and resting your head on his shoulder. Then, you whisper, “Too bad. Get through one more orgasm and tell me just how much you’re enjoying it, and I might let you come.” Santi grunts affirmatively, needing his release so badly that you feel his limbs shaking.

You start to rock yourself on him again, one of Santi’s hands planted on the flare of your hip, the other grabbing your suction toy from you. Stevie Nick’s gritty voice floats through the air. The pleasure nearly overtakes him for a moment. He moans yearningly, throwing his head back, pleasure and agony etched across his gorgeous face.

“Santi, baby,” you croon, keeping your eyes on him over your shoulder. “Tell me exactly what you like about me riding your cock.”

He pants heavily into your ear, eyelids still shut. “The way you feel… the sounds… fuck… you make…” His words taper off as your cunt tightens on him.

You tsk at him and still your motions. “C’mon, Garcia, you can do better than that.” He opens his eyes to a smirk plastered across your face. You expect him to sass back, but he surprises you when his expression melts into nothing but softness. 

“You feel like hot velvet,” he rasps out. “Like you were made specifically to drive me out of my mind. I love feeling your silky thighs draped over mine. The pebbling of your nipples when they get hard. The plushness of your lips on mine when you’re moaning into my mouth. The heat of your tongue against my neck.” 

He swallows hard, eyes searching yours before continuing. “I’m obsessed with the different moans you make. There’s that first little quick one, when you line yourself up to my cock. Then there’s the deep, throaty one you do when you sink down on me all the way.” 

His hand drags down his face, losing himself in his thoughts. “Then there are the surprised, sharp ones you do when I hit that spot in you. Doesn’t matter if I know exactly where it is and so do you… you always sound surprised when we find it.” He chuckles a little. “Never fails to puff up my confidence.”

Your lips part in awe at this man; this perfect, observant man, clocking you in the most intimate, miniscule, meaningful ways. “What else?” you breathe.

“There’s a rough moan you do when your clit is first rubbed after I’m inside you,” he tells you. “It sounds like you’re breaking a little.”

You nod and begin moving on him again. “Don’t stop,” you whimper. You turn forwards again and rest your head back on his shoulder.

Santi nods in a trance, holding you to him while lightly dragging the clit sucker up your thighs. You shiver in anticipation.

“That, right there,” he moans. “I love feeling you shake for me. Can’t get enough. Can’t get over that it’s me making you do that.” His cock twitches inside you again, and your pussy clenches in response. Santi moves the toy to your bundle of nerves and holds it steady; you cry out sharply as it latches on.

He lets out a pained groan. “Fuck, bebita,” he curses. “I love feeling you lose control. I love hearing you lose control.”

Right now, that’s exactly what you’re doing. Santi clicks the suction power up a level, making you keen in ecstasy. You rise and fall faster on his shaft, grasping the sides of the tub, the water splashing precariously. It feels like your cells are gathering at your core. They hum in suspense. You’re waiting for the drop.

And when it hits you? It’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Atoms rearrange themselves into radiant heat and pleasure. You sob out Santi’s name. You moan. You writhe. Tears roll down your cheeks.

When the high ebbs slightly, you hear Santi’s tortured cry as he pushes you off of his lap and desperately squeezes the base of his shaft, willing himself not to come. Your cunt throbs at the sight, but you wait until he opens his eyes again to say anything.

“Good boy,” you praise hoarsely, and you see a shiver wrack his body. 

Gingerly straddling over his painfully hard cock and dropping the clit sucker to the bathmat, you cup his face with both hands. His eyes close momentarily, but when they reopen, they’re red-rimmed and glassy once more. 

“Say the magic word and you can come,” you tell him. He’s silent, just staring at you. Confused, you repeat, “What’s the magic wo–”

“I love you.”

You let out a tiny gasp. Did he just –

“I love you,” he repeats, desperation edging his tone. “Please, I love you.” A tear slips down his cheek. “Please.”

“Santiago,” you exhale, kissing him fiercely. Without a word, you slip yourself back down onto his length, and the both of you moan into each other’s mouths. All the months of holding yourself back, all the longing, every moment you had to tell yourself not to say it yet, you don’t want to scare him off… all of that comes crashing down with every roll of your hips, every whimper he lets out, the tears now streaking down your own face. You take him over and over; you pour every ounce of love and devotion you have in you into him. Arms wrap around each other, binding yourselves together with the rhythm of your bodies.

You rest your forehead against his as another release shimmers along your nerves, tipping closer to the edge with every brush of the curls between his thighs to your overstimulated clit. “Santi,” you beg, “come for me.”

Santi whines brokenly, locking his gaze to yours. You nod affirmatively; he thrusts deeply one more time before his eyes roll back and a shout escapes his mouth. The moment you feel his searing cum filling you, your own orgasm is triggered, and your cunt milks his throbbing cock, prolonging the waves of pleasure for you both. Without warning, your body gives out a bit, and you collapse onto Santi’s chest. Both of you heave labored breaths while coming down from your highs. Your head feels fuzzy from the rush of sensations and emotions.

When you pull back to sit up, his eyes are the most vulnerable they’ve ever been. After a moment, he looks away, the tiny glimmer of rejection and fear in them squeezing your heart. You grip his chin between your thumb and forefinger to force him to meet your gaze, then wrap your arms around him. He lets out a shuddering breath of relief.

“That’s not the magic word, pendejo,” you laugh breathlessly, “but goddamn, will it do. I fucking love you, too.” 

Need more Santi? Click here for my next one-shot, Restraint!

Tags: @penvisions @campingwiththecharmings @missdictatorme @almostempty @almostfoxglove @h4untedsp3ctor @kokoluwie @whocaresstillthelouvre @perotovar @cosmickid-inmotion @qveerthe0ry @sp00kymulderr @arcane-fox @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack @ivystoryweaver @simpingforjoel @reallyrallyauthor @rhapsodyofdarkness @kedsandtubesocks @baronessvonglitter @gothcsz @oonajaeadira @jessthebaker @ghotifishreads @ghostofaboy @musings-of-a-rose @absurdthirst @wardenparker @dizthemonster @evolnoomym @faretheeoscar @grandtheftaristotle @gasolinerainbowpuddles @hoeruiness @im-poe-dameron @julesonrecord @lavendertales @max--phillips @ozarkthedog @writefightandflightclub @wannab-urs @yopossum @yorksgirl

[dollfvkblood]

I miss making these y’all. 🤓

Poe is definitely a big back, why else would he want cake? 🌚🌚

Bud is definitely being sarcastic, but he low-key does want cake.

Anselm is sarcastic, but the other three aren’t. 💀💀

[rhapsodyofdarkness]

On Call

pairing: Santiago García x f!reader

tags: (ex-) lovers, sexual tension, kissing, a lot of angst, second chances, car sex, unprotected PinV, slight overstimulation, they also talk, swearing, nicknames

summary: It's was a night meant to prove you had moved on, but when everything goes wrong, you end up reaching for the one person you swore you wouldn’t, the man you never stopped needing. In the shelter of a storm and a shared past, you finally admit what time apart couldn’t erase

word count: ~ 9,3k

It had been six months since you and Santi ended things. 

Six months of silence that felt both endless and unbearable. 

At first, you told yourself it was necessary, that staying away from him was the only way to heal. 

But how do you really avoid someone who was tangled into every corner of your life? 

Frankie was practically his brother, and Frankie’s wife was your soulsister. Their house had always been a second home for both of you, but now it felt like a minefield. You skipped dinners, ignored invitations, turned down plans. Anything to avoid running into him.  

Still, he was everywhere. In the songs that used to play in his car. In the familiar stretch of beach you couldn’t bring yourself to visit anymore. In the small, mundane things, like the way someone poured a drink or laughed from their whole chest. That sound would hit you out of nowhere and drag you back to him.

Trying to move on felt like learning to walk again with broken bones. 

Tonight was supposed to be a step forward. A date with someone new. Someone who wasn’t him.

And it hadn’t been bad. The conversation had been light, even easy at moments. He made you laugh once or twice. You didn’t feel fireworks, but you hadn’t expected to. You just wanted… proof. Proof that your heart still had the capacity to move past Santiago García.

But then he leaned back in his chair in a certain way, and you remembered Santi. Or when he asked about your favourite city, and you thought about the stories you used to tell curled up on Santi’s couch, his voice low, his hand warm around yours. You hated how easily those memories bled into the present, uninvited and relentless.

By the time you step out of the place, the night air was heavy with rain. The restaurant still lingered on your skin; warm lights, the faint trace of red wine on your lips, the echo of laughter that never quite reached your eyes. 

The first drops darkened the sidewalk and he offered to drive you home. You shook your head, insisting on a taxi, but the sky cracked open with a flash of lightning and you reluctantly gave in.

At first, the ride was quiet except for the drum of water against the windshield. The headlights cut narrow paths through the storm, and you watched the blur of trees and road slip past. Your thoughts drifting restlessly back to Santi, no matter how hard you tried to hold them elsewhere.

Then the car slowed. He pulled off onto a dark side road, one you didn’t recognize, and the glow of the main streetlights had disappeared behind you.

You shifted uneasily in your seat. 

“Why are we stopping here?” Your voice was steady, though your pulse raced.

He gave you a quick smile, glancing your way.

 “Just thought we could talk a little longer. I had a good time tonight. Did you?”

Your hands twisted in your lap. You forced a polite nod. “Yes. It was… nice.”

“Just nice?” 

His tone was playful, but there was something in it that made you tighten your grip on your bag. You tried to soften it with a smile. 

“I don’t usually do this, you know? Go out, I mean. It’s been… a while.”

He leaned back in his seat, studying you.

“So… you’re not really over him, that ex of yours, are you?”

The words struck sharp, and for a moment you couldn’t breathe. You turned your face toward the window, the storm outside louder than before. He chuckled low under his breath. 

“Hey, I’m not judging. He must’ve been something else, if you’re still hung up on him months later.” His gaze lingered on you, too long, too heavy. “But maybe it’s time you give someone else a try.”

When he leaned closer, you stiffened. The brush of his lips against yours felt wrong, hollow. Still, for a second, you let him… until his hand slid higher on your thigh and under your skirt.

“No.” Your voice cracked sharp as you pushed him away. Or at least tried to.

But he didn’t stop. His fingers pressed harder, his body closing in while his mouth aimed at your neck now. Panic surged through your chest and you acted on reflex. The sting of your palm across his cheek echoed in the small confined space of the car.

His expression shifted in an instant, charm dissolving into something ugly. He exhaled sharply, anger tightening his jaw. Then he leaned across you, yanked the handle of the passenger door, and shoved it open.

“Get out.”

The rain hit you like ice, soaking through your clothes in seconds as you stumbled into the night. The car roared away, its taillights vanishing into the storm, leaving you stranded on a dark, empty stretch of road. 

Shivering, you wrapped your arms around yourself, almost in shock. For one desperate second, you thought about calling her, your best friend, but you couldn’t. Tonight was supposed to be hers, hers and Frankie’s. They had put up with enough of your heartbreak already.

Your phone trembled in your wet hands. You scrolled through your contacts, hovering over a name you had sworn not to touch again, even when you hadn't been able to delete it. And yet, when the storm screamed around you and your chest felt like it was caving in, there was only one person you wanted.

Santi.

With numb fingers, you typed just three words.

I need you.

The moment you hit send, regret crashed instantly. Feeling sharp on your skin  like the rain soaking through your clothes. What had you done? 

Months of silence, months of pretending you were fine without him, and now a single slip had undone it all.

You stared down at the glowing screen, your thumb hovering uselessly over the text. Maybe you could delete it before he saw it, before you could humiliate yourself any further. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice. Maybe he wouldn’t care.

A hollow certainty spread through you then: he wouldn’t answer. Why would he? Not anymore. Not after the way you had cut him out, avoided him, pretended his absence was survivable. Standing alone in the rain, heart hammering, reaching for the one man you shouldn’t felt  like rock bottom.

And then the screen lit up.

It was him. 

The sound of the ringtone filled the night, piercing and incessant against the roar of the storm, his name flashing at you with each insistent ring. Your heart lurched violently, your pulse surging, wild and uneven, until it felt like your heartbeat had tangled with the ringtone.

Your breath caught in your throat, torn between the desperate need to answer, to cling to the sound of his voice like a lifeline and the terror of what he might say. Another part, the deepest part that still ached from the break, wanted to let it ring, letting him fade back into the storm.

But the call kept coming, his name burning into the screen, impossible to ignore.

You hadn’t expected him to answer. You hadn’t expected anything. But of course he had to.

You stared at the call, motionless.

Answer it. Don’t answer it.

It felt like both choices could break you.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, trembling. You imagined his voice on the other end. Low, steady, achingly familiar. A voice you had sworn you didn’t need anymore. 

But what if he sounded distant? What if he was angry? What if he didn’t care at all?

You let the phone ring once more. Twice. Three times. By the fourth ring, you almost convinced yourself to let it die out. To take the easy way, slide back into silence, pretend the text had never been sent.

And then, just before it could end, your thumb pressed down.

The line clicked alive. And you were greeted with… nothing.

No voice, no words, just the faint hiss of the rain crackling in your ear. You held the phone tight against your cheek, your breath loud in the quiet, every second stretching painfully thin.

Maybe he was hesitating too. Maybe he had seen your name light up his screen and felt the same rush of confusion and disbelief you had. You pictured him somewhere warm, safe, staring at his phone the way you were staring into the night. Unsure if this was a mistake, unsure if either of you could survive hearing the other again.

Your throat ached with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. The rain poured harder, blurring your vision, dripping from your chin onto the phone. You opened your mouth but no words came.

And then, finally, his voice shaping your name cut the silence.

Just the sound of it hit you harder than the storm itself. Every memory you had tried to bury surged back, raw and immediate.

A pause, heavy, charged, before he spoke again.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, steady, but you could hear the undercurrent, the sharp edge of worry threading through each word.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The rain hammered against you, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, but it was the silence between you both that left you trembling. You swallowed, throat raw, words trapped on the edge of breaking. Your voice shook when it finally escaped.

“I… I went on a date tonight.” You forced the words out, shaky and thin. “He… he offered to drive me home, but he didn’t. He pulled over somewhere, and when I said no, he…”

The breath hitched in your chest, your hand tightening around the phone until your knuckles burned. “He wouldn’t stop. I… I slapped him. He made me get out of the car.”

The storm swallowed your words, but you knew he had heard them. You could feel it in the silence that followed, heavy and dangerous. His breathing, rough and unsteady, the weight of his anger pressing through the phone. Not at you, never at you, but at what had just been done to you. His fury was sharp enough that for a heartbeat you were almost afraid of it, of the violence coiled in his silence.

And then, when he finally spoke, his voice cut through the night like a blade.

“Where are you?”

Your chest constricted. You looked around desperately, the road disappearing into shadows, trees bending under the rain.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know where I am.”

Another beat of silence, this one different, steadier. When he spoke again, his tone had shifted, stripped of the sharp edges, calm and low, the voice he always used when he needed to steady you.

“Okay. Breathe. You don’t have to know. Just… unlock your phone. Send me your location.”

Your hands shook so badly you almost dropped the device. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“It will,” he said firmly, no hesitation. “I’ve got you. Just send it.”

You bit your lip hard, forcing your fingers to obey, fumbling with the wet screen until finally the pin was sent. You whispered into the receiver, voice trembling, “It’s sent.”

His answer came fast, unshakable, like a vow.

“Good. Stay exactly where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

The call ended, leaving you with nothing but the storm and the echo of his voice still burning in your ear. For a moment you simply stood there, clutching the phone to your chest as if that alone could anchor you. He was coming. 

The thought was both a relief and a knife twisting deeper inside you.

Each second dragged, heavy with the weight of the past. The rain blurred everything into shadow, cold shivers running down your spine, but your mind was far louder than the storm. Memories you had tried to bury surfaced unbidden: Santi’s laugh spilling out over a bad movie, the way he used to find your hand without looking, how he had once been the only person you trusted when the world felt unsafe.

And here you were again. Trusting him. Reaching for him when you had sworn you wouldn’t.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing your forehead against your cold palm. Alone, you kept replaying the night in fragments: laughter over a glass of wine, polite smiles you had forced, the desperate attempt to be normal again. You had gone on that date to prove something, to yourself more than to anyone else. You had started the night determined to move forward, to prove you could start over, could untangle your life from Santiago.

Instead, you had circled right back to him, as if every path you took bent toward the same center.

Here you were, drenched and trembling, waiting for him as if no time at all had passed. Not because you wanted to, but because you had no choice. And maybe that was the truth you had been running from all along.

After minutes that felt like an eternity, the headlights finally cut through the storm, and your chest lurched as you recognized him. Santi’s car rolled to a stop beside you, tires hissing in puddles. He killed the engine, and for a long, loaded second, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, he unlocked the door.

You didn’t wait. As the  door opened, he slid slightly forward, silently inviting you in. No words. No questions. Just that quiet, deliberate gesture that felt like both a relief and a test.

You climbed in, shivering, the wet fabric of your clothes clinging to your skin. The interior smelled faintly of rain and him. Comforting, familiar, yet foreign after months apart. You closed the door gently behind you. The car was warm, a stark contrast to the storm outside, but the silence inside was almost unbearable.

He started the engine again, and the steady hum filled the space. You avoided his eyes, staring at the blurred windshield, watching raindrops race each other down the glass. He adjusted the mirror, clearing it with a swipe of his sleeve, and then glanced at you. Just a flicker of his gaze, quickly gone.

For a moment, everything felt… awkward. Your hands twisted in your lap, his fingers tapped idly against the steering wheel. You could feel the unspoken history pressing between you, thick and suffocating. Neither of you spoke, yet every unuttered word vibrated in the small space.

Finally, he spoke, low and careful.

 “Are you… okay?”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I am now.”

His gaze flicked toward you for the briefest moment, and something unspoken passed between you. Relief. Caution. The awareness of how fragile this moment was.

For a while, silence returned, heavy but not uncomfortable this time. You both avoided looking directly at each other, yet every subtle movement carried weight, charged with the memory of months apart.

Finally, Santi’s voice broke the quiet again, softer this time, almost hesitant. 

“You… you scared me.”

Your lips parted, but only a small sound escaped. “I am sorry…” The words were fragile, almost a whisper, but they carried everything. The fear, the relief, the longing.

He glanced at you briefly, then back at the road. “You don't need to be,” he trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished, letting the air carry its meaning.

You shifted slightly, your shoulder brushing the edge of his, and a shiver ran through you, not from cold, but from the proximity, the intimacy of shared silence. Your voice trembled when you finally spoke again. 

“Thank you for coming.”

He let out a low breath, almost a chuckle. “I told you I would.”

At last, you dared to look at him. Really look.

The low glow of the dashboard carved shadows across his face, and your chest ached at the sight. His dark curls were longer than before, threaded with silver that hadn’t been there months ago. His jaw was rough with stubble, his eyes the same deep, warm brown you remembered, but behind them, there was a heaviness, a tiredness that hadn’t existed when you last sat beside him.

And yet… he was still Santi. Still grounded, steady, the quiet shelter in any tempest.

Your gaze flicked lower. Just an old tee and grey sweatpants, the fabric rumpled, the kind of clothes he wore only at home. He hadn’t bothered to change. The realization hit you hard: he had rushed out the door the moment your message reached him. No hesitation. No thought for himself. Just coming for you.

When he finally glanced back, your eyes caught and held, and for a long moment neither of you looked away. Then he exhaled, the sound heavy in the confined space.

“You’re soaked.” His voice was soft but firm, practical in a way that felt like him. He shifted, reaching into the back seat, and when he turned again he held a folded bundle of fabric in his hand. “I grabbed something for you to change into.”

Your throat tightened as you stared at the familiar sight of one of his old hoodies, worn and soft, the navy color faded from years of use. He set it gently in your lap, as though it was nothing, as though it wasn’t everything.

You held the hoodie against you, nerves prickling under your skin.

“I should change… before I catch a cold,” you muttered.

“Yeah,” Santi said, his voice quiet, his eyes still fixed firmly on the road ahead.

You hesitated, then added quickly: “But you can’t look.”

That earned you a sideways glance, his brow lifting. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” you shot back, though your voice was softer than you intended.

At that, the corner of his mouth tugged upward, the faintest echo of the smile you remembered. “Not like I haven’t seen it all a thousand times before.”

Heat rose in your cheeks despite the cold soaking through you. You turned your face toward the window, muttering “That’s not the point. That was… different.”

“Was it?” he asked, almost under his breath, though his eyes returned to the road. The question lingered between you, unanswered.

Your throat tightened. “Just… don’t,” you said finally, shoving at the seatbelt until it clicked free and shifted into the back seat, the car swaying gently as you moved. The air was thick, close, filled with the sound of rain hammering on the roof. You peeled your wet top away from your skin, then your skirt, shivering, every rustle of fabric louder than it should have been in the enclosed space.

Santi kept his eyes pinned forward, knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. He inhaled through his nose, steady and sharp, as though sheer discipline alone could hold him together. But the rearview mirror betrayed him. His gaze flickered upward once, just once, catching the blurred reflection of you slipping into the hoodie. He shut his eyes for a second, jaw tight, before forcing himself back to the road.

The car seemed smaller somehow, heavy with everything unspoken.

When you were done, you tugged the hem of the hoodie lower and let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Safe to look now.”

Sliding back into the passenger seat, you tugged the hoodie closer around you. You sank into its warmth, the fabric heavy with his scent. Soap and something unshakably him. Comforting and disarming all at once.

He didn’t glance back right away. His fingers tapped once against the wheel, steadying himself. Then, finally, he let his eyes meet you. His gaze lingered there, dark and unreadable, before he looked away again.

“Fits you,” he said simply. But the weight in his voice told you it meant far more.

You shifted in the seat, suddenly hyperaware of the way its hem barely touched the beginning of your thighs. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, not quite meeting his eyes. The word felt clumsy, too small for everything it carried.

Silence stretched. Not heavy like before, but brittle, like glass, ready to crack with the wrong word.

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of the hoodie. “I didn’t…” You stopped, swallowing hard. The urge to fill the quiet clashed with the fear of saying too much.

Santi’s knuckles flexed once against the steering wheel. His voice came low, rough.

 “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.”

The words should have been a relief, but instead they pressed down on you. Because maybe you wanted to explain. Maybe you wanted him to understand. But months of silence had built walls too high, and neither of you seemed ready to climb them.

The words left out of your mouth before you could stop them. “Are you… angry with me?”

His head tilted just slightly, not toward you but as if the question itself caught him off guard.

“I mean,” you exhaled hard, pressing your palms together. “It feels wrong. Calling you after months of… ignoring your calls. After everything. I don’t even know why I did it. I don’t know why I…”

Your throat closed around the words. Santi’s grip tightened once more on the wheel before he let out a slow breath through his nose. He didn’t look at you, his profile carved sharp in the dim light. 

“No,” he said finally, his voice low, calm. “I’m not angry.”

The answer should have soothed you, but instead it twisted something deeper. Because if he wasn’t angry, then what was he?

He kept his gaze on the road, but his next words were softer, unguarded.

“I was. For a while. But mostly…” A pause, a breath. “Mostly I just stopped expecting to hear from you again.”

The sound of the rain filled the silence that followed, but inside the car it was louder, the words echoing between you, impossible to ignore.

Your chest tightened. “Santi…”

The moment his name left your lips, his grip on the wheel faltered, just a fraction. His head turned the barest degree, as if he wasn’t sure he had heard right. Months of rejection, of everything left unsaid, wrapped around those two syllables until they felt heavier than anything else you could have spoken.

He swallowed hard, eyes snapping back to the road, but not fast enough to hide the way something shifted in them. Pain, relief, maybe both. His knuckles tightened against the leather, the muscle in his jaw flexing like he was bracing himself.

“Santi,” you whispered again, softer this time, and his breath caught, audible even over the hum of the engine.

He shook his head once, sharply, as if to clear it. His voice came rough, lower than before. “Don’t. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I still…” Your voice cracked. You pressed your lips together, searching for ground. “I don’t know why I called you. I just… when I was out there tonight, I didn’t know who else to…”

His hands flexed on the wheel, steadying himself. Finally, he glanced at you, his eyes dark, unreadable but burning with something you couldn’t quite name. 

“You don’t have to explain. You called, and I came. That’s all that matters.”

The words should have been simple. They weren’t.

“Why…? Why did you come? Why did you answer me?”

The question hung in the air, fragile and trembling. He didn’t answer at once. Then, without a word, he guided the car to the side of the road, tires hissing as they hit the wet asphalt shoulder. The engine idled, and the world outside blurred into a smear of rain and darkness.

Finally, he turned his gaze toward you, eyes sharp but unreadable, and the storm outside seemed to fade in comparison.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, low, cautious, as if the answer might break you both.

You nodded immediately, throat tight.

He inhaled slowly, jaw flexing.

“Because I couldn’t… not,” he said, voice rough, deliberate. “When I saw your message, I felt… I don’t know, a… fear, maybe, in your words. And I couldn’t stay home. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t care. I came because I had to know you were safe. Because I’ve always… I’ve always needed to know you’re safe. Even if it’s hard, even if you push me away… even if I’m not supposed to be there anymore.” A pause. “I came because it’s you.”

Your chest tightened, and your breath caught. Every word of his seemed to press into you, raw and urgent, a thread you weren’t sure you were ready to touch, but needed to.

“You… you didn’t have to,” you whispered, voice breaking, though a tremor of relief snuck through.

“I know,” he said softly, eyes steady on you, unwavering. “But I did. And I’m here. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

You wanted to reach for him, to bridge the months of distance with a touch, but something held you back. Your fingers tightened around the soft fabric of the hoodie, inhaling the faint scent of him. It anchored you, but also reminded you of everything you had lost and the risk of wanting him again.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His hands rested lightly on the wheel, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed how much he was holding in. You watched the way the dashboard light carved shadows across his face, how the storm reflected in his eyes, how close he seemed yet how far away.

Finally, his voice came, low and rough, carrying all the restraint he had been holding back.

“I came…” He paused, eyes fixed in front of him, his jaw tight. “…because I still care. Because I… miss you. Every damn second of every damn day.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening so sharply it almost hurt. You shook your head quickly, voice breaking as the words tumbled out.

 “Don’t say that…”

His gaze snapped to you then, sharp and burning in the dim light.

“Don’t say what? That I miss you like I’ve never missed anything in my life?” His voice cracked, low and rough, pulled straight from his chest. “Do you want me to lie to you? Pretend I haven’t been dying alive every passing second without you?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, every syllable cutting straight through you. But he wasn’t finished.

“Don’t tell me to bite my tongue when the truth is all I’ve got left,” he went on, breath ragged now, his hands flexing on the wheel. “I’ve been shot at, blown up, patched back together on a battlefield with nothing but grit and prayer… and none of that, none of it, ever came close to the bleeding pain you left behind.”

His words struck you like blows, relentless, unstoppable. His voice raw, his eyes locked on yours with a desperation you hadn’t seen in him before. His voice shook, but he didn’t stop. His eyes flicked to you, then away again, like looking at you hurt too much but not looking hurt worse.

“I’ve tried,” he said, softer now, but the words still cracked like breaking glass. “I’ve tried to forget you. Tried to bury you under work, under noise, under every distraction I could find. I’ve tried to be what you wanted me to be when you walked away. But every night, it’s the same. I still reach for my phone. I still half expect a message that never comes… until today.”

He swallowed hard, his knuckles white against the leather of the steering wheel. 

“Do you know what it’s like to miss someone so much you start thinking maybe it’d be easier not to breathe at all? That’s where I’ve been. That’s what I’ve been doing while you…”

His voice faltered, the anger giving way to something deeper, rawer. He drew in a sharp breath, eyes closing for a second. 

“You left me. And I still came.”

Something inside you snapped at that. Maybe it was the tremor in his voice, or the weight of his words pressing down on you, but suddenly your chest was full of something sharp and hot.

“Do you think it’s been easy for me?” you burst out, your own voice shaking now. “That I’ve just been… fine? That I haven’t been tearing myself apart too?”

His head turned slightly, his eyes widening just a fraction at the edge in your tone. But you couldn’t stop.

“You think I didn’t know?” you said, words spilling faster now. “That you started going out. Dating girls. Everyone tried not to tell me, but I knew it, Santi. And I…” You broke off, dragging a hand through your damp hair. “I thought you’d moved on so easily, while I was still… stuck. Still trying to remember how to breathe without you.”

You let out a short, harsh laugh, but it cracked on the way out.

“Do you even know why I went out tonight? Why was I on that date? It wasn’t because I was fine. It was because I was trying to prove something, to myself, to everyone, that I could move on, that my life could go on after you.”

You stared down at your hands, knuckles white where you clutched the hem of his hoodie.

 “And I failed. Miserably.”

You felt the sting of tears at the back of your eyes, but the most painful truth was still lodged in your throat. You forced it out, your voice barely above a whisper:

“I didn’t leave you because I didn’t love you anymore, Santi.” You stared at your lap, nails digging into your palms. “I left you because I loved you so much I couldn’t stand to tie you to someone as broken as me. Because I thought you would do better without me.” You finally glanced at him, eyes wet. “And you… you proved me right.”

The words fell like stones into the silence. For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just stared at you, utterly still, as if you had knocked the breath from his lungs.

His jaw flexed once. Twice. He looked like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t trust himself to move. His hands clenched against the steering wheel, knuckles white, his throat working as he swallowed something down.

Finally, his voice came, low and hoarse, not steady at all.

“Stop.” He said quietly. “Don’t… don’t you dare think that’s what happened.”

He turned fully toward you now, eyes dark, almost shining under the dashboard lights.

“You think I proved you right? That I was better without you? You have no idea. No idea what those nights were like. No idea how many times I almost drove to your door when you ignored my calls and text messages. No idea how hard I tried to pretend I was okay because that’s what you left me with.”

His fingers tightened around the wheel again, but he didn’t look away this time. 

“Those girls? They were noise. Distraction. Nothing. I was trying to drown you out of my head. And it didn’t work. It never worked. And you know why? Because they weren’t you. Because no one will ever be you.”

He exhaled sharply, a tremor running through his shoulders.

“I wasn’t better without you. I was just… without you.”

The last words came out quiet, almost breaking, like a confession he hadn’t planned to give. He stopped, but the silence didn’t hold. It cracked open. His hands left the wheel, falling to his thighs as if the weight of them had become too much. His head dropped forward for a heartbeat, curls falling into his eyes. When he looked back up at you, they were dark and wet, shining in the dim dashboard glow.

“I thought of you every night.” He said, his voice low and uneven. “Every. Single. Night. I’d wake up at three in the morning, reach for you, and my hand would find nothing but a cold sheet.” He swallowed hard, his jaw tight. “I’d hear a song, see a street, smell your shampoo on somebody’s jacket… and it would tear me apart all over again. You weren’t gone for  me. You were everywhere.”

He laughed then, but it was a rough, broken sound.

“God, I even stopped shaving for a while because the mirror looked back at me like it didn't know the man staring anymore. I wasn’t living, I was… drifting. Waiting. For something that wasn’t fucking coming.”

His hands curled into fists on his knees. 

“Don’t you dare think I was fine, or that I wanted you gone. Don’t you dare think I ever wanted to move on from you. You’re…” His voice cracked, and he turned his head slightly, staring out into the rain-slick dark. “… you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted and been too afraid to lose. And I lost you anyway.”

You sat frozen, the hoodie clutched in your fists, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. Seeing him, Santi, who had always been grounded, steady, the one you had leaned on in chaos, like this was like watching a wall crumble brick by brick. His voice, the tremor in his hands, the glint of unshed tears in his eyes. All of it slammed into you.

You had imagined this moment a thousand times, but never like this. Never him unraveling in front of you. Never his voice breaking as he said the things you had both been too proud, too scared to say.

Your throat worked, but the words came out soft, ragged, almost a whisper. “Santi…”

His head lifted just slightly at the sound of his name from your lips. You drew in a sharp breath before you asked not in a defensive tone anymore, but with an honest vulnerability. 

“You really think it hasn’t been hell for me too?”

The question cracked between you like lightning.

“I really thought you’d be better off without me… freer, happier, lighter. And when I heard you were seeing other girls, I thought I was right. That you’d proved me right. And it killed me.”

Your throat tightened, but you forced the next words out. 

“That’s why I went out tonight. That’s why I tried. I needed to prove I could live without you, that my life didn’t have to orbit around you. That I could smile, laugh, pretend to be normal again.”

You let out a shaky laugh, but it cracked in your chest.

“And instead I ended up here. With you. Miserable. Because I failed. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t outrun you. I can’t breathe without feeling you in my lungs. I can’t…” Your voice broke. “... I can’t let you go.”

The admission left you trembling, hollowed out. The storm battered the car, lightning flaring somewhere in the distance, but all you could hear was your own ragged breath and the pounding of your heart.

For a long moment, the two of you just sat there, broken confessions hanging in the air, the space between you tight with everything you had both tried to bury.

Then, slowly, his hand lifted from his lap. It hovered for a heartbeat longer, as though he was afraid you would vanish if he touched you. And then, finally, he closed the distance.

His palm came to your cheek, warm and rough, grounding you in a way nothing else could. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, and the simple contact undid you. Your eyes fluttered shut, and the tears you had been holding back finally slipped free, hot against his touch.

A small, broken sound escaped your throat, and he leaned in, so close you could feel his breath against your face. “No, don't…” he whispered, his voice soft.

Before you could say nothing, his lips found the trail of your tears, pressing gently against your damp skin. He kissed them away, slow and deliberate, as though each one mattered, as though erasing your pain and your doubts was the only thing he wanted in the world.

Your breath caught, your chest heaving under the weight of it, and then his mouth shifted, hovering for a trembling second over yours.

You opened your eyes just in time to see the storm in his. The grief, the longing, the love he hadn’t spoken until tonight.

And then, finally, he kissed you. And with it the world outside disappeared.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that asked for forgiveness or made promises. It was the kind of kiss that simply was. Two people colliding after too long apart, shattering and whole all at once.

At first, it was fragile, tentative, as if either of you might pull away. But then something broke open between you: months of restraint, of swallowed words, of aching loneliness, and the kiss deepened, hungry and trembling.

Santi’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your damp hair, pulling you closer like he couldn’t bear the thought of any distance left between you. You pressed against him, your fists bunching in the thin fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart under your palms.

The taste of him was rain and salt, familiar and devastating. Every movement of his mouth against yours felt like a memory crashing back. Laughter spilling across tangled sheets, whispered goodnights, the way he used to kiss you just like this, slow at first, then deeper, like he needed you to remember you belonged to each other.

A soft sound slipped from your throat, half-sob, half-sigh, and he swallowed it, tilting his head to kiss you harder, fiercer. His other hand found your waist, firm and desperate, anchoring you as though he was afraid you would vanish again if he let go.

You had thought you had forgotten this, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. But your body remembered. Your heart remembered.

When you finally broke the kiss for air, foreheads resting together, both of you were trembling. His breath came ragged against your lips, your tears still glistened on his skin.

“I missed you,” he breathed, his lips brushing your skin with every word.

Something inside you snapped at that. The words burned into you, soft and shattering all at once, and before you could think, you were kissing him again, harder this time. The tenderness shattered into urgency, months of aching poured into the way your mouth moved against his.

Santi groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips, and his grip on you tightened. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, pulling you closer across the console until there was barely any space left between you. His other hand cupped the back of your head, guiding you deeper into him as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he had been starving and you were the only thing that could keep him alive.

You gasped against his mouth when his teeth caught your bottom lip, and the sound made him kiss you harder, rougher, the heat of him overwhelming. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck, holding on like you might drown if you let go.

The rain outside thrashed against the car, but inside it was only fire. His breath hot against your cheek, his hands urgent, the press of his body against yours making your pulse race. Every movement, every desperate kiss said what neither of you had been able to: I need you. I’ve always needed you.

When his lips finally tore from yours, they trailed down to your jaw, your throat, searing heat against your skin.

“Dios, I missed this,” he muttered against you, his voice wrecked, breathless. “I missed you.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer still. 

“Santi…” you whispered, the sound breaking into a gasp as his mouth found that spot just beneath your ear, the one he had never forgotten.

It felt like being consumed, undone, and remade all at once. Every kiss was both punishment and salvation, every touch a confession you couldn’t speak but couldn’t hold back. For the first time since you had left him, you weren’t running, weren’t pretending. You were right here, in his arms, and it felt inevitable.

With a breathless urgency, you shifted, fumbling awkwardly across the console until you were climbing into his lap, pressing yourself into the narrow space between him and the wheel. The move was messy, desperate, but his arms were instantly there, steadying you, pulling you against him as though you belonged there, had always belonged there.

The wheel dug into your lower back, almost painfully, and you let out a breathless laugh against his lips. “There’s… no room…”

A sound rumbled out of him, half growl, half laugh, and then he reached down with one hand, yanking the lever at his side. The seat slid back with a sudden rough jolt, the space opening just enough for you to straddle him properly. The motion made you both break the kiss for a split second, startled laughter tumbling out of your chest, his teeth flashing in the dim light before his mouth found yours again, hungrier now.

The laughter melted into heat, into breathless gasps as your hands cupped his face, then slid down to his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. He groaned into your mouth, his hands splaying wide over your bare thighs, gripping tightly.

“God,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice hoarse and raw, the taste of rain and longing in his lips, the rough scrape of his stubble against your skin as he kissed you like a man starved. “I’ve dreamed about this. About you. Every night.”

Your breath hitched, your hips shifting instinctively against him, and the sharp intake of his breath made your whole body tremble, pressed against his, the thin barrier of fabric between you both unbearable. His hands slid higher along your thighs, gripping, exploring, trembling with a restraint that looked ready to snap at any second. The heat between you grew, every kiss deepening, every breath stolen.

When his lips tore from yours, they trailed down your jaw, along the line of your throat, searing a path that made your head tip back with a broken gasp. His breath was ragged against your skin, his voice hoarse, almost desperate.

“Let me…” His words caught, and he pressed his forehead to the hollow of your throat, inhaling you like he needed you in his lungs. “Please… let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

Your hips grinded again instinctively against him, and the rough groan that tore from his chest sent heat flooding through you. His hands slid beneath the hem of the hoodie, fingertips brushing against your bare skin, reverent and hungry all at once.

Santi’s grip tightened on your hips as he moved you against him, letting you feel how much his body had missed yours; the space too small, too confined, but somehow perfect because it was him, because it was you, because it was finally happening after all these months of torment.

He pulled back just long enough to look at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of hunger and something far deeper, rawer.

“I need you,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I’ve needed you every single day.”

His words hung in the air between you, jagged and holy: I need you. And before you could answer, you were already pulling at his shirt, tugging it up over his chest. He helped you, ripping it over his head with a rough motion, his hair falling into his eyes as he tossed it aside.

Your breath caught. He was the same and not the same. The lines of muscle, the scars etched across his skin, the familiar heat of his body pressed to yours. But there was something rawer now, older, heavier. The sight of him made your chest ache even as the hunger between your thighs grew sharp.

His hands slid under the hoodie you wore, his hoodie, and he lifted it, slow enough to feel every inch of you revealed beneath his touch. The fabric stuck slightly to your damp skin, and you raised your arms, letting him peel it away. For a moment, his gaze devoured you, his breath catching audibly.

“Dios,” he whispered, almost reverent, as he didn't fully believe you really were there with him, before his mouth crashed back onto yours.

The kiss was feverish, open-mouthed, his tongue finding yours with a desperation that left you gasping. You shifted in his lap, the hard press of him beneath you unmistakable, the seat creaking under the force of your movements.

Santi groaned against your mouth, his hands gripping your waist, sliding up the curve of your back. His thumbs brushed over the edge of your bra, and he hesitated only a second before you guided his hand higher, a silent permission. The sound he made when his palm cupped you, half relief, half hunger, went straight to your core.

Your hips rocked against him, instinctive, needy, and he broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, his forehead falling to your shoulder. 

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, voice strained, his breath hot against your skin.

You tilted his chin up with trembling fingers, meeting his dark eyes.

“Show me how you missed me,”you whispered, your voice rough with need.

That was all it took. His restraint shattered.

His mouth was everywhere. Your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast as he pushed your bra aside to taste you. You arched against him, a cry slipping past your lips. His hands roamed over you like a man starved, mapping familiar territory with the desperation of months denied. It was raw, breathless, messy, the way it always was with you two.Your own hands explored him in return, sliding over the hard planes of his chest, down his stomach, to the waistband of his sweatpants. Your fingers slipped under it, brushing against the heat of him. The hiss he let out was sharp, guttural, his hips jerking up involuntarily into your touch. His eyes squeezed shut, head falling back against the headrest as if even that slight contact undid him.

Your palm curled around him, stroking slowly, deliberately, savoring the way he trembled beneath you.

“Fuck, nena…” Santi groaned, his voice ragged, his hands gripping your thighs so tight it bordered on bruising. “You have no idea… no fucking idea… how many times I’ve dreamt of this. Of you.”

You leaned forward, nipping at his lower lip as your hand worked him, the thick length of him hardening fully under your touch.

“Then stop dreaming,” you whispered against his mouth.

He growled low in his chest, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, desperate and wild. With his other hand, he pushed his sweatpants down just enough, freeing himself. You gasped at the feel of him against your skin, hot and heavy, sliding against your inner thigh.

Your own hands fumbled at your underwear, urgency making you clumsy, until you were completely bare. He helped, tugging fabric aside with rough, impatient motions, cursing under his breath as though every second without him inside you was unbearable.

Then he guided you down onto him, slow but relentless, and the sound you made filled the car, low and helpless. He cursed again, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he sank deep into you.

“Dios, cariño…” he gasped, his hands gripping your hips as if to anchor himself. “You feel… fuck… you feel exactly the same. Better. God, I…” His words cut off in a groan as you rolled your hips, tightening around him.

The windows fogged instantly, the air heavy with your panting breaths, the slap of skin, the low groans torn from his chest. You moved against him with abandon, each thrust a release, a compensation for the time you had been apart.

He couldn’t stop touching you; your waist, your breasts, the curve of your ass… his hands restless, greedy, needing to rediscover every inch of you again. And his mouth never left yours for long, kissing you as though he might drown without it, whispering your name between moans.

“I missed you,” he kept saying, like a prayer, his voice breaking. “Every second, I swear. Every damn night you were in my head too.”

You clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as pleasure built hot and sharp inside you.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice cracking. “Please, Santi… don’t stop.”

He moaned deep in his throat, his hips bucking up to meet yours as you sank into him, thrusting harder, faster, his hands guiding your movements until you both lost yourselves in the frantic rhythm. The car rocked with you, the storm outside matching the chaos within, until the edge came rushing, overwhelming.

You cried out his name as you shattered around him, your body convulsing, clinging to him like your life depended on it. The intensity stole the air from your lungs, your muscles tightening hard around him, pulling him deeper, claiming him.

He groaned loud at the feel of you coming undone, his hands bruising your hips as if to anchor himself. You felt the tremor in his body, the way his breath broke against your mouth. He was so close too.

But he didn’t let go.

Instead, he buried his face against your neck with a ragged growl, his thrusts slowing but deepening, grinding into you with a deliberate, aching rhythm. Every nerve in you was still alight, hypersensitive from release, and his refusal to stop made you gasp, made your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Santi…” 

You whimpered, half-plea, half-warning.

“I can’t…” he choked out, his voice low, strained with control. “Not yet. I can’t let go, cariño. Not when I’ve got you again. I need more… I need all of you.”

You shuddered, your body caught between overstimulation and the molten heat sparking back to life under his pace. He was holding himself back with everything he had, you could feel it: the restraint in his muscles, the rough tremor of his breath, the way his jaw clenched against your shoulder.

And then, impossibly, you were rising again.

He caught your lower lip between his teeth, tugging gently as his hands slid down to cup your ass, lifting you just enough to make you gasp. And then he pushed back up into you with a slow, deliberate thrust that made your eyes flutter shut.

“Like this…” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a rasp. “I want to feel you take every bit of me. For every time I thought of you, every night I woke up reaching for you…”

You whimpered, gripping his shoulders tighter as you began to move with him again, this time slower, deeper, dragging the pleasure out until it bordered on pain. His hands guided you, but his eyes never left yours now, drinking you in like he couldn’t believe you were real.

He kissed you again. Slower, hotter, his tongue teasing yours as his hips rolled up into you, over and over, until you were moaning again into his mouth. You could feel him fully inside you, the stretch and heat making you tremble.

“Say it,” he growled softly against your throat, his teeth grazing your skin. “Say you missed me too.”

“I missed you…” you gasped, your nails dragging down his back, leaving marks on it. “God, Santi, I missed you so much…”

The sound he made at that was pure desperation. A broken, low moan as he thrust up into you harder, making the car creak under you both. His hands roamed, greedy, touching, kneading, leaving no space between you.

You were riding him now, rocking in his lap with an abandon you hadn’t allowed yourself in months, your forehead pressed to his, his breath mingling with yours as the rhythm built faster, harder, until your bodies were a single frantic pulse.

“Right here…” he whispered, his voice breaking again. “Stay with me… right here…”

You cried out his name, your body arching as another wave crashed over you, hotter and sharper than the first, dragging him with you until he swore against your mouth, shuddering violently as you came again, clutching to him like he was your lifeline.

That was his undoing.

“Fuuuck.” His voice cracked as he finally let himself go, driving into you hard, rough, desperate. His release tore through him with a guttural groan, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands gripping your hips so tight it bordered on pain as he spilled into you, shuddering with every pulse.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moved. You both just clung to each other, trembling, broken open and put back together in the same heartbeat. The car was hot, fogged, slick with the smell of sweat and sex. Your cheek rested on his shoulder, your fingers still trembling as they threaded through his damp curls. His heart hammering against yours.

When you finally lifted your head, his eyes were already on you. Dark, wet, searching. Every nerve still hummed, your muscles weak, but you shifted instinctively, meaning to climb off his lap, to give yourself space to breathe.

But his hands clamped firmly on your hips, holding you in place.

“Don’t.” he murmured, his voice still wrecked and raw. His dark eyes lifted to yours, half-lidded, but blazing. 

“Stay right here.”

You blinked, chest still heaving. 

“Santi…”

He shook his head, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips, though it was strained by the remnants of his release. 

“You think I’m letting you go? After that? After months of…” His voice broke, and he pressed his mouth to your throat, sucking lightly at your damp skin. “No. Not yet. You don’t move.”

Heat flushed through you again, impossibly. He was still inside you, softening but not gone, and the sensation of him filling you even now made you shiver. He groaned low at the twitch of your body around him, his hands tightening on your waist.

“You feel too good,” he whispered roughly, dragging his nose up your jaw, his stubble scratching lightly against your skin. “I don’t care if I have to keep you like this all night.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, half from disbelief, half from the rush of want still simmering in your belly. 

“You’re impossible.”

He kissed you again then, quick and searing, like a spark to tinder, before pulling back just enough to look at you, the smirk softening into something far more tender.

“God, I love hearing you laugh again.”

Santi’s thumb traced along your jaw, slow and reverent now, his earlier smirk melting into something quieter.

“I mean it,” he whispered, his voice husky but steady. “I’d almost forgotten how much I needed that sound. How much I needed… you.”

“I didn’t want to call you tonight,” you admitted, your voice breaking at the edges. “I told myself I wouldn’t. But when it happened… when I didn’t know what else to do…” You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Even when I tried to convince myself you wouldn't answer, deep inside I knew you’d come.”

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness there, tears or sweat, you weren’t even sure anymore. His gaze never wavered, deep and steady, the same way it had always been when the world felt like it was tilting.

“Of course I came,” he said simply, as though it wasn’t even a choice.

You let out a shaky breath, resting your forehead against his, that simple gesture grounding you.

“It feels wrong,” you whispered. “After all these months, after pushing you away… it feels wrong to need you this much again.”

“Wrong?” he echoed softly, shaking his head. His hand slid into your damp hair, holding you close. “No, mi vida. The only thing wrong was pretending we could live without each other.”

Your chest cracked open at that, a sob catching in your throat before you could stop it. He pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, like he could seal the break in you, and you let yourself lean into him fully. No defenses, just your hurt and your hope resting against his heartbeat.

Always on call for you.

Thanks for reading~

tags: @sidelit @berryispunk @severedbloodlines @beezusvreeland

Main Masterlist

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

One bed + "Let me warm you up" + Santi

SCREAMING!

Personal Heater

Santiago Pope Garcia x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: It's absolutely fucking freezing, luckily Santi is here to warm you up.

A/N: Sorry this took so long!

Warnings: Swearing, kissing, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, Santi kind of having a bit of an exhibition kink, overuse of italics, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2740

You’re sure Frankie is up to something by putting you and Santi in the same room. Certain of it. But even he couldn’t be blamed for the absolutely abysmal weather. 

“It’s fucking freezing.” You grumble, failing to suppress a shiver as you enter the bedroom. Your day clothes are in your arms, bundled up into a ball you can quickly shove into your suitcase. Part of you thinks you should have just lugged your bag into the bathroom to change. 

You’re dressed in a long sleeved pyjama top, and have tucked your jogging bottoms into your socks to try to stave off the cool air. 

“Come here, I’ll warm you up.” Santi’s already in the bed, the covers bundled around himself protectively. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you’re almost tempted to throw the clothes you were wearing at his head. But he would probably like that. 

You settle for a cheery, “Fuck off.” as you put your clothes away. 

“I’m serious,” He grins, “nice and warm in here.” 

“That’s because you’re hogging all the blankets,” you tut, but there’s no heat in it. You climb on the bed and yank the duvet away from him. 

“Nooo, you’re letting all the warm air out.” He's a little tipsy, you know that. He’d had two too many glasses of that fancy Japanese whiskey Will had brought, not drunk, just pleasantly buzzed and a little less guarded than he would usually be. 

He grabs your arm lightning fast and somehow flips you perfectly into the bed and on your side. Before you can even get a word out he’s pulling the covers back over you both and snuggling up to you, his chest pressing against your back. How is this idiot so warm when he’s only wearing boxers?

You stiffen, you really should protest or at least tell him to not wrap his arm so securely around your waist. But, fuck, if he isn’t warm. Like a little personal heater blasting the icy air away. And despite the uncertainty ringing in your head, you relax into his embrace. It was just to help with the temperature. That was all. 

Somehow he inches closer, breathing hot onto the back of your neck. “Hmm, you smell nice.” He mutters, as if that was a completely normal thing to say to a friend who you were sharing a bed with. 

“I’m not going to sleep with you Santi.” 

“But that’s what beds are for?” You can hear the cheeky smile in his voice.

“You know what I mean.” 

“No?” He’s enjoying this far, far too much.

“I’m not going to fuck you. There, happy?” 

“No and why?”

You shift a little, turning so you can look at him over your shoulder. “What?” 

“No, I’m not happy,” he grins, “and why won’t you fuck me?” 

He speaks too quickly for you to get a word in edgeways. 

“Tired? I’ll fuck you if you want, you don’t need to lift a finger.” 

“Santi,” You really do try to put a firm, commanding tone in your voice, but it doesn’t come out very convincing at all. 

“We fucked on Monday, you liked that.” 

“Santi-”

“And three times on Sunday, so-”

“Santi.”

He tries to bite back his smile, pressing closer to you. “I like it when you get all authoritative.” 

You give him a look and he lightly bites at your shoulder. Your relationship with Santi was… god you didn’t want to say complicated. Unconventional. Friends with benefits was too casual, but you weren’t dating. And you haven’t told anyone, even though he was regularly blowing your back out several times a week.

“I know you want to… if you really don’t, tell me now, but I think there’s something else going on here.” He stares at you with those stupidly large eyes, the ones you’re sure he reserves for mental manipulation of the highest order. 

You want to say something back, something smart to put him in his place. But you can’t think of a god damned thing. So you stare at him, with a slowly weakening frown while his own small smile spreads. 

“I think,” he shuffles a little higher, so he can press his lips to the shell of your ear and grind the semi hard outline of his cock against the swell of your ass. “That if I,” he thumbs at your waistband, snapping it softly before he slowly slips his fingers underneath, “just touch here,” he glides down brushing against your clit and the edge of your folds, “fuck.” He swallows, his hips bucking instinctively. “God, you’re so wet. Did you make yourself come in the bathroom?” 

Heat floods your veins and he groans, his eyes rolling back at the thought. 

“That desperate not to be seduced by me?” He teases, lightly biting your ear and sinking his fingers in deeper. 

You gasp, arching towards his touch and the thick stretch of his fingers. He kisses your neck greedily as he gives you what you want, moving so that he can slip further inside and stoke while his thumb rubs rhythmically against your clit. 

You squirm under his touch, trying to hold back your moans. Santi hooks his free hand under your pyjamas and pulls them down to your thighs.

“Tell me why? Hmm?” He purrs, his voice heavy. “Why-”

“I don’t want the others to hear us.” You whisper, insecurity twisting in your chest even as pleasure grows in your stomach. 

“Oh, baby,” he purrs, kissing along your jaw to your lips and licking into your mouth when you moan. “I didn’t take you as shy?”

He presses firmly on your walls, a spot he has memorised, and your eyes roll back. “Santi,” you swallow, trying to keep your voice down. 

“You are a bit of a screamer with me though,” he teases, his voice controlled despite the rapid, desperate beat of his heart. He easily manoeuvres you onto your back. “I don’t want to give the other guys a complex,” he increases his speed a fraction, biting his lip at the sound of your slick and placing the palm of his free hand over your mouth. 

He leans closer. “Don’t want to make them ashamed that they can’t make someone come as hard as I can.” 

You moan desperately against his hand, your eyes closed tight. You miss his love sick expression as he watches you, how his mouth parts as you tense. 

“God baby, please.” He harshly whispers, groaning as you grind down on his fingers. “Let me see you come.” 

You’re more than thankful for the hand against your lips as your pleasure crests and drags you down into bliss. Your thighs shake, back arching as your orgasm is dragged from you and then snaps like elastic. 

You breathe hard, spaced out and a little dazed until you feel Santi completely yanking off your pyjama bottoms and burying his face between your legs. He moans headily, loudly, too high off your pleasure to stop himself as he sinks his tongue inside and drinks down your release. 

His hands squeeze your thighs, encouraging you to practically suffocate him as he licks and swirls. You bite your lip and grab hold of the back of his head as you buck into the heat of his mouth. 

He ruts against the mattress, trying to relieve the smallest fraction of the painful ache between his legs.

“Santi,” you manage not to scream. “Please,” you gasp, pleasure burning along your veins, your previous orgasm hardly dying down before it was ignited again.

In desperation, you hastily grab a pillow and shove it over your face. Your lungs fill with the scent of fresh linen, your fingers digging into the material as your back arches. 

He laps at your folds greedily, the sound echoing around the room in time with the squeak of the bed springs. Gently, he presses two fingers inside, stroking again at the same spot that had made you fall apart only moments ago. 

This time his touch is lighter, slow and steady as he rubs, a sharp juxtaposition to the quick and firm movements of his eager tongue. 

You gasp, the air catching in your lungs and Santi groans. The syrupy sound of his enjoyment is what throws you over the edge. You come hard, your muscles shaking as you spasm and scream into the pillow. Your vision whites out as pleasure explodes along your nerves, robbing you of thought and strength for gloriously long seconds. 

He works you through it, slowing his movements as you relax.

Languidly, he sits up and pulls the pillow off your face. He’s grinning, far, far too pleased with himself. 

You pretend to smack him in the side with the pillow, stopping before you make contact, and he flinches, giggling. 

The bottom half of his face is wet, your cum shining against his stubble. He lays down next to you on his side, his head propped up on his elbow. 

His left hand traces patterns along your stomach. “Love how quick you can come after you already have.” For a moment you think about teasing him a little, but instead, you give his hand a little squeeze. “Only ever done that with you.” 

“Fuck,” He buries his face into the pillow under your head, groaning as his cock throbs, “don’t give me a bigger ego here.” 

You snort, and it quickly turns into a giggle as he presses light, tickly kisses along your neck. He grins, moving closer as you try to squirm away. “Thought you liked my kisses?” 

You shift, biting back your laughter, and your hip brushes against his aching erection.

Santi moans low in his chest, his throat bobbing. 

“Shh,” You giggle again, playfully clapping your hand over his mouth, “I’m gonna have to be the one to keep you quiet.” 

You mean it as a tease, nothing more. But he shivers, his eyebrows pinching together as he presses his face into your palm and whines. 

Heat stirs in your stomach. You bite your lip. “Maybe you’d like that?” You whisper, your voice barely audible. “Maybe you want to just…”

His eyes are hazy when he opens them, dark and pleading. He nods softly, keeping his mouth firmly against your hand. As he swallows, his throat bobs, his fingers tightening on your hip. 

“Lay down.” You say softly and he moves without hesitation, the words barely out of your mouth before he’s flat on his back against the mattress. 

He tucks his hands under the pillow, hooking his fingers around the edge of the headboard. You don’t give him a chance to give you a nervous look, to get all in his head about asking for something he wants. 

You pull his boxers down to his knees and Santi raises his hips, wriggling a little to help you slide them off. His cock bounces free, hard and leaking as it snaps back against his stomach, looking practically painful with how aroused he is. 

You place one hand back onto his mouth while you kneed his balls with the other. His reaction is instantaneous, his back arches as his moan vibrates against your palm, his eyes screwed up tight. 

You bite back a smile as you run your fingers up higher, languidly tracing the underside of his length as he twitches under you. 

Santi’s fingers tighten around the bottom of the headboard, his knuckles paling as he bucks up into your hand. 

He moves his face to the side slightly, just enough so that he can speak clearly, “Please can you, can you sit on me and come again?” 

You go to pull your hand away from his mouth completely, but he shakes his head and presses his lips back to your palm before looking up at you with sweet eyes. Okay, he still wanted that. 

You give him a soft look and kiss the tip of his nose, making the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles before you sit on his lap and line yourself up with him. He’s warm under your hand, hard and thick, and when he starts to sink inside he lets out a long, deep groan. 

For a moment, you’re almost sure he’s taking the piss, purposefully being as loud as possible. But his eyes have rolled back, his body tense and shaking. And you are very sure none of this is for show. 

He stretches you wide as you ease down, your body singing as he slips deeper and deeper. You drop your hips a little faster, revelling in the whine and moan Santi rewards you with. When he’s finally completely sheathed you lean forward, turning his chin ever so slightly to the side so that you can whisper in his ear. 

“Fuck Santi,” you put on a bit of a voice, just to rile him up. 

He moans again and you giggle. 

“You like this don’t you?” You mutter as you start to slowly roll your hips against him. “Got a bit of a thing for being heard?” 

He shakes his head, but you can see the glean in his eyes. He most definitely did. 

“Want everyone to know you’re getting your brains fucked out?” 

He groans loudly, his muscles flexing as he fights the urge to thrust up rabidly. Instead, he rocks slowly with you, more than happy to let you control the pace. 

Pleasure flows and pulses along your skin, twisting a turning as you move your hips. It starts to set deeper, pulling at your bones and demanding you to give in and fully chase the sensation. You lean up slightly, taking your palm off his mouth so that you can prop yourself up with both hands on either side of his head. 

“Oh fuck, baby, please,” he groans, panting. There’s no fucking way that the room next door can’t hear him. “Fuck, yes.” 

He spreads his legs, making you dip forward and practically growling as he thrusts up into your tight, wet heat. 

“Santi,” you hiss, gasping for air as he robs you of it. Spiking the pleasure in your blood to dizzying levels. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes,” he swallows, pulling one hand away from the headboard so that he can press against the small of your back, pushing your clit against his pubic bone so that he can buck and roll and hit just right every single time. 

You gasp and he groans, whining as you pant and share oxygen. He leans up so he can kiss you roughly, all tongue and teeth and moans. His fingers tighten over your skin, his breathing hitching. 

The bed springs creak, the headboard smacking against the wall with every bounce. And still Santi manages to be louder than all of them. 

The head of his cock brushes deliciously deep across your walls and you tense, your pace faltering as pleasure presses along your nerves, so close that you’re ready to burst. 

“Fuck,” he bites his lip, pulling back a fraction so that he can stare up at you, and angles his hips to hit there again. 

Your thighs shake, the pleasure so close and intense you forget how to breathe. 

“Fuck, god, yes,” he hits there again and again and again, his lips parted and desperate. “God, keep squeezing me like that!” He gasps, convulsing as you bury your face into his neck and bite down to stifle your moans. 

Your orgasm hits you in a rush, liquifying your brain as your body moves instinctively, pulling every single drop of pleasure it can.

Santi follows you seconds later, swearing and cursing and muttering praises as you milk his cock for all he’s worth. It’s like he can’t stop coming, can’t come down from the high as he spills himself inside you and floats on ecstasy. 

He holds you close as you both recover, stroking your back soothingly. 

“I think I lost brain cells.” He mutters.

You giggle, “What?” 

“I genuinely think you fucked some of my brain out.” He repeats and you laugh harder. 

There’s a pause before he speaks again. “You feeling warmer now?” 

You tut and lift yourself up a little so you can give him a gentle, playful shove. He catches your wrist before you can and lightly bites the side of your hand. 

“Oi,” You snort, “I’ll have to gag you.” 

He groans and gives you a dark look, his softening cock twitching inside you. “Next time.” 

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[maroonpascal]

Challengers

- first match -

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader x Santiago García

Summary: Frankie is a constant in your life because he’s your boyfriend, and Santiago is a constant too because well… he’s Santiago best friend and he has always been there. One night the heat of an argument brings to the surface a way deeper type of heat.

Warnings: +18 smut, MDNI, teasing, handjobs, threesome, oral (f!receiving), nipple playing, pussy pronouns, body worship, fingering (f!receiving), unprotected sex, pussy spanking, breeding kink (if you squint), use of pet names (love, babygirl, babe, baby, honey, darling), age gap

Word count: 7.5 k

Notes: on my hundredth rewatch of Challengers (2024, Luca Guadagnino) my mind went places, and I had the urge to write something with two of my fav boys. Chapters will be called “matches”, so pick your fav player, get comfortable and have a good match 🎾

Tags: @rosharanfiction , @berryispunk 💙

Dividers credits: @cafekitsune

|| FRANKIE MORALES FICS || MY FICS ||

“Frankie, just let her come with us, she was in the special forces too.” 

You glance at Santiago, “Thank you, finally someone who acknowledges that.”

Frankie sighs deeply on the other side of the table, and he’s sure that if looks could kill he would strike Santiago right in this moment. 

“Yeah, thank you Santiago, let’s fuel this idea a little more.” Santiago rising up his arms declaring innocence.

You’re at your home, Santiago having come by to give Frankie some maps about the expedition and that is how you’re tying again to join it too, wanting to go with Frankie so bad, but knowing that he’s very reluctant at that.

“I can shoot, I can defend myself, I can pilot a helicopter and drive whatever truck you might need,” you start counting on your fingers, “I have great sense of orientation and I’m stronger than I look.”

Frankie shakes his head at your words, “No one is doubting any of that, love,” he wraps his warm hand around your arm over the table, “I know about your skills, and you would be very high qualified for this.”

“But?” You urge him, knowing he is about to say that word, “But I don’t want to put you in danger, you know that, this so called mission will be dangerous, and I don’t want that for you, that is not what I would settle for.”

“But instead I should settle for you still going on the mission without me, while I could be there with you, and even helping you? I don’t need to be protected, and you out of all people should know that.” 

It is no secret that you have put yourself in danger many times while you served in the special forces, that you were surely reckless and that when you met Frankie on the job it was really that fearless look that you had that made him fall instantly for you, that attracted him to you like a moth. You went together on special missions, caring for each other at first like work partners, respecting each other and all of that, until it was clear that feelings were blooming between you two, there was something more under all the respect and that care you had for each other. There were different longing looks, and touches on wounds that needed to be mended that lingered a little longer than necessary. It was after the hundredth mission together and getting nothing out of it, if not just wounds and some broken ribs, that you both had decided to leave that place, that job that had let you meet. And from now on, you were working free lance, going on private paid missions, but this one is surely different. This one is started by Frankie and Santiago, not by a private person paying them to do it, it is just them really wanting to do it.

Frankie fights the words he would really want to say, that he’s scared as hell of losing you given your reckless behaviour but he knows that words like that would just worsen the situation.

“I know, you don’t need the help of anyone nor the protection, but why is it so hard to understand that I-” he pauses for a moment, lowering his look, “That I am just scared?” 

“And so I shouldn’t be scared for you, right? Because how do we solve that, Frankie? If we apply this thought then we both should stay at home and bye bye mission.” You cross your arms, leaving his touch.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, this is a dilemma he wishes he didn’t have to solve. 

“Of course you could be scared for me-”

“And wouldn’t it be better if we were together? Facing everything side to side like we have done dozens and dozens of times?” 

And Frankie knows that whatever he might say, is gonna make blow up the whole situation, that you’re stubborn and that is not gonna be easy to dismiss you from this idea. And that maybe he shouldn’t have talked about it this early and especially at home.

“Love, this would be different. We would be completely on our own, no back up from literally no one.” 

Your arms still crossed, knowing that your look is burning on him, that he’s being put in a corner with this decision.

“I would be with you, and with Santiago too. You wouldn’t bring him with you if you didn’t trust him, and you know that you can trust me too.” You exclaim, a bit of desperation starting to set in, and Santiago wishes instead to be sinking on the chair since he really doesn’t want to be put into this crossfire.

Santiago would prefer an actual crossfire.

He chooses to stay silent, fidgeting with his fingers as he looks between you and Frankie, feeling like this is not gonna end up well.

“If it is such a dangerous and deadly mission why are you even going on it, and bringing your best friend too with you?” You incite, Frankie shaking his head, knowing this is leading nowhere.

“Is it really hard to get that I’m just trying to wish for you to be here, safe and sound, rather than on a mission that is a jump into the unknown?” His voice steady, but heavy with emotions, “It is true, we would get a lot of money from that but it is also something not so legal and something that we have never done before.” 

You get up from the table, getting another glass of wine and leaning on the door frame, “Then again, why are you two going? It’s dangerous as hell and yet I don’t see you two backing from it,” you sip on the wine, hoping that it’s gonna calm your neves, and then tipping the glass in Santiago’s direction, “Let’s hear it from you, Santi, do you think the same?” 

And you can tell that he’s unsure on how to please both of you with his next answer, looking nervously between you two, like he has done for most of the time up until now, like people would look at a heated tennis match. He passes his fingers over his lips, knowing that his response will only give points to you. “I think that you are absolutely amazing and strong, I saw you passing so many tests with some of the highest scores and I have seen you piloting choppers, you’re good, and we might need someone like that.” 

Frankie again studies all the ways in which he could kill him right in the spot, “Are we really picking sides right now?” Frankie asks, exasperated at this point, Santiago shaking his head, “Just saying that an extra pilot or someone who could pilot while you’re sleeping might be very useful. And then, Frankie, let’s be honest. Do you really think that you out of all people would let someone hurt her or worse? That I wouldn’t protect her with everything I have?”

It is no secret that that man cares for you almost as much as Frankie does, that since you’ve met him he’s been nothing but caring to you. And actually, you had met him even before Frankie, on a joint mission with another team, and he had never shied away from telling you how badass he thought you were. There had been even some moments when you felt attracted to him, and there had been a couple of kisses once you had returned from the mission, but your heart already belonged to Frankie, you knew that, even though you weren’t in a relationship with him yet. And it was one night that Frankie had invited you home with some other friends that you met Santiago again, finally finding out with your surprise that they knew each other and that actually they were best friends. So, he is the type of person who has been a constant in both of your lives, for one reason or another, always fitting in your relationship with Frankie in a way that just feels so natural, and that is why tonight he’s sitting comfortably across the table, witnessing your little fight with Frankie and even defending you.

“I don’t need protection, but Santiago has a point,” you say, approaching them again, but not sitting, rather just pacing around the table, slowly, like a shark ready to attack would do, “I would be with you both, and you would get yourselves shot for me, so I wouldn’t worry so much about my safety. I would do the same for you, that goes unsaid.” You finish, leaning on the table, but not on Frankie’s side.

On Santiago’s.

Santiago’s presence never bothers Frankie, he likes to include him so much in your lives, but tonight he’s seeing him as a threat; he would never be jealous, jealousy is not part of his character, but feeling threatened is.

You place your hand over Santiago’s shoulder, but never breaking eye contact with Frankie, his chest falling and rising rapidly, hand wrapped around his glass and if he held it a little more you’re sure he could break it too, “Are you changing your mind, love?” You ask, but Frankie makes the glass clank on the table, then fidgeting with his hands, and he looks at Santiago rather than at you, searching for some answers in his eyes, for some help in dissuading you from this crazy idea. But Santiago has no solution, and Frankie knows you better than him, he should know that once you’ve decided something then you’re gonna take action, your stubbornness is not for the weak, it would take a miracle to take you away from this idea.

“Frankie, I got nothing,” Santiago utters, eyes tired, feeling his look burning on him and wanting to sink into his place, feeling also your hand on him, thumb brushing over his jacket.

“Of course, of course,” he spits, “I should have never said yes to your mission, Santi,” and then he rises his look on you, “And I should have never told you about it, now we all wouldn’t be in this fucked up situation.” 

“It wouldn’t be so fucked up if you weren’t so stubborn.” And it’s surely an euphemism, defining someone else stubborn when you could easily beat him in the stubbornness competition.

“You’re still not coming with us, by the way.” He gets up, shaking his head and you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“I’m doing this for you, I don’t care that you’re gonna hate me, you being safe is what matters the most to me. So be angry all you want, run to Santiago who apparently has all the solutions, right uh? But do not complain about the way I care for you.” Frankie says, his voice so low, and you know he would never shout at you, never rise his voice at you, he respects you too much to do that. But his voice is still hinted with venom, especially on the words about Santiago. It is hurting him to see his best friend not backing him up, not saying that maybe, just maybe, he has some good points, but instead he is choosing to stand against him, like he’s gonna get a good boy tag out all of this.

And it makes your blood boil, it makes you want to just take him and make him understand what you really mean when you say you don’t need protection, watching him coming close to you. You lean more on Santiago’s arm, him not moving but just welcoming your touch, as Frankie is now standing closer to you both. “Think about what I said, please?” His voice more tender, searching for your hand across the table but you retract it from his touch, him closing his hand in a fist and taking it back close to his hip, “I will of course,” you respond, Frankie knowing already the answer, and that this is gonna be hell until you’re gonna reach a decision that suits both of you.

“I’m taking the guest room for tonight,” he lets out, tone defeated, you nodding and thanking him mentally for understanding that you might want your physical and metaphorical space all for you. “And, Santiago,” he addresses him, Santiago finally rising his look on him, and he wishes he could do something about that pout on his lips, “You can stay for the night, you’re too tired to drive and we all have too much alcohol in our bloodstream, so you’ll be safer here.”

Once again, him and his innate instinct to keep everyone safe, to do what’s best for others, setting even aside his mixed feelings for him at the moment. “Actually you could take the guest room and I would take the couch-”

“Oh no, Frankie, absolutely not. I’ll be fine here in the living room, but thank you.” Frankie nodding at him and wanting so bad to bow on you to kiss you goodnight but your look tells him to just leave you alone and he respects that. And this whole night is leaving a bitter taste on his lips, as he settles down in bed in the guest room, turning off the lights and hearing just footsteps approaching, knowing that it is you reaching the bedroom, the door closing afterwards.

He turns and turns in bed, fighting with himself and with the bedsheets too, not seeming to be able to find some peace, too many thoughts flooding his mind, too many fears.

- Tiebreak -

It’s been hours since he got to bed, having slept probably barely an hour, when he hears again some footsteps behind the door, someone pushing it open.

But those are not your footsteps.

They’re Santiago’s.

The light of the moon falls on him and by his look Frankie can tell that he hasn’t been sleeping either.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks the rethoric question, Santiago nodding lightly and reaching the king sized bed, because even the guest room has one, sitting on the edge of it, right next to Frankie, “I’m sorry about earlier, I feel like I just made it worse between you two.” He utters, watching at his hands, Frankie shaking his head though. “Yeah you didn’t make it easier, but it’s not like anyone could make her change her mind, so it really doesn’t matter.” The anger has faded away now that he’s sitting next to him, the air in the room still and calm. “I don’t know what to do, I would love to have her with us but at the same time I’m scared for her and it seems like I’m the crazy one here.”

“No, Frankie, the crazy one is me for having brought up this mission,” Santiago adds, looking at Frankie, and not seeing resentment at the moment in his eyes.

He doesn’t have the time to respond, since he hears other footsteps and this time it is you coming into the room, being taken by surprise to see Santiago there too.

“Everything alright, love?” Frankie asks, and even after a fight he would still call you love, there are some things he can’t even control.

You rise your shoulders, not nodding though, taking few steps closer to that bed, “Wanted to check on you,” you whisper, “But I guess that Santiago was already doing that.”

And if Frankie is not jealous, you surely are, just that right amount to make you feel envious of Santiago on that bed, even though he’s just sitting there and nothing else. You’ve perceived more than once something more between them two, those lingering looks and some touches that seemed to tell so much more about what might have happened between them. And you wouldn’t mind, but the one thing you would like is for Frankie to actually tell you about whatever might be going on between him and Santiago.

So that is why you’re hesitant at first when you’re approaching the bed, “Anyway, I kept thinking about the mission and yes, it is dangerous and all of that, but I miss having missions with you, Frankie, and even with you, Santiago.” Glancing at him, his expression although unreadable.

“Just imagine how good it would be, the three of us on a mission together and no one else, think about the outcome of it, how we would surely accomplish the mission in no time, because we’re all so skilled and we understand each other with just a glimpse.”

Frankie closing his eyes for a moment, not wanting to give in, doesn’t matter the effect those words are having on him, the thought of having both you and Santiago all for him on a mission, not having to share any of you with someone else from a team. And Santiago thinks the same thing for some reason, that you three would be the dream team and that nothing could stop you.

There is a comfortable silence lingering on you three as you approach Frankie, fingers going under his chin and locking your eyes with him, “Tell me that is not true, tell me that we wouldn’t make a great team, Frankie, come on.”

And Frankie flinches because for sure he doesn’t like to lie and telling you the contrary would be straight up lying to your face and to Santiago’s face, it would feel like he was disrespecting both of you and your skills.

He tightens his jaw, because on the other side he doesn’t want to give you this win, he doesn’t want to fall under your spell so easily.

“Oh you can’t lie to me, right?” Your other hand reaching behind his neck, hearing only that defenceless silence, and getting closer to him, “I know you can’t, Frankie.” You repeat, feeling his hand going over your thigh, thumb circling on you as he tries desperately to tame you in any way, but he knows he’s gonna fail.

And that is how you decide to change the mood, letting the air become more tense. You know what you want.

That is why you straddle Frankie, throwing out of the window the idea of coming to this room to talk only, now your knees dipping onto the mattress, hands going over his shoulders as he just helps you straddle him even better, letting you adjust yourself on his welcoming lap.

“Are you trying to bribe your way in?” He breathes over your lips, as you’re about to kiss him, “No need to do that with my boyfriend,” you lavishly say, “Or maybe I should, after all? What should I do to get a yes out of you?” You brush your fingers over his patched beard, feeling the bed shifting as Santiago is getting up, feeling like tonight he’s reaching new levels of third wheeling.

But you have other plans.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You ask, grabbing his arm and tugging him closer to the bed again and it is insane how he just goes pliant, how he takes those steps back, “I wanted to leave you two alone.” He utters, but you click your tongue, “No need to, Santiago,” you start, now having him sit where he was right before, a satisfied look on your face.

“Do you think I haven’t seen the way you look at Frankie? Or even the way you look at me?” And you can feel Frankie’s hands on your hips tightening his grip, like he wants to find a silent way to tell you to stop. But the truth is that he won’t say a single word, because he is enjoying that a lot.

“It might be your lucky day, Santi.” You finish, your fingers taking his chin and making him look at you, while you still straddle Frankie, “I know you want him, you want me, and well… you want us.” 

Your thumb brushes on his bottom lip slightly parted, the plush soft under your fingertip, “What do you say, Frankie? We could have some fun.” You lavishly glance at him, and his fingers don’t have that tight grip on you anymore, rather already going under the hems of your t-shirt, which well, it’s his.

“Fuck…” he breathes, your hand having found its way to his shorts, the back of it brushing on him, telling that all of that is surely exciting him, “Yes, love, yes.”

Santiago is still pliant under your fingers and you make him come closer to you, “I know you’re dying to touch me, to kiss me, just like you’re dying to do that to Frankie, come on, don’t be shy.” You encourage him and he shifts on the bed, sitting closer to Frankie but starting to kiss your neck, your gaze though on Frankie, like you’re challenging him. 

Because everything is a challenge right now.

His hands don’t lose the chance to go under your t-shirt, to go and cup your naked breasts under it, Santiago glancing down and almost feeling guilty to be seeing you half naked.

You brush your fingers through his hair, “You can look,” and this time he stops his warm and wet kisses on your neck only to kiss you on your lips, and damn, he’s a good kisser too, his hand going behind your neck, as his thumb brushes on your jaw, taking all your breath away. And fuck, it is a lot to have his mouth on you as Frankie’s hands are still toying with you, even pinching your nipples in that way that you like, before diving on them; his tongue laps on the centre of your chest, then toying with your left nipple, as you involuntarily move on him, your panties rubbing on his bulge, as you’re not wearing any shorts or pants.

You leave Santiago’s lips only to reach his neck, and god the perfume of his skin is invading you, and mixing itself with yours and Frankie’s, inebriating you and your hands slip between them both, reaching Frankie’s shorts again and Santiago’s trousers, definitely feeling his arousment.

You kiss all of his neck, then gracing with your fingers that scar behind his neck, still giving attention to that too, because it makes him so unique; low moans leave both of their lips, and when you look at them, they’re starting to kiss each other, knowing that this is the perfect opportunity to do what you’ve been thinking about for a while, making good use of your hands.

You swiftly unzip Santiago’s trousers, hand going directly on him and feeling a wet spot on the tissue, him almost buckling his hips already at that, and then doing the same with Frankie’s shorts, and he helps you with that, tugging his boxers lower, and letting you take him in your hand, moving the way he likes it; you manage to do the same with Santiago, looking down at his length and well, he’s surely not small either, as your look goes between them both, Frankie’s tip wetting your t-shirt for the way you’re still straddling him.

They moan in each other’s mouths as you start working on them, leaving some kisses on their necks, going back and forth between them.

Frankie cups your face into his hands, now wanting to kiss you only, his lips wet, like the ones tracing your shoulder, your blood pumping loudly in your veins.

“Am I taking good care of my two boys?”

Them both nodding eagerly, “How many times have you done this mutually to each other? How many times have you kissed?” 

The question startles them, especially Frankie, even though he really doesn’t have to fear to answer it, “Few times but, I swear to you, before I got with you.” Frankie utters, as a lower moan reverberates from his throat.

You nod, you could have always sensed that they were too close but you never questioned that, and now well, you have your answer.

And when you can feel how they’re becoming harder and harder you leave them all together, wiping your hands on the bedsheets, and even getting up from the bed, a smirk on your face as they are clearly unhappy with that.

“Oh come on, you know what to do.” You say as you lean on the other edge of the bed, now looking at their backs as Frankie turns at you, like for asking for permission, “You go on, I’ll wait.” You climb the bed and go kiss him, as you can see Santiago’s hand wrapping around him and you encourage him to do the same, “I know that you need this, go on, my boys.”

Your voice warm on his neck and you decide that’s what you’re gonna do in the meantime, you’re gonna kiss them relentlessly on their necks, devouring their skin.

And it is so damn fun, to hear the moans leaving their throats just under your lips, your hands sliding up and down on their backs.

It doesn’t take longer and both of them are coming, watching the expressions of pleasure on their faces, white stains and lines on their hands, and it should be gross, should feel gross when Frankie lifts up his hand over your mouth, easing in a finger, and you suck eagerly on it, feeling not his taste, but Santiago’s who well, mimics him and lets his fingers on Frankie’s lips.

And if someone had ever told you you would be in this position, you would have never believed them.

The back of your hands go up and down on them, “Now it’s my turn.” You whisper, leaving them and going to the other edge of the bed, sitting there still in your tshirt and panties.

You click your tongue, both of them looking at you like very obedient pets, and you snap your fingers, looking down at the floor.

They need nothing else to literally rush to the floor in front of you, smirking at them, and especially at Frankie who today went from being mad at you to kneel on the floor for you, such is the grip you have on him.

You widen a bit your legs, hands smoothing on your thighs, their eyes following the movement, “Don’t make me wait too much before you both do something.”

Sooner than said, Santiago is kissing on your thigh, going for the inner part of it, from your knee to slowly making his way until his nose can bump onto your panties.

You can’t help but whimpering at that already, as Frankie instead is kissing your hip, on the opposite side than him, your hands going through their hair, wishing you had a mirror in front of you to look at yourself now, with these two men on their knees for you.

Santiago’s nose bumps on your panties once again, your fingers gracing the back of his neck, “Do you want to have a taste, Santiago?” You lavishly let out, his mouth salivating only at he thought of it, Frankie stopping his kisses on your hip and waist, a hand going around your waist, claiming you, and so you have to give him some attention too.

“You’re gonna eat me out too, you’re both gonna do that, understood? But you have to be good boys, otherwise you won’t get anything.”

And as you’re putting it, it might looks like you’re doing a favour to do them, but it’s really the contrary: you’re doing this for yourself, for your enjoyment and the fact that they are complying so easily is just collateral damage.

You widen more your legs, sitting more comfortably on the bed and feeling then Santiago’s fingers starting to pull the panties to one side, exhaling as the tissue is pushed away and he gets to see you.

Frankie gets your neck, almost wanting to make you forget about Santiago, but how could you ever do that, when his tongue is starting to lap on you, circles being precise on your clit, but still delicate, almost afraid of giving you more, of going full in.

You don’t say anything for now though, you lean back on your arms and let that pleasure wash over you, his fingers pulling the panties more to the side, now being completely exposed and he kisses you all over, wet kisses being delivered to outer lips and inner lips, before his fingers go to spread you more open.

“Fuck,” you exhale, the cold air hitting you, before being replaced by the warm breathing, tongue swirling on you as his hands grab your inner thighs, now being completely open for him; Frankie places a hand over your chest, feeling your beating heart, now that he’s sitting next to you, and he looks down at Santiago, his head disappearing between your thighs, his nose brushing on you and definitely becoming covered in yourself soon enough.

And you know that this is like torture for Frankie, not because of jealousy, no, but because you can see the way he is yearning for you and having to wait for his turn is making him whimper literally over your neck. “What is it, love?” You ask him, his lips closing on your breast, moving the hems of the t-shirt higher, but wishing though that he was doing that somewhere else on your body, “I want to eat you out.”

And he is desperate.

“Well why don’t you get down too, next to Santiago, let me see what you can do.”

And Frankie loves a good challenge so he obeys, going to the floor and nudging Santiago, who is still at it, you pulsing against his lips, delaying your orgasm the best you can, to get the best of both worlds.

Santiago gets to breathe for a moment, before the familiar moustache is pressing on you, tongue more decisive than Santiago, who at the moment is looking up at you, half closing his eyes when you brush your fingers through his hair, “Just keep on kissing me, go on.” And he immediately kisses you on your thigh, every inch of skin that he can reach.

And Frankie is really giving it all to you, hands now grabbing the hems of the panties and yanking them off, “Let me see, let me see her.” He whispers, mouth agape for you to widen your legs again for him.

“God, he got her all wet, didn’t he?” He teases, a finger collecting your wetness, Santiago moving more to the side, kinda understanding the hint of jealousy of Frankie in his voice.

“But I wonder if he can suck you really good like I do, or if he can finger your like I do.” He utters, his thumbs spreading you open, him sighing at your plush and how it’s pulsing for him, “Santi, look how beautiful, you got my girlfriend all wet.” Santiago dying to actually keeping eating you out, but Frankie diving on you instead, famished, like he hasn’t eaten in days.

You almost kick your leg for the force he’s putting into it, actually moving you up on the bed, as he hooks your leg over his shoulder and you let out a pitched scream when he pushes his tongue into you, relentlessly, moving against him. 

And Santiago can’t help but taking off that shirt from you, wanting to please you even more, wanting to cup those breasts and pinching those nipples like it seems that you like.

His hands are calloused too over you, now being completely naked in front of them, and yet you couldn’t feel safer, being invaded by pleasure from Frankie, getting you wetter and wetter and Santiago, worshipping your breasts, kissing them and beginning to suck on them, teeth pinching your nipples, one and the other.

And fuck, it is overwhelming, “Santiago go eat me out too.” You tease, him going down and Frankie’s moustache gets replaced by his smoother skin, Frankie brushing a hand over his lips and wanting to dive into you again.

“Frankie, make room for him.” You almost order, still trying not to come, your legs welcoming them both and soon you have both of their lips on you and fuck, this is what heaven must look like, Santiago sucking on your clit as Frankie pushes his tongue into you once again, and you don’t even know how they are managing that.

And soon Frankie’s tongue gets replaced by his fingertip, easing it in, among all your wetness and stretching you the way you need it, “How is it, babygirl? How is to have Santiago’s lips and my fingers?” He asks, as he’s easing another finger in, making you whimper and tighten around him, wanting to close your legs so bad but actually not being able to. 

“It’s fucking amazing, keep going.” You breathe, laying completely on bed with your back, almost crying out when Frankie starts speeding up his fingers, slapping inside you, and fuck, you might think he is a devil when he starts eating you out too again, crying out a loud fuck, and moving against both their mouths.

They even share a couple of kisses as they keep working on you, high on the pleasure that they are giving you, kisses being sloppy for how wet their lips are.

Frankie though watches his fingers disappear inside you, curling them and that combined with Santiago’s lips, sucking you even more eagerly, is enough to make you tighten around his fingers wanting even more friction and then a rush of adrenaline igniting your bloodstream, making your body shake out of control, coming all over them, breathing shaky too as you repeat their names, both coming out of your lips.

Frankie keeps moving his fingers, slower, as Santiago presses kisses all over you, your hands brushing over their hair, trying to catch your breath, and a feeling of heat is washing over you, the aftermath kicking as strongly as the orgasm itself, your body still being shaken like electricity is passing through your bloodstream.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” Santiago breathes over your lips before diving on you, his kiss being almost tender and Frankie rubs his thumb over your clit, still his fingers inside you.

It makes you twitch, your whole body, being so overstimulated, and you know damn well why he’s doing that.

When you part from Santiago, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, you look down at Frankie, stilly kneeling between your legs, “What is that you want, Frankie?” You exhale, but your words are shaky, urging to close your legs, trapping his arm in between, but not even that stops him from going on. 

“Is my big boy jealous?” Heart exploding because you don’t know how much you’re gonna take this.

He shakes his head though, and you know he is just bothered, he doesn’t like to share.

His fingers keep being inside you, his thumb padding on your throbbing clit and fuck, if he keeps going like that for longer, you’re gonna come again in a second.

“Then what is it?” You ask, breathless, Santiago kissing your shoulder and you let your fingers run through his hair, the other hand reaching Frankie’s face now that you have sit up, his fingers still sliding in, as you’re leaking on them.

His other hand sprawls on your tummy, “I- I wanted you for me, just for a moment.”

And you can see his leaking tip staining his boxers when he pulled them up; his fingers stop pumping, rather they circle inside you and this is even better, widening your legs.

And you feel Santiago leaving a kiss on your shoulder.

“I will leave you now.” He whispers on your skin, his look though on Frankie.

“But you don’t have to, Santiago.” You exhale, looking at him while Frankie circles his fingers in you and fuck, you won’t even be able to talk if he keeps doing that. 

“I do, you two need it, and you also need to talk,” he presses a kiss on Frankie’s cheek.

“Take care of her, alright?”

Frankie smiles, fingers that will go numb in a minute, “I will, I will take care of our girl.”

And when Santiago leaves the room, letting the door close behind him, you take a good at Frankie.

“So now I’m your girl, of both of you?” Your silky voice being betrayed by the way he’s making you wetter.

He nods, “We’re your boys, right?” 

He pushes a little deeper, and you nod, “And this is all you’re gonna give me when Santiago is not here?” You challenge him, “Just your fingers?”

Frankie quickly slides out his fingers from you, thumb brushing on your clit, and you whine at that loss.

“Oh I thought that you didn’t want them.” He lavishly lets out, watching carefully your reaction, checking for any sign of tiredness. But there is none.

“I want more, Frankie, haven’t you heard him? You have to take care of me.” You cup his cheeks, the soft beard under your palms as he goes to kiss you on your lips, a hand gently  pushing on your chest, letting you lay down on the undone bedsheets.

“So what you’re saying is that...” he leaves the words hanging, a finger tracing your neck as he hovers you, until it meets your collarbones wiping away some sweat.

“Is that I want all of you,” getting a little closer to his ear, as if Santiago could hear you from the living room, “I want your cock, is that enough for you?”

He exhales a low fuck, his hard length already pressing to your thigh, and he quickly gets rid of his boxers again, pumping himself while looking at your spread open legs, your fingers sliding through the wetness and fuck, you really didn’t think that tonight you have ended up in this position.

“Come on, babe, I’m waiting for you.” 

And he’s captivated by you, going to kiss you again as he lines up, tip brushing over your clit, sliding up and down until you reach between you two and you get a hold of him; a slow moan gets out of him filling the room, as you guide him through your folds. It’s just the tip, keeping you open and welcoming him into you, as he kisses all over your neck.

And he’s warm against your body, his breathing over your neck as he’s kissing every inch of skin that he can reach, all the arguments from early tonight vaporising in huffs falling from his lips. No more venomous words, no more cold looks, only that warmth filling you and your hands gripping his curls.

You guide him to your lips, kissing him desperately as you plant your heels on his back, wanting more than just that.

“Frankie, baby,” you utter over his lips, his furrowed eyebrows as he sinks into you just a little more, taking your breath away and your lips parting in a moan.

He doesn’t need any more words, Frankie knows you, and soon you can feel his hand gripping under your thigh, lifting it just the right amount and pushing himself a little more again, his fingers digging onto your soft skin.

His other hand goes cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip and you suck on it as he finally starts thrusting into you, one inch more into you with each thrust, until you can feel it all in you, wet and warm.

His mouth has the same warmth, kissing you relentlessly and sinking more onto you, heart exploding in his ribcage when he feels your voice asking for more.

“Just imagine,” you say between some sloppy kisses, “How this would be on,” one more kiss equalising one more deep thrust, “On a mission.”

He bites your lip, “That’s all you can think right now?” His voice reverberating in the room and against your ears.

Frankie gets up, kneeling between your legs and his hands grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he thrusts more into you, watching you your body bounce back at each thrust.

You think you’re actually losing your mind when he spits and it ends onto your clit, as if it needed to be made wetter, his hand landing on it right after, “Still all you can think about?” He asks, his finger flicking onto you until he’s taking it between his thumb and index making you squirm and moving your hips and searching for his other hand to hold onto.

And actually the mission still hits the back of your head, but never like the orgasm that’s building up like electricity, never like him almost pulling out from you only to go back all into you, making you almost bite your hand.

He parts your lips with his fingers, his other hand starting to flick on your clit, up and down,  until his fingers can circle your lips all spread over his length.

“Fuck, fuck” and a repetition of his name fall from your lips.

“I guess not anymore, uh? Got something else on your mind now?” He asks, his voice huskier and deeper, and now everything that is on your mind is just him.

“You just wanna come now, right? Then do it, baby, do it for me.” 

Frankie lightly and rhythmically slaps your clit, obscene sounds as he keeps thrusting into you and he fills you with his warmth, a loud moan escaping his lips and actually he doesn’t give a fuck if someone from the living room is gonna hear all of that.

“Come, babygirl, come.” He repeats, and you tighten around him, legs wrapped around him as the final slap ends on you before your body is shocked by the orgasm.

You can’t even see anything anymore, it’s just him inside you, his breathing now over your neck and his warmth, that’s all you can feel.

Your breathing is ragged, almost screaming when he gives you another thrust, letting his come getting even deeper inside you, marking you. Breeding you.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s what my girl needed.” He hushes, coming down onto you, kissing your warm forehead, and in the haze of the orgasm you cannot help but nodding at his words, that’s just the truth. You needed him like the air that you are breathing again right now.

It takes a moment before you can feel him slowly pulling out from you, an instant whine falling off your lips and Frankie kisses that whine away, as he lays on your side and pulls you on his chest.

You kiss his chest, then his neck, only to fall again onto his shoulder, exhausted from the night.

Frankie hears some slurred words from you, “What, baby?” He asks, his thumb brushing over your forehead.

“I meant - can I come with you?”

He pulls you a little closer to him, “Honey, you just did, and I think that’s it for the night-“

“No, dumbass I meant on the mission.” You giggle, hitting him lightly on his shoulder.

He giggles alongside you, now at least the air less tense and filled with that after sex haze.

“We should talk about this tomorrow, it’s too late and you need some rest.” He softly lefts out, before you can feel him covering you with his t-shirt, and then his arms are around you, pulling you up from the bed.

“Frankie, what-“ 

“And you need a bath, or at least a quick shower.” He says, before he’s getting out of the room with you in his arms and he swiftly opens the door to your bedroom, closing it quickly behind him.

It’s when you’re both under the warm shower that you ask it again, his hands smoothing onto your shoulders and rinsing away the soap.

He lets you face him again, taking your hand into his, and he just looks so adorable with his curls all wet and sticking a little to his forehead.

“Honey, you’re really not letting this thing go?” He asks, kissing your hand, his look soft on you.

And maybe you have got him.

“What do you think? You think I ever surrender to something?” You challenge him again and he shakes his head, once again defeated beneath your making.

“You don’t, I know you far too well.” 

You inch a little closer, kissing him on the side of his mouth, then whispering over his lips, “Oh you do... what’s the answer then?”

And Frankie would be damned because he’s weak, far too weak for you, and he’s gonna fall for it, he’s gonna yield to it.

“It’s yes, darling, yes you can come with us.” His words coming out just as natural as you expected, smiling over his lips as you kiss him, hands tracing those wet curls.

A thrill crosses your body at the thought of what that mission is gonna be, what is gonna happen with your two boys with you.

Satisfaction is sweet on your mind, easing it finally after all the turmoil.

You would always win the match.

[faretheeoscar]

This is the photoshoot of my fictional wedding with Santiago Garcia idc

[bobafetts-princess]

Bee Stung

Pairings: Benny Miller x Fem!Reader x Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales x Will Miller

Word Count: 8.3k (I cannot even explain what happened. My fingers started moving and never stopped)

Warnings: Sex pollen. Dubcon because of sex pollen. PiV, little butt stuff, oral (fem!receiving), love bites. There’s a little boy on boy action.

Is not killing Tom a warning? He isn’t on our mission but he also isn’t dead so

A/N: This is 100% inspired by @/charnelhouse’s Bloomverse. Char is an incredible writer and I can only hope to live up to her writing standard 🙏🏼

(She also has a book out, you should definitely check it out)

“Are we all in?” Santi asks, glancing around at his brothers. Brothers in arms, brothers in life, brothers in every way but blood.

“I’m down,” Benny says, jumping at the chance to be in before Will.

“I’m in,” Will shrugs, “so long as Fish is in.” The eyes around the room glance at Fish as he contemplates.

“I’m trying to get clean, man,” he says, palms up.

“No drugs. None for us. Recon and get the fuck out,” Santi says, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. They can’t do this without Fish. Their pilot. Their way out. Fish nods before dropping his head. It’s silent for several minutes as he thinks, Pope’s breath caught in his throat. He’s about to try to plead again when Fish glances up and nods.

“I’m in.”

Santiago lets out a heavy breath. He’s got three of his four on board but his toughest test has yet to come. You.

“We can’t do this without her,” Will muses, hand on his stubbled jaw. “We need her,” and Santiago knows. He fucking knows okay?

Will is their leader, their planner. Benny is their cheerleader, he’s got their backs no matter what. Frankie is their escape. Their way out, always. Santiago is the glue that holds them all together. But you? You’re their anchor. When shit goes south and Jesus it always goes south, you hold them together. Figuratively and literally. You’re their medic, you’ve saved their lives more times than they can count. You’re also their sharp shooter. You’ve taken as many lives, if not more, than the rest of them.

Honeybee, sometimes known as Honey. Sometimes known as Bee, depending on the situation. When you’re patching up their bullet wounds or knife cuts, you’re Honey. When you’re 500 feet away and sniping an enemy, you’re Bee. When you’re sugar sweet and smiling at them as you do a shot of tequila, you’re Honey. When you’re spitting mad and cussing because they’ve done something stupid, you’re Bee. That time Benny lit your truck on fire because he ‘was curious about whether metal burned’, he got Bee and boy did Bee sting. But when Frankie needed someone to bail him out of jail because he got busted, Honey showed up without a second thought.

Santiago can’t do anything but think about that awful mission 2 years ago when everything went sideways. When they almost lost you and because of that they did end up losing you. It’s a long drive to the farm where you live now and Santi can’t stop his racing thoughts. He told the other three to follow a half hour behind him, give him time to apologize and soften up their Honeybee before they descend and ask the unthinkable.

——————

You know who it is the second you see a truck turn down your driveway. Who it is and why he’s here. Not the specifics, of course, but you know why he would show up on your doorstep nearly 2 years to the day after he last spoke to you. He steps out of the truck, as disarmingly handsome as he smiles at you.

“Hey, Honeybee,” he greets you like he last saw you a week ago and it pisses you off.

“Pope,” he used your call sign, you’ll use his. He can’t see all of you, only your shoulders and head because you’re hidden in your garden.

“How are you?” He asks like he doesn’t know. Like he hasn’t been keeping tabs on you. Of course, you have connections too and they tell you when Santiago checks up on you. When you step out from behind the tomato plants and stalks of corn, he’s almost knocked over at the sight of you. You’re as stunning as ever and Santi gulps down the sight of you.

“Fine,” you’re short with him. And he knows you have every right to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping towards you and stopping when you move your basket from your hip to in front of you. A clear sign for him not to get closer.

“For what, Garcia?” You prod. You both know what he’s apologizing for but he’s the one that needs to admit the wrongdoing.

“For that mission,” his head drops in shame and your eyes narrow at him.

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

2 years ago, you’d been on your final mission as Delta Force. Redfly was set to retire and be followed by Ironhead and Catfish. Benny followed his brother into everything and wanted to start his boxing career. The level of respect that was given to you by these five was hard to come by, so you retired too. Pope was the only one who couldn’t give it up. Couldn’t stop. ‘One more mission’, he’d say, every time. But this one really was the last mission as a team, a unit. One that had spent nearly every waking hour together for 10 years. (Not really, but it felt like it some days) Some, like Redfly and Ironhead, had been together longer than that.

Pope had been charged with watching your weak side, your job was to snipe their sharpshooter, make him disappear while the others take the operation down from the inside out. But Pope got distracted, eyeing something and went to investigate. While he was gone, the enemy had managed to get someone behind your lines, intending to stop you. Their footsteps were quiet and you had your eye through the sights, drowning out everything else. By the time you heard them it was too late for you to do anything except roll. The knife intended for your neck embedded in your ribs instead.

“Honeybee down,” you remembered saying through your comm, right after putting one bullet through the skull of your attacker. There was so much activity over the comms, shouts from Ironhead and curses from Redfly and Benny. Fish, unknown to you, was already on his was to your location and Pope, Pope was frozen with fear and shame and guilt. You heard his voice over the comms, taking responsibility for the situation as you tried to remember your medical training.

Keep pressure on the wound. Don’t remove the knife. Fuck. Where’s my med pack. Jesus this hurts. Damn, I missed my target. This is going to blow the entire mission.

Catfish found you first, gently removing your bloodied hand as he pulled supplies out of your med pack and bandaged you up as best as he could. Ironhead was next, whispering gentle words in your ear as you bobbed in and out of consciousness. Benny and Redfly came together, Benny cussing up a storm and demanding you stay awake as he gently cradled your face. The wound was deep and you were bleeding like a stuck pig. Which, to be fair, you kind of were. It took all of them to get you and your shit out of there without you dying, but it was close. By the time Pope arrived, you were out, your body protecting itself from the pain and blood loss.

But the thing was, you weren’t even mad at Pope because he abandoned his position. They’d all made mistakes and they’d all gotten injured before, it was part of the job. But what pissed you off was the fact that he never called. Never checked up on you himself. He did it all through the others or through your doctors when they got you to a hospital. You’d scraped by, the wound nothing but an ugly puckered scar now. The true pain lay somewhere in your chest when you thought of them. Thought of all you’d given them and they’d given you. And the fact that none of them called anymore, none of them stopped by or checked up. Even Redfly, who was always the most unattainable of the group but also the most reliable, quit contacting. And that shit hurt. You’d given them 10 years and they’d given you nothing in return. You knew life was hard, they were all learning to live without the army.

Shaking your head of the memory, you focused on the man in front of you, the one hanging his head in shame and finally speaking to you.

“I mean, what the fuck Pope?” You snapped, taking a step towards him.

“I made a mistake, I left my position,” he said and you sighed out loud.

“You’re a fucking idiot, do you honestly think that’s what I’m mad about? You’ve got a thick skull,” and his head lifts to look at you.

“You’re not mad you got hurt?”

“Fuck no, I’m not mad I got hurt!” You explode, 2 years of hurt and anger flying to the surface. “I’m pissed because you never checked up on me. When I got medically discharged, everyone but you was there. No letters no phone calls, no get-well flowers, just silence,” the rage in your bones is making the scar on your ribs twinge and you subconsciously rub the skin there. Santi winces as he watches you, taking the tongue lashing he deserves. “Don’t you remember that time I missed a shot and alerted an enemy to Fish? He almost died because I fucked up and Fish forgave me without a second thought. I didn’t even have to forgive you for making a mistake, Santi, because it happens to the best of us. I’m not ready to forgive you for choosing to shut me out the next 2 years.”

“I’m sorry,” he says once there’s been several beats of silence between you. “I was so embarrassed and ashamed. Redfly ripped me apart for making that mistake and I couldn’t handle the guilt of knowing I was the reason that you nearly died. I-,” he falters for words, his palms up in defeat. “I just couldn’t handle feeling so responsible,” he nearly chokes on his words as he remembers that day, in a different light than you do.

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

He saw a shadow, he would swear by it to this day and in fact he did when the army investigated the situation. You were so damned capable, so smart and aware, there’s no way you could get hurt if he checked it out, right? He gets there and there’s nothing but another shadow, a little further off. He follows again, gun at the ready and his senses in overdrive. He hears a pop and the shadow darts into an opening and it’s just a fucking alley cat and he thinks ‘Bee got her shot’.

But then your voice comes over the comms and its scratchy and breathy and not at all like the rich one he’s used to hearing. “Honeybee down,” and his brain explodes and his body freezes. He’s supposed to be watching your six, your back, keeping you safe. The comms explode with noise, all five men dropping their individual missions to make their way to you. He hears Redfly come over the comms demanding to know who fucked up and Santi’s hands shake as he takes responsibility. He’s closest, he should get there first but he can’t fucking make his feet move. Fish is the only one not speaking and Santi knows that he’s already on his way. Ironhead is shouting, demanding to know what the fuck happened and Benny is cussing up one side and down the other. Santi knows how he feels about you but in that moment he knows how the others feel about you too. Well, except for Redfly. He’s married and sees you like his baby sister, but the other four? They see you as something more.

Catfish comes over the comms and confirms that he’s got you but you’re in a bad way. Your attacker got you with a knife and didn’t hold back. You’ve done a damn good job of keeping pressure on and Santi feels a rush of pride that you’re so good at your job that you’re saving your own life. A feeling that is immediately followed by guilt as he remembers that it’s his fault. Ironhead is next in and Santi would never tell him this but when he leans over you, he presses your comm and broadcasts what he’s saying.

“Come on my sweet girl, stay with me. Let me see those beautiful eyes, that’s it. Look at me. Stay with me. Please,” he’s pleading and then here comes Benny’s voice.

“Honeybee, you’d better fucking be awake. You’d better fucking stay with me, goddamnit. We’ve done too much for this to be the thing that takes you out. You’re fucking tougher than that knife,” and the longer Benny talks, the more desperate his voice gets and that’s finally what gets Pope’s feet moving. He gets there as they’re putting you on a makeshift stretcher and his gut twists as he looks at you, unconscious with your breath rattling in your chest. They told him later that you had a punctured lung that nearly collapsed and you’d lost a significant amount of blood and he donated so much he almost passed out. Santi shakes the memory away, bringing himself back to the present as he looks at you.

“I’m so sorry,” he says and this time he uses your name. The way his tongue curls around it makes something go hot in your bones and you nod at him. He’s not truly forgiven but you also know Santi and know how responsible he feels. Anything that will make him feel something that deeply needs to be pushed down or it might overtake him.

“Your apology isn’t quite accepted but you’re moving in the right direction,” you smile at him and it’s disarming. He hasn’t see that smile in too long and it nearly knocks him over. He takes a step toward you but then a noise distracts him. Before he can get to you, wrap you up in a hug, run his fingers over the softness of your thighs, he hears the rumble of a truck. It’s the guys, his half hour must be up.

“I knew you were up to some shit, Garcia,” but your tone isn’t one of anger, in fact, you sound almost amused. The guys get out of Frankies truck, heading to you but Benny, sweet fucking Benny, can’t contain it and he breaks out into a full run to get to you. He’s wrapping you up and you’re laughing, Benny’s hands clasped under your ass as he spins you in a circle. Will is next, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug before he cups your jaw and takes a moment just to look at you. Frankie is next, burying his face in your neck as he inhales your scent, holding on just a beat longer than the others. You look at them, your boys, and catalog how they look.

Santiago has more gray in his hair than you’ve ever seen, his beard speckled with grey as well. He got his call sign early in his time with DF when one of his informants told Redfly that he fucked so good she saw God every time he came around. He’s got wrinkles by his eyes and he’s so undeniably handsome.

Catfish, who got his call sign because he refused to shave and Redfly said that he looked like he had catfish whiskers under his nose, has put on weight. It looks good on him, the way his shirt stretches just a little bit around his midsection. His hair has gotten long, curling around the edges of his hat as he smiles at you and it makes your heart thump.

Will, who got his name Ironhead from actually getting shot in the head. A bullet ricocheted off a piece of metal and lodged itself in the back of his skull and if he gets really drunk he’ll let you touch it. He’s still fucking stacked, you can see his muscles under that little polo he’s wearing. He’s golden, the golden boy of Delta Force, their face if they needed one. His facial hair is longer than he used to keep it and it makes your chest ache.

Then there’s Benny, who followed his big brother into everything in life. He’s grinning at you like you hung the sun and maybe for Benny, you did. Benny had a call sign once upon a time, he was Baby Miller until he got hammered once and admitted to you that he hates it. You made everyone stop using it after that, sticking with only Benny and even though he’s never thanked you outright, you know he appreciated it. His hair has gotten long too, you can see it when he moves his cap to run his fingers through it.

They’re all so devastatingly handsome and you have to do something to distract yourself. “No Redfly?” Tom got his call sign because he was like a fly on the wall. He seemed to always know what the enemy was doing and how to handle it.

“Nah,” Will says, scratching a hand across his jaw in a way that’s so familiar that it makes your chest ache. “He had that back surgery last year to repair a disk and it didn’t fix the problem. He has to have another one in a few weeks. He sends his best though.” Tom was the only one you’d kept up with, until the last six months or so, he was a good man who has had some bad breaks. A soft silence settles over the five of you and while you don’t mind it, there’s an elephant in the room.

“Why are all of you on my farm?” You ask, eyes flicking between them. Benny and Will share a glance and Frankie’s eyes narrow at Santi. “What are you not telling me? I know y’all didn’t show up after all this time just to look at me like I’m a ghost.”

Santi swallows, “there’s a mission…” you knew that, you just wanted him to admit it. So you cut him off with a raise of your hand and start dishing directions. You may not lead them into a mission, but this is your home and you give the orders here.

“Pope, grab my basket please. I’ve got some steaks we can grill tonight. I made fresh bread this morning and I just picked tomatoes and basil, so I’ll make the bruschetta if someone can cook the steaks,” you tell them and almost laugh at the way they jump into action. “You can tell me about this mission over cocktails,” you say, heading up to your house, “which I’m not making.”

It’s so easy, you notice, to fall into a rhythm with them. Will grills and Santi tells him everything he’s doing wrong. Frankie washes all the vegetables you harvested and Benny makes sure that everyone’s drink is always full. You eat on your patio, everything but the steaks from your farm, and the boys are sure to compliment you on it. You spend the evening catching up on everything you’ve missed as a group and once everyone has a full stomach, you give Santi a pointed look. He explains everything and you listen intently, throwing a leg over the arm of your chair and letting your red toes dangle. “Can we do this without Redfly?” You ask and Santi nods.

“We don’t have a choice. He wouldn’t miss this unless he absolutely had to,” Will says and the group nods at you.

“Who runs point?”

“Ironhead,” Santi confirms what you already knew. It makes sense, he was Tom’s second hand and watched the way he worked more closely than the rest of you.

“And you’re all in?” You ask, looking each man in the face and wait for them to confirm. A soft hand lands on your ankle before it moves up and wraps around your calf. It’s Will’s and you breakout in goosebumps at the feeling of his warmth on your skin.

“We can’t do this without you, Honeybee,” He says and the other three murmur their agreement.

“I’m in,” you say and Santiago breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m also not cleaning up,” you tell them, gesturing to the food on the table. I’m going to sit here and watch you four do it,” and as you watch them, you can’t help the thoughts that sprint through your mind. Wondering what it would be like to have them all here with you, in this house. How fucking soft and domestic it would be. An image flashes in your brain at them in your bed and you quickly shake it away. You’re heading out on a mission where there’s a real chance you won’t all come back, you cannot get distracted.

The five of you chat and hang out, drinking until well-past dark and you’re the first to call it quits and head to bed. You’ve barely gotten to sleep when your bed dips and you know who it is without opening your eyes.

“Benny,” you whisper as he curls around you, just like old times. Benny runs warm and the two of you always ended up together on nights you had to cold camp.

“Couldn’t be in the same place without some tactile cuddles,” he says and you open your eyes just to roll them.

“We don’t need to snuggle for warmth in my house, Ben,” you say and he shrugs.

“I’m already here, might as well stay.”

You both drift off, Benny snoring softly in your ear, but before you get into a deep sleep the bed dips again. “Can I join?” Frankie’s voice rasps, his hot breath fanning across your face and you nod, keeping your eyes closed. He kisses your cheek and then flops down, making Benny grunt and hold you tighter. You reach out to Frankie and he takes your hand, curling your fingers in between his and he’s out in seconds.

A little while later you hear the door open but you’re so damned tired that you don’t even look up. A pair of soft lips press against your temple, Will’s, and he whispers a ‘good night, Princess’ before you hear the couch in your bedroom strain as he drops his weight on it. Another pair of lips press against your cheek moments later, the stubble rubbing gently against your skin and Pope is the only one it could be. The rocking chair that sits beside the couch creaks gently when he sits in it. You wait until you hear the soft breathing of all four of them then you relax completely and drift back off into your own sleep.

——————-

Pope, leave it to fucking Pope, lied about this mission. It was initially recon, like he said, but it quickly morphed into something else. Instead of passing intel over to the national government, Santi said to just use the intel yourselves and kill the bastard in charge. “We would never have to work again,” he pleaded. “Lorea is ruining this country and no one will question why he’s dead. We can have money and this country can have freedom.”

So, here you are, strapped down with guns and your med pack, stalking through the house looking for this guy. He wasn’t where Santi thought he should be, so you offered to sweep the house while they loaded the money. You’re the quickest shot anyways. Turning a corner you see movement, and slow your steps, lifting your gun. You and Lorea catch sight of each other at the same time, but you already have your weapon ready while he has to reach for his. It takes one shot and you communicate that over the comms. You move towards him, grabbing the plastic ball on the table next to where he was and inspect it. It’s not a bomb, too flimsy, but there’s definitely something inside it. When you gently squeeze it, it explodes in your face and you scream.

Santi’s stomach drops when he hears that scream, it’s one he’s never heard from you before. Not when you’ve been shot or stabbed. Not that time Benny threw you in the pool fully clothed or that time Fish scared you so bad you peed yourself. It’s gut-wrenching and they all drop what they’re doing to run to you. Benny reaches you first, skidding across the floor on his knees as he grabs your face and you can see the panic in his eyes. You’re covered in white powder that smells sickly sweet, like the scent of dying lilies. “Fuck, Honey, talk to me. Are you okay?” The powder burns your sinuses and makes you go cross-eyed as you try to spit and snort it out. The extra hangs in the air and settles on the skin and in hair as Benny tries to wipe everything off your face.

“Load up, time to go,” Will says, sniffing the air and Benny is already on it. He’s got you hauled over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and Frankie is so worried, his brain so focused on you, that he doesn’t notice another ball on the floor. He steps on it and it explodes, launching more of whatever it is into the air. It settles in the air as they load up, leaving a sick scent and haze in the air.

They’ve all got white powder in their hair, on their clothes, tracked in the treads of their boots. They don’t know what it is or how anyone is going to react to it and all Santi can think about is how they’re probably going to have to burn their clothes. Will can’t stop checking behind him, Benny’s face wrenched up as he tries to cough it out of his lungs. You’re choking on it, trying to get it out of your mouth and your nose and your eyes and you can’t concentrate on anything except the fucking scent.

“Safe house, we have to get to the safe house,” Santi is saying as they get to the van and Will and Benny are tending to you. Frankie is driving, trying to remain calm and rational as Santi gives directions and not glance back at you every two minutes to make sure you’re okay. A burn starts low in your belly as you try to focus on Will, his blue eyes and golden hair filling your vision. You get a flash of what you think those blue eyes would look like in between your thighs and have to shake it away. He hands you a water bottle and you dump it over your head, keeping your eyes open so you can wash the substance out. You feel better, but the substance fucking reeks. Benny is there next to Will, raking fingers through his long hair as he panics. He’s rambling, he tends to do that when he’s scared or nervous and it takes everything in Santi not to tell him to shut the fuck up.

“That’s why you’re not the team medic, Ben,” you say with a laugh and it seems to calm them all down. “No good under the pressure of a medical emergency,” you tell him, smiling, and Benny exhales deeply. It can’t be that bad if you’re cracking jokes and poking fun at him. “How long to the safe house, I want to wash this all off,” you say but as you finish you get a hot flash. Without thinking you start to strip yourself of all your tac gear and get some air. The burn starts to take over your body, the flush creeping up your neck and when Frankie calls your name from the drivers seat all you can think about is how husky it might sound when he cums.

“What’s going on?” Will asks, taking your vest as you get it undone. Your sweatshirt is next, followed by your long-sleeve.

“I’m so hot,” you tell him, that burn intensifying as you take a deep breath. Everyone begins their descent into panic again with every layer you strip off. You’re down to tac pants and a tank and Will can see your pebbled nipples through the material.

“Pope, any idea what the fuck that powder was?” Will asks, fear lacing his voice. He’s never seen you like this, you’re always in control. But Santi shakes his head.

“Nothing I’ve seen before. How do you feel, Bee?” But you can’t answer. You’re looking at all of them and contemplating the repercussions of your next action. You’re slowly losing your grip so you need to make your mind up and quick. You want them, all of them, and damn everyone who might not understand.

“William,” you purr in a voice that sounds so unlike your natural that Ironhead whips his head back to you.

“Pope,” his voice is full of worry as he watches your pupils dilate and your face flush. “I need some answers,” but then you’re pressing up against him and his voice falters. You settle over his lap, rubbing your face against his neck like a cat. You call his name again, your voice husky and needy and he’s really panicking now. His hands are in the air, away from you and god he wishes they weren’t. He wants to settle them on your hips, press you down on himself but he doesn’t think that’s the right choice.

“Captain,” you purr again, and he’s so scared but he gets a hard flash of lust too. But he’s scared about what will happen if he gives into desire, scared about what that powder was. Scared for you. But he’s taken too long to make his decision and you’re off and moving to your next target.

“Benjamin,” you say in that same sultry tone and his eyes are wide and nervous. You straddle him and his hands come up instinctively around your back, cradling your head as you run your tongue along the column of his throat.

“Fuck-“ he stutters, jerking his hips upwards. “Pope, what the fuck is happening?”

“I-goddamnit. It’s a rumor down here! I didn’t think it was real!” He shouts, and Frankie is driving faster now, unable to keep his eyes off the scene in the back of the truck but needing to keep them on the road. “There were rumors that some of the drug lords were making an aphrodisiac powder, you could snort it like cocaine. I didn’t think it was real! We’ve never encountered anything like it!”

“Fuck,” Will says, they’ve been hit with an aphrodisiac powder? Who comes up with this shit? You took a face full of it so god knows how you’re going to react. He glances over and you’ve got your tongue shoved down Benny’s throat, making these hot little whines as you grind down on him. “We have to get to the safe house, now.” Benny took a good bit of it too as he attempted to clean you up, and Frankie stepped on the other one and shot more in the air.

“We’re here,” Frankie says two minutes later, his eyes starting to dilate as he pulls the truck into an underground garage. All three of them are hard as glass listening to you and Benny rut against each other. Santi and Will manage to get the truck covered up as Frankie wrestles you and Benny inside, limbs so tangled up in one another that he can’t tell who’s who but he knows he needs his hands on you. Will starts to feel the heat you were talking about and tries to tamp down the jealousy as he watches Fish and Benny sandwich you in, Benny’s hands on your ass and Fish’s on your tits. Santi takes a look at Will, in all his movie-star handsomeness, and knows this is going to change all their lives.

You feel like you’re under water and Benny’s mouth is the only thing keeping you afloat. You’re drowning in the need, the desire. But then Frankie is behind you, his soft lips on your shoulder as he tugs at your tank. You gasp as his hands find your tits, pulling and pinching and twisting at your nipples.

“Frankie, baby,” you cry out, breaking your kiss with Benny as you twist to shove your tongue down Frankie’s throat. Frankie growls, shoving at Benny, trying to make him back up and Benny snarls. “No, no fighting,” you plead and the desire starts to make your stomach cramp. “I need someone, anyone, everyone. Fuck, please,” and Benny sets you down so he can yank down your tac pants. He can’t get your shoes off, doesn’t have the concentration for that, so he spins you instead. He enters you in one thrust and you both sigh in heavy relief. Benny’s hand is on your hip and his head drops between your shoulder blades as he breaths you in. “Benny,” you plead, “Move. Please,” and he gives you exactly what you ask for, he can never refuse you. His pace is quick and you’re clenching hard around him, savoring the relief his cock is providing.

His pants in your ear sound pained as he moves inside you and his hand cups your tit, thumb and index finger pulling at your nipples. He’s speaking to you but you’re drowning in the feel of him and you don’t know what he’s saying. His hand slides up to your jaw, cupping it and twisting your head so he can shove his tongue in your mouth. Your combined breaths are heavy as your tongues tangle and you can feel Benny’s hands flexing as he reaches his end. His mouth is all over yours, his teeth nipping at your jaw and earlobe with his fingers digging slightly into your skin and you’re so close.

Just as you are about to hit your peak, a soft tongue pokes its way through your pussy and you cry out. You look down to see Frankie looking up at you, his mouth glued to your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit and timing up with Benny’s thrusts and you come. You come so hard that Benny stutters before he shoves all the way in, coating you with his come.

His head drops between your shoulder blades again and he whispers into your skin, “I love you, I love you. Loved you first, before the others,” but you can’t concentrate on that right now because Frankie has pushed him back and replaced Benny’s cock with his fingers and you can’t stand. You collapse and Frankie rolls you, slides into the opening of your thighs, catching your tac pants with his elbow and pushing them down to your ankles. There’s a ripping sound and a rational part of your brain hopes they’re still wearable after this but the non-rational part of your brain is focusing on Frankie. Then his mouth is on you and he’s got two fingers shoved inside you and you can’t think of anything else.

“Frankie!” You cry out and here’s Will, strong dependable Will, and he shoves his tongue down your throat to swallow your cries. You’re all in it now, so deep in the throes that you don’t know how you’ll find your way out but you don’t care. “Will,” you say and he looks down at you with love and adoration partnering with the lust in his eyes and you open your mouth and stick out your tongue out to convey what you want.

“You sure?” And you can’t answer, you can only nod as Frankie pushes another finger inside you and you cry out his name, spasming around his fingers. Will places his cock on your tongue and you suck him down, relishing in the sound of his groan. The cramps worsen in your belly and you can’t think, can’t speak but Will notices. “Fish. Fuck her, she needs it.” Frankie pushes up, lining himself up with you and pushes in. Even though Benny already fucked you, Frankie is a tight fit and you relish the burn as he splits you open. His mouth sucks marks on every part of your body that he can reach and you can’t concentrate on Will anymore. Which is good because he’s gone anyways but then someone is untying your boots, stripping you of your pants and you know it’s Will. Your rock. The one you can always count on. You almost smile but then Frankie sinks his teeth into the soft outer flesh of your breast and it almost sends you over the edge. Your hand comes up to twist in his hair, knocking his hat off as he pounds into you and he growls your name. Santi appears and shoves his hands between your bodies, gathering the slick from you and Benny and Frankie and rubs circles on your clit, his cock pressing up against your cheek as he shoves his tongue down Frankie’s throat. That part sends you spiraling and you cry out, coming as Frankie fucks you stupid. Santi breaks from him, bending to shove his tongue in your mouth instead. Frankie watches you both so intensely that Will worries about him, but then his brow furrows and he groans your name as he cums inside you, dropping his head to rest in the crook of your neck as he whispers in your ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he tells you and god, you really cannot unpack this right now.

Will replaces Frankie between your thighs, his beautiful blue eyes full of concern as he presses in. You sob and Will is there, “what do you need?”

“God, harder. It’s starting to hurt,” you tell him and are so thankful when he obliges. Will ruts into you, even in his lust-filled haze he’s calculated, and he brushes up against that patch of nerves with each stroke. You drag his mouth to yours, hearing the sounds of the others as they try to fuck the powder out of their system.

“Benny isn’t the only one who’s loved you,” Will breathes into the hot cup of your mouth. “He loved you first, but he’s not the only one,” and his admission makes you clench around him. God, you love them too, more than just brothers in arms. More than should be legal. “Fuck your pussy is so wet,” he groans, moving you so that you’re on your knees for him. He slides back inside you, groaning about how fucking hot and tight you are for him and you bear down. The feeling of drowning only seems to intensify the longer and harder they fuck you and fuck each other, but all you can concentrate on is Will. Will, with his lists and tallies and need to keep track of everything. Will, who is making you see stars with every punch of his cock into you. Will, who is asking so sweetly if he can stick a thumb in your ass and there’s no way on this Earth that you’re going to tell him no. He does and you’re so full of William fucking Miller that you collapse to your chest, hips held up only by the hand on your waist and that fucker has the audacity to chuckle. You’re close, so close and when Frankie crawls back to you, his lips wet and swollen as he shoves a hand between your thighs to pinch your clit, you’re gone again. Will fucks you through it, Frankie talks you through it.

“That’s it baby,” he says, “come all over Ironhead’s cock. Soak him, princesa. Let him feel how good that pussy is.” Frankies words have an effect on more than just you and Will finishes, gritting his teeth and saying your name. He takes gentle fingers and runs them down your spine but his hand is knocked away by Pope’s, coming to take his turn.

“God, I’m so horny,” you whine, pressing back against the length of Pope.

“It’s the powder, sweet girl,” Will says, still hard as he presses up next to you.

“Poison, more like,” you groan as Santi presses the head of his cock against your clit. You can’t think, can’t breathe, unless someone’s, everyone’s hands are on you. Benny’s come to slide across your ass and Fish’s fingers toy with your tits. Will’s fingers slide in your puffy cunt, fucking you open while Santiago rubs his cock across your clit. You’re so overwhelmed by them, so entranced, that you don’t even realize you’re speaking to them.

“I love you. All of you. Have for years. God, I’ve dreamed of this,” you say, the head of Santi’s cock catching at your hole. You press back onto him and he hisses, his hands working around Benny’s and digging into your skin. You start your own rhythm, fucking back on Pope’s cock and from the sound of his moans, he likes it. Words drop from his lips, his fingernails digging into the soft skin of your hips.

“That’s it, princesa,” he snarls, his voice thick and husky with lust and need. “Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how bad you want it,” and god do you want it bad. They’re overwhelming you, hands and mouths everywhere as you fuck Santi. It still hurts so much, makes your nerve endings catch fire and your pussy so slick and when you say that out loud, Pope takes over. He’s so strong and he beats your pussy up with long, hard strokes. You come once with two of Benny’s fingers in your ass and then another time when Fish manages to get his face in between your thighs and lick your swollen clit. Will never leaves your side, his cock red and weeping. You try to suck at him once or twice but you can’t seem to concentrate enough to get him off. Pope has stamina and it feels like it’ll never end and right now you’re glad for it.

After what feels like hours, Pope pushes everyone back and flips you over, hitching a leg over his shoulder as he bends down to kiss you. His lips are soft but insistent against yours, his tongue dipping into your mouth as he fucks you. His hands come to rest on your ribs and his fingers touch the scar there. “I’m sorry, for everything,” he tells you, bending to kiss the spot. It’s such a touching moment in the heat and sweat and slick of the powder that it cracks your heart open. Then Pope is back at it again, moving quicker and all softness is forgotten. Santi still hasn’t come and the feel of him pounding into you sends little shocks of relief into your nervous system.

You briefly think about what that informant said and snort a laugh, which makes everyone stop. It’s the only lucid moment you’ll all have for several hours.

“The fuck are you laughing at?” Benny says, pulling his mouth off Frankie’s cock.

“Thinking about that informant. That one that told Redfly that Pope made her see God every time. I see what she’s talking about,” Santi huffs a laugh in your ear and you know you’ve inflated his ego but the longer he pounds into you, the more it makes sense.

“You’re going to make him insufferable, sweet girl,” Will says in your ear, pulling at your nipples. You gasp and clench, which makes Santi groan.

“I’m going to cum, fill up this pretty pussy with all our cum and then fuck it back out of you,” he grunts and you like the sound of that. Santi screws up his face and buries his head in your neck as he cums, pressing as deep into you as he can get. He kisses you as he comes down and then all four of them are there, taking turns capturing your lips. “I love you.” You don’t know who says it and who doesn’t, you only know that you say it a thousand times but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

It goes like this for hours, them taking turns fucking you until slowly you all come back to yourselves. Santi and Will are first, making sure to ply the rest of you with water and protein bars and MRE’s after they shower. Frankie is next and he joins their little party in the communal space, letting you and Benny work out the last of the poison. You two had it the worst, the effects are lasting. They don’t speak but they can hear the grunts and moans coming from the only bedroom in the place. Eventually, the noises stop and they wait patiently to see if they’ll start back up again.

Finally, it’s Will that speaks. “Do you think we ought to check on them?” Santi nods, getting up and grabbing water and a couple MRE’s from his pack. He comes back shortly, wrappers in his hand.

“They’re both out. Or they were, until I woke them up. They had a full bottle each and some food. I’d be shocked if they didn’t fall back asleep.”

“When she wakes up, are we going to talk about this?” Will asks.

“I don’t know,” Santi says, his face in his hands.

“I think we all told her we loved her. Fuck, she even said it back,” Frankie says. He’s not sure he said the exact words but you knew what he meant, right?

“Yeah but this is unconventional. Normal people don’t do this.”

“Since when are we normal, Ironhead?” Pope snaps, but Will isn’t offended. He knows that lashing out is Santi’s way of showing fear. “We killed people for a living. That was our job,” and Will nods. He knows. He was there. But then there’s motion down the hallway, a soft shuffling sound and you appear, Benny hot on your heels.

Will catalogues you as you come in, you look exhausted but also content. You managed to get dressed back in your tac pants and tank but you’re barefoot and braless as you pad into the room. He counts 6, no 7, hickeys on your neck and chest and he knows Fish left at least a three more on your breasts. And when you turn to grab a chair and sit he sees a bite mark on your shoulder blade that’s already purpling. He’s pretty sure that one was Santi.

“Hey,” you say softly to them, sitting in a chair backwards, your legs spread around the back of it. Benny grabs a chair and shoves it up behind you, keeping his body as close to yours as he can get. Will searches for the jealousy in his bones from earlier and is surprised but relieved when he doesn’t find any.

“Hey,” Pope replies, his hair mussed from shoving his fingers through it. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t know what it was,” and Will hears the helplessness in his voice, that feeling of being out of control. None of them are accustomed to that but at least they’ve been out of the life long enough to adjust, Santi hasn’t.

Frankie watches as Benny drags his lips across your shoulder, his hat backwards, and Frankie feels a hot shot of arousal through his spine. How the fuck is he horny right now? They just fucked for literal hours and you and Benny fucked for at least another hour after that. But he watches Benny watch all of them with hooded eyes, his arm wrapped around your waist, and Frankie wants to press you between them again. He wants to see if you make the same pretty noises that you did earlier before they lost track of everything. But then you’re speaking and he’s got to focus on your words.

“So,” you start and everyone leans forward, anticipating your next words. “That was……interesting,” Benny barks a short laugh from behind you, nosing your hairline.

“That’s a good word for it, Honeybee.”

Frankie clears his throat and four pairs of eyes slide to him. “Did anyone say….anything….they didn’t mean?” He asks, choosing his words carefully. He knows Benny and Will and Santiago all told you they loved you and he said something close, or at least he tried to. He looks pointedly at you because this whole thing hinges on you and how you feel about this. There is no them without you.

“You don’t have to give us an answer right now, sweet girl,” Will tells you, dragging a hand over his jaw. “But I don’t care how strange it may seem to other people, I’m in.”

“Me too,” Frankie says.

“I am as well,” Benny says, nosing up against your jaw, whispering an ‘I love you’ in your ear that no one else can hear.

Four pairs of eyes slide to Santiago and he drops his face in his hands and you move to go to him but Benny’s arm keeps you caged. “Let him figure it out on his own,” he whispers.

“I’m going to fuck something up,” Santi finally says after several moments of silence.

“To be fair, Garcia, I think we’re all going to fuck this up,” you say as you snort a laugh. “This won’t exactly be easy.” Santi lifts his head to look at you. “We’ve known each other so long. We’ve been through so much together. This, all of us, feels…natural?”

“Yeah, there’s so many things that could go wrong. So much we could fuck up,” Benny says. “But we all love our girl here, right?” Three other heads nod at him. “And our girl loves us, right?” And you nod your head, which is a little difficult because Benny has his cheek pressed up against yours. “Then fuck it, I don’t care what society or other people think. Let’s make this shit work.”

It makes sense, Benny’s little speech, and everyone is nodding and agreeing and you only have one thought and you huff a laugh when you think it.

“What are you laughing at this time, princesa?” Frankie asks.

“I’m so glad Redfly couldn’t make it on this mission.”