Will You Be Making A Part Two To You Were Never A Saint

will you be making a part two to you were never a saint 😰😰

in truth……. i have been trying to write it for a while.

i was so surprised that anyone enjoyed the first one as much as they did so it was lovely to hear sm good feedback on it !

having a little writers block rn admittedly. BUT. i wanted to ask people whether they’d be opposed to the reader having ended up w/ frankie during the last section of ‘you never were a saint’…. mostly for the angst but also bc i love frankie too <3 or if i leave it as open ended and up for interpretation as i originally did ?

it would really help my motivation to hear any ideas / opinions anyone has on a second part so don’t be shy to leave an ask or drop a message / comment !!!!!!

lust for life (luke skywalker/f!reader, 18+)

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꒰ ͜͡➸ pairing: luke skywalker x afab!reader

꒰ ͜͡➸ fandom: star wars

꒰ ͜͡➸ word count: 7.4k

꒰ ͜͡➸ summary: loving to push luke to his limits, you decide to try a new form of overstimulation together

꒰ ͜͡➸ tags/warnings: literally pwp, NO MINORS 18+!!!! handjob, dom!reader, sub!luke, overstimulation, (light) cum play

꒰ ͜͡➸ authors note: this is part of a new series i’m starting of explicit star wars reader inserts named after lana del rey songs - the songs don’t necessarily have any connection to the content of the writing, i just love lana

find and read the series on ao3 here

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He looks so good beneath you that you unconsciously slow your movements for a second, desperate to admire his flushed features, commit his furrowed brow and quivering lip to memory.

It’s been less than a second without your hand stroking him before Luke starts whining, a pathetic, mewling sound, like a stray cat that needs a home. You know his hands would paw at you, try and refocus your attention to his cock, if they weren’t pinned firmly above his head. Nothing ties him down this time, however, he is well aware of the nature of punishment you would dish out were he to even attempt to alter their position, and so, they stay put.

“Patience, Luke,” you scold him, a playful lilt to your voice. It was hard to hide your excitement when you knew what this build up was leading to, when you remembered that Luke had seemed equally enthusiastic about what you had wanted to try tonight. “Only good boys get to cum. You know that.”

He whines beautifully in response, his eyes squeezing shut. With his lip trapped between his teeth, he makes an effort to untense his thigh muscles, relaxing himself. He was so good like that. He eventually manages a little nod in your direction, signalling his acknowledgement of your statement. Normally, you’d have preferred his words, but it seemed like he was just as wound up as you were, tonight, so you make the decision to let it slide, ghosting your hand over his inner thigh and humming.

The hand you have his cock wrapped in once again starts its ministrations, and Luke releases his bottom lip from his teeth with a sigh. When he opens his eyes, you can’t help but give him a little smile, and he can’t seem to help but return the favour, before his expression twists into one of pleasure as you twist your hand just like he likes it, nice and firm, but not too tight, your thumb putting extra pressure on the throbbing vein that runs the length of the underside of his cock.

He chokes out your name in a moan, and you know you’ve almost got him there. You have to resist the urge to still your hand, to pull away and leave him begging and pleading, as was per usual with Luke. No, tonight you wanted- needed him to cum all over your hand, and you needed it now.

In preparation for what was to come, you shifted your body to angle your naked thighs towards his own, starting to straddle him. Maybe it was your added weight on the sensitive skin of his thighs, or maybe it was the way your new position reminded him of what was to happen next, or maybe it was way you leaned down to lick against his lean chest, wet with perspiration, murmuring about how much you loved his cock, how much you loved the way he tasted, but soon Luke was letting out pant after pant, a sure sign that he really was close.

“Be a good boy for me, Lukey,” you administered the final push. “Cum all over my hand.”

With one last sharp twist of your hand, you made the quick shift to fully straddle him, sliding your slick cunt down over him just as the first spurt of his warm release shot out of him - and straight into you. Luke practically screamed your name, followed by a string of ‘Kriff!’s and ‘Oh, Maker!’s. You couldn’t contain your own moan as you finally felt him inside you, along with his spend now coating your walls.

Luke couldn’t stop panting, his hands flying from their place above his head to grab your thighs, the movement rocking you in the process, only making him whimper as you were involuntarily shifted on his cock.

Your eyelids fluttered as you took a moment to collect yourself. When you cast a glance down at Luke, he looked ethereal. Tears stained his rosy cheeks, more already brewing in his hazy eyes as he looked up at you, seemingly transfixed. His lips parted, there seemed to be a never ending string of noises pouring out his mouth, as he tried to gather himself, though his attempt was considerably less successful than your own.

“Too much?” you checked in, bringing a hand up to cup his jaw, stroking over his tear tracks and doing your best to catch his gaze. It was hard when his eyes seemed to want to dart all over your body, trying to take in every little detail of your naked form, much as you had been doing to him.

He shook his head, before realising after a moment that that wasn’t enough. You saw his throat bob as he carefully swallowed, finding his voice once more. “N-no,” he choked out. “Maker, no, could never be too much. This is- you’re- perfect, kriff, you’re so perfect, I don’t-”

“Shh,” you instructed, moving your hands behind you to rest on his thighs, giving yourself more leverage. “As long as you’re enjoying yourself, you just lay there and take it, my precious boy.”

He whined and nodded, moving his hands back to their previous position. What a good boy, you noted. You’d have to give him an extra reward later.

For now, you started a slow rhythm, mostly grinding down against his now softening cock, finding the angle that had his pubic bone hitting your clit just right, making you moan and squirm almost as much as he was.

Neither of you were expecting Luke to cum again, as he had stated that he was mostly interested in trying this out for your pleasure, but it was undeniable that he enjoyed the overstimulation on his spent cock, what with his thighs quivering and bucking up to try and meet your movements.

“Need you to cum,” Luke muttered, his voice beyond wrecked, completely hoarse. He had surprised you by speaking up, as you were sure he was far past still having control over such a thing, and in your state of shock, you had accidentally bounced on his cock, creating far more friction than either of you had experienced thus far. Luke let out a groan. “I-I was such a good b-boy for you, need you to cum and s-sh-show me how good I was. Please.”

Nodding, finding yourself a little beyond words at this point, you steadily tried another little bounce on Luke’s cock and found yourself moaning out at the feeling, beginning a faster rhythm than you had had before, now more determined than ever to reach your peak.

Just as you were about to warn Luke of your impending release, you watched as he brought one hand down from above his head, shakily reaching for your stomach, where some of his cum had hit, just before you had sunk down onto him. He collected the mess on his fingers and dragged them down over your lower belly-

You practically squealed when he began rubbing at your clit, using his own cum as lubrication, somehow managing to move his fingers just the way you liked, even in his fucked out state.

“I- I’m gonna-” Before you could finish the sentence, your eyes had squeezed shut as you came with a moan, clamping down around Luke’s cock. You continued moving on top of him throughout your orgasm, his fingers never letting up on your clit. You presumed he really must be loving the overstimulation he was experiencing, as he actively tried to prolong your release.

With one final grind of your hips, you slumped forward into Luke’s awaiting chest, his arms encircling you and holding you close. After a few measured breaths to regain the feeling in your arms and legs, you shimmied your way up his body, his soft cock slipping out of you. You shifted to the side of him and brought his head to rest on your shoulder, stroking through the matts in his blonde hair.

“Was it everything you imagined?” he murmured, clearly close to sleep, as he peered up at you, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“All that and more,” you smiled at him, giving his forehead a gentle kiss.

so who wants to be tagged in part 2 👀

you never were a saint

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꒰ ͜͡➸ pairing: santiago garcia x gn!reader

꒰ ͜͡➸ fandom: triple frontier (2019)

꒰ ͜͡➸ word count: 5.9k

꒰ ͜͡➸ summary: following one of the biggest heartbreaks of your life, you recount the ups and downs of loving your best friend through various memories, some nicer than others. when it feels like your whole world has shifted, can you ever really be the person you used to be again?

꒰ ͜͡➸ tags/warnings: ANGST. BIG BIG ANGST and really not much else lol i apologise sincerely </3 some brief fluff, arguments, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), unrequited love, one-sided pining, lots of emotion, santi is kind of an ass and most definitely a whore lmao, gn!reader but when santi speaks spanish his nicknames are fem, the guys all use ‘bunny’ as a nickname, also frankie x reader if u squint but can be interpreted as platonic or romantic based on ur preference :) italics are flashbacks / memories

꒰ ͜͡➸ authors note: HI !! very excited for my first post here (and equally very nervous) i am very aware that the angsty santi leaving trope has been done gorgeously in the past by many other writers on here and though i doubt i will be adding anything significant into the mix, i simply cannot resist contributing my own little piece. i really hope you enjoy !!

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Keep reading

why are we , as a society , not talking about him .

you never were a saint

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⊱ ━━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━━ ⊰

꒰ ͜͡➸ pairing: santiago garcia x gn!reader

꒰ ͜͡➸ fandom: triple frontier (2019)

꒰ ͜͡➸ word count: 5.9k

꒰ ͜͡➸ summary: following one of the biggest heartbreaks of your life, you recount the ups and downs of loving your best friend through various memories, some nicer than others. when it feels like your whole world has shifted, can you ever really be the person you used to be again?

꒰ ͜͡➸ tags/warnings: ANGST. BIG BIG ANGST and really not much else lol i apologise sincerely </3 some brief fluff, arguments, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), unrequited love, one-sided pining, lots of emotion, santi is kind of an ass and most definitely a whore lmao, gn!reader but when santi speaks spanish his nicknames are fem, the guys all use ‘bunny’ as a nickname, also frankie x reader if u squint but can be interpreted as platonic or romantic based on ur preference :) italics are flashbacks / memories

꒰ ͜͡➸ authors note: HI !! very excited for my first post here (and equally very nervous) i am very aware that the angsty santi leaving trope has been done gorgeously in the past by many other writers on here and though i doubt i will be adding anything significant into the mix, i simply cannot resist contributing my own little piece. i really hope you enjoy !!

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2 Months After

It’s not as cold as you would have predicted such a fall morning to be, which is evident from the scarf wound tightly around your neck, and the coat that’s zipped right up to your chin. You had caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror before you had left your apartment, taking a moment to debate if there was any embarrassment to be felt at going out in public dressed like you were ready to take on the Artic Circle.

After some deliberation you had settled on the fact that if there was embarrassment to be felt here, it would be a much lighter burden to bear than going out and catching a cold. Besides, you were getting better at this lately. Protecting yourself. Whether that be from the bitter Autumn weather, or a man who seemed to be capable of nothing but breaking your heart, it didn’t matter. You were getting better at avoiding all of it. At putting yourself first.

This new resolve, however, seems to crumble during your outing. Unlike your prediction, the weather had taken a rather lovely turn, and you were now beginning to feel really rather warm in all your layers. Looking for refuge, you dive into the first small café you see, eager to sit down and get rid of your scarf and coat and maybe even your damn sweater.

Seated at the smallest table in the corner, a server comes over to offer you a drink, and before you can politely decline (the planned reply already on the tip of your tongue, “Sorry, just wanted to sit for a minute, I’m trying to save money right now, actually, so-”) she interjects with her own line, clearly wanting to make a sale here.

“We’re doing a Fall collection of drinks! I’d really recommend them if you’re into warm or spicy sort of flavours. There’s a pumpkin latte, or a herbal tea, or a cinnamon hot chocolate...”

Your mind involuntarily goes blank as soon as she says this, your senses shutting down far easier than you would ever care to admit they had. But you have to take a moment, at least a moment, to just breathe. Because...

“Let me make it for you!”

“No! I told you I don’t like cinnamon! It makes my throat itchy.”

Santiago rolls his eyes at that, already being able to tell from the pout on your lips that he isn’t likely to win you over on this one.

“Well, what if I’m making it for me... and you just try a little?” he tries, his puppy eyes peering up at you.

He’s leaning on your kitchen counter, looking entirely too much like he belongs there, and just begging for you to try his ‘Special Holiday Drink’.

It’s in moments like these that you can’t help but think maybe he does belong here, with you, in the safe embrace of your apartment, where he can unload about the guys, or his nightmares, or whatever girl he’s brought home lately.

When you fail to give him an answer, entirely too wrapped up in your own head, he does what Santi does best - says something he shouldn’t.

“Priscilla fucking loved it when I made it for her. Come on, just try it.”

You go stiff at that, shifting around on your feet. It’s almost easy to forget that Santiago isn’t actually yours when he’s like this, so domesticated, trying to make you hot chocolate before breakfast on a cold morning, offering to lend you one of his big shirts because he knows you like the way they’re baggy on you, raking his eyes all over your face anytime you’re in his sight-line. He looks at you like you’re the only person in his world.

And then he mentions his most recent hook-up and it’s like the world stops moving for a moment.

You know he’s not yours, and that he doesn’t need to be sorry for talking about other people when the two of you aren’t even together, but-

“Excuse me? Sorry, could I interest you in one of these drinks?”

It finally occurs to you that you’ve been silent far longer than socially acceptable, and that the server was rightfully a little annoyed with you. 

“Sorry. Lost in my own thoughts,” you go to give your pre-prepared excuse from before, not really in the mood for a drink, until your mind unwillingly flickers back to the scenario that had distracted you previously, and the thought passes that you had never tried the drink in question. It’s slipping out before you can think twice. “I’ll have the cinnamon hot chocolate, please.”

3 Months After

“Why the fuck would they change the layout of this place when it’s been the same for the last ten goddamn years?”

You can’t help but chuckle a little at Benny’s exclamation, his frustration a strange source of comfort in your current situation. You hadn’t initially seen the point to this excursion when he had texted at the beginning of the week, asking if you were interested in helping him pick out some new gear for his upcoming fight. You had eventually accepted his invite, once you had been reminded by your own brain that the last time you saw the younger Miller was when you had all said goodbye to Santi, and you decided you wanted to make a new memory with one of your best friends to replace the most recent.

“What are we even looking for?” you ask, linking your arm in Benny’s as he browses aisles and aisles of... stuff. None of it means much to you, and you’re not really sure why you bother asking.

He mumbles something under his breath, seemingly deep in thought about an item on the shelf, and you roll yours eyes with a smile, gently slapping his arm. He swats you away, but quickly amends his action with a look in your direction, huge grin plastered on his face, which you just can’t help but reciprocate. “Go find something cute to keep you entertained, Bunny.”

The nickname makes you snort, though you know he means it to have an affectionate tease to it. “Aye, aye, sir,” you reply, dutifully, exchanging another little smile with him as you raise your arm in salute, him mirroring your actions.

You take off down another aisle, needing something new to distract yourself, Benny’s attention clearly focused on whatever it was he was looking for. The store he had dragged you into appeared to be a combination of a hardware store and a sportsman’s store, all manner of tools and machines available for purchase.

Finding yourself drawn in by some shiny hooks, you assume meant for clipping people onto rope, for some sort of abseiling exercise, or something else of the sort, you head down a different aisle, now slightly further away from Benny than you had planned to venture.

Feigning interest in the hooks, your eyes browse over the other items down this aisle. More hooks, the accompanying rope... and harnesses.

Though it’s been behaving significantly more recently, your heart doesn’t miss a beat as it speeds up at the sight. You hate yourself for it, you couldn’t hate yourself anymore for it if you tried. But it happens, all the same. It makes you think of him.

Your feet have taken you over there before you can even consider it logically. They’re just harnesses. They don’t belong to anyone, don’t contain a lingering scent. They have no more emotional value to you than they do to the owners of this store. And yet...

“Bunny! Hey, little rabbit, where’d you go?”

Benny’s yelling down the aisles for you, and this does catch your attention. You have to applaud yourself a little, internally, as last month you would not have deviated your attention from thoughts of Santi for anything or anyone. 

Before your head can convince your heart otherwise, you’ve snatched up one of the harnesses, calling out to Benny that you’re down Aisle Eight, ‘Climbing Equipment’.

He reaches you in all of about three minutes, grumbling something about not having his glasses, and forgetting his contacts. You can’t help but laugh at the sight of him, strong arms bundled with gear and items of clothing, if you could even call them that. He looks ridiculous - like some sort of mule. And just when you think you’re safe, the image has your mind returning to the man who you had been trying desperately to forget.

Santiago’s truck is full of both his and your belongings, though maybe there’s more of yours. He couldn’t blame you, though, as you had periodically reminded him through the last couple weeks; he wouldn’t tell you where he was taking you for the weekend, so it had only made sense for you to pack a wide enough variety of items of clothing to accommodate for whatever situation you might find yourself in.

“Why have you packed like we’re going on a survival trip for the next three weeks?”

Your eyes roll but there’s the presence of a smile on your lips. “For all I know, we are doing that. You won’t tell me where the fuck we’re going! I’m just prepared for everything.”

“Uh, duh, because it’s meant to be a special surprise, Bunny. Come on... what? You don’t trust me?”

Truly, you don’t trust him. Not with your heart or your dreams, but most certainly not with your birthday plans. When Santi had told you he had, quote, ‘drawn the short straw’ this year, and was the one planning your birthday, you had panicked.

“He’s gonna take us fucking rock-climbing or something, Will! Do I look like I fucking rock-climb? I don’t have a climbing bone in my body!”

The older Miller had chuckled at you down the phone, two weeks before you were scheduled to partake in your ‘birthday surprise’. His chuckle was light, but he was quick to soothe you, at the same time.

“Listen, I think he’s gonna do just fine, alright? He might be the one doing all the planning, but it doesn’t mean we can’t give him some input, here and there.”

“Fine,” you mumbled, speaking more into your much needed glass of wine than into the receiver of your phone. “I trust you, at least, Ironhead.”

Once all your stuff was loaded into the back of the truck, you turned to Santi expectantly. He noted your demeanour and quirked a brow. “What are you waiting for? Get in.”

“Aren’t we waiting for the rest of the guys? I thought they’d come and meet us here so we can all go off together-”

Pope’s chuckle caught you off-guard, and you felt unsure about what he could possibly find so funny about your question.

“Surprise number one,” he began. “None of the other guy this weekend. Just us.”

Your chest tightened disastrously at his words. He had planned this just for the two of you. He was taking you away for the weekend, for your birthday, with himself and no one else. He wanted you all to himself, and-

“Earth to my little rabbit. You good, babe?”

Fighting the hitch in your breath when your mouth opened to speak, you repeated, “It’s just us?”

His grin couldn’t have been wider if he had tried. “Just us, cariño.”

The ride there was filled with some peaceful silence, windows down, sunglasses on, your arm resting on the seal of the open window. But there were moments when Santi would ask you about something, listening intently to your answer - whether it was about work, or family, or your other interests, Pope listened to every word you had to say - you were his soul focus, except the watching the road, of course.

You could tell he had made it his mission to give you a good time. He wasn’t always the best listener, caught up in his own dreams and ideas and needing to voice them at all times, but he was really trying right now, just for you.

“Why are you doing all this?” you asked playfully, but genuinely seeking an answer, suspicious of his niceness and praying for it to be real all at once.

“All what?”

You peered at him over your sunglasses, him returning the look with a little smile.

“This,” you motioned around you. “Taking me on a trip, not inviting the guys, being nice to me.”

He shrugged. “You’re my best friend. I want you to have a good birthday.”

Though the ‘F-Word’ tore a little way through the grip he had on your heart, you knew Santi meant that, that you were his best friend. Even if what you had could never be anything more than that, you would always be grateful for the closeness of his inner circle.

“And so we can fuck without having to avoid the guys all weekend.”

You felt the heat immediately rise to your face, not having expected him to say something like that out loud. His eyes trained on you, he let out a proper laugh at your expression, clearly entertained by your squirming at his words.

“What? You trying to tell me you don’t want a real birthday present?”

“Oh my God, Santi, shut up,” you buried your face in your hands, desperate to hide yourself from him. You pretended it was shyness, you being embarrassed about the mere mention of sex outside of the bedroom setting, but really it was a ploy. It was a ploy because you needed at least a moment to process what was going through your mind.

You knew it was a bad idea when you had gotten drunk that night, when you had been too sad to be alone, and called the only person you could rely on. Something in you knew he was only taking advantage of your vulnerability when Santiago kissed you, when he wrapped you up in his arms, took you to bed.

And more than anything, you knew you were gone when he called you up, the next week, frustrated about his latest assignment and needing some relief - and you had complied.

But this, this was the first time he had acknowledged it out loud, that either of you had acknowledged this arrangement out loud. There was rarely any talking involved when you and your best friend fell into bed together, more focused on the task at hand than anything else. And once it was done, he would leave. No matter whose place you were at, which club you were in, he would buckle his pants back up and walk away, not sparing you a word.

Though you could tell yourself you didn’t know what it meant, that was a lie. You were in love with Santi, and he was using you for sex. It didn’t mean he didn’t love you as a friend - you knew he felt that way. He would have done anything for you, just like he would any of the gang. But he didn’t love you - not like you loved him.

You had hit him on the arm in retaliation, only serving to make him laugh more, and then promptly refused to speak to him for the next five minutes, until he tempted you with the promise of stopping at the next gas station to stock up on your favourite snack.

When you eventually arrived, it was night-time, and having set off very early that morning, you knew Pope had to be just as exhausted as you were - possibly even more so, as he had been the one driving the whole time.

“C’mon, Santi, let’s just go in and lay down. We can come back out for our stuff later.”

He gave you a look, one that you couldn’t quite decipher, and you narrowed your eyebrows at him briefly, before it suddenly dawned on you, and you turned back around.

“Wait... wait, no, what the fuck! Is this... this isn’t where we’re staying, I... Pope, no, what the fuck!”

You might have been half delirious from sleep deprivation, but your reaction was genuine as you freaked out at the sight before you. The cabin was massive, surely enough to house a large family. It was decked out in gorgeous brown wood, tangled up with all manner of flowers and vines. It looked straight out of a fairy-tale, and Santi had done this, all just for you.

“You like it then?” you felt his breath on your ear as he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and swaying you slightly from side to side.

“I love it,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

He placed a quick kiss to the side of your head, and your thoughts didn’t even have a chance to run wild as he was jogging back over to his truck and gathering up your things.

“C’mon, I told you we don’t need all our stuff right now, Santi, let’s just get it later.”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘P’. “I’m bringing it all in now, while we still have the strength. Because when I’m done with you, hopefully neither of us will be able to move.”

You rolled your eyes once more at his jokes, watching him pick up all your belongings. Always aiming to impress, Santi picked up everything at once, effectively loading himself up and weighing himself down. You couldn’t help the laugh you let out.

“Are you laughing at me? When I’m doing such a nice thing for you right now?”

“No, I’m sorry, I-”

The memory faded quickly when Benny dropped something, which turned into a real domino effect, as he began dropping everything in his arms.

“You’re terrible,” you scolded him, leaning down to start collecting the fallen items in your own arms, clearly more trustworthy than his.

“It’s a lot of stuff,” he mumbled, grumpily, but clearly thankful for your assistance. “Wait, I didn’t pick that up.”

You follow his line of sight to the harness clutched in your left hand, embarrassment filling you as you remember what had caught your attention here in the first place.

“Oh, uh, no, that was me. I want that.”

He gives you a look. “You want that?”

You shrug. “Maybe I wanna take up climbing.”

He studies your face for a moment, searching for something, a sign that you’re okay. Benny’s no idiot, he knows who used to wear a blue harness like that, and he knows who broke your heart mere months ago. He can put two and two together. Eventually, he must decide that he’s okay with it, as he motions you to follow him over to the checkouts.

“Come on, then, I’ll get it for you. Well, actually, Will’s getting it for you, we’re using his card.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him ‘thank you’.”

6 Months After

You don’t understand why Frankie’s giving you that look until your eyes catch on where his had lingered before they turned to you. It’s a gorgeous summer day, the kind that makes you forget Winter ever even comes around, and you can’t think of a single place you would rather be than right here, making mojitos with Frankie and trying to tidy up his kitchen.

Though you hadn’t been the closest with Frankie before this year, the two of you had both suffered losses of a sort - Santi was his best friend, too, and he had fallen down a spiral, much like yourself, after Pope’s departure. Six months later, and he was recovering, and you couldn’t be happier for him. We’re gonna get you your license back, Fish, you promised him, needing to see his smile in all those moments he was hurting.

Now, it was his turn to soften the blow. Your eyes lingered on the table for a moment, briefly scanning the words on the postcard.

“I meant to put it away,” he said, slowly, rubbing the back of his head.

You shifted in your chair, taking a sip of your drink. “It’s fine. Really. Nice to know he’s alive.”

Catfish, the postcard read. Been a while. Miss you, hermano. Mantente seguro. Pope.

“Is it?” Frankie chuckled, a little awkward, but you couldn’t help your own small chuckle in return. “Did you get anything?”

You had checked your post this morning, and nothing. You didn’t know whether to be heartbroken or relieved. What would he have said to you? Would he have apologised? Would he still blame you? Or would he have some new conquest he was desperate to tell you about, in the way he always seemed to before, in a way you were convinced was on purpose, just to upset you?

“Nope,” you shook your head. “What do you expect, though?”

Frankie reached for you, over the counter, and brushed his thumb over a tear you hadn’t even realised had escaped your eye.

“I’m fine,” you tried, miserably, to reassure him. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. I barely even miss him anymore. He was horrible to me that last day. I should hate his guts.”

“But you don’t,” Frankie mumbled, with a sad smile, knowing all too well.

“I don’t,” you shook your head. You brought your own hand up, resting it on his. You stroked over his knuckles, searching his eyes. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know how to feel, if I’m honest. I miss him. But he... he just up and left like that. And he left you heartbroken in a way I’ve never seen you before...”

You nodded in understanding, letting the words sit between you for a moment before you pulled him close, melting into a tight embrace.

“Can I ask you something?” he mumbled into your hair.

“Anything,” you nodded. “I’ll always tell you anything, Frankie.”

“What did he actually say to you that day?”

2 Weeks Before

The bar was filled with chatter from every table, a busy Saturday night for the local dive. Your regular table was reserved and a smile spread on your face as you saw the two Miller brothers already seated there, always the first ones sat down - though you knew this was down to Will’s insistence, and against Benny’s reluctance.

“Evening, boys,” you smiled, slipping into the seat beside Benny. Both of them beamed back at you, drawling their own ‘hello’s in tandem. Tom arrived next, ordering a round immediately, which you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at.

Santi and Frankie arrive last, and together, and you find yourself cheering the loudest when they rush over, all together at last. 

It’s halfway through the night when Santi brings it up, and it becomes clear to you why Frankie’s had this half sad, half angry look on his face all night.

"You’re going where?”

Santi shrugs like he’s just announced that he’s going to Disneyland for a fortnight, and not going to work with the Columbian police for an indeterminable amount of time.

Surprisingly, Tom is the most outraged, though you suspect the other boys, bar Frankie, are both trying to process what’s been said, as are you.

“I need something new,” Santiago justifies, clearly a little proud of himself with how much drama he’s managed to stir up in a matter of moments.

You’re the only one who hasn’t said anything yet, and it frustrates you that you can’t find the words to do so. Half of your mind still can’t quite register what he’s saying as true, and the other half is psyching you up to hit him.

It had never occurred to you - and frankly not to any of the others - that any of you would leave one day. Since your time in the service ended, none of you had gone that far, not so far that weekly get togethers, and drinks at your spot, and dinners in someone’s backyard were out of the picture. The thought that any of your team would want to get away from the place you felt safest was baffling to you. And clearly not just to you.

This was Santiago, though, after all. What did you expect? The man never stopped. He had been itching for something new, that was clear. You just hadn’t expected him to find it in Colombia.

Eventually the words come to you. You don’t like them, and you know you’ll likely regret them in the weeks to come, when he’s jetting off on a plane, far away from you.

“I’m happy for you, Pope,” you offer him a strained smile and raise your drink. “I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.”

6 Months After (Again)

Shifting in a little in Frankie’s hold, you sigh. Part of you is desperate to repeat what Santi said that day. You want Frankie to know, mostly for selfish reasons. You want him to be angry on your behalf, you want him to tell you that you didn’t deserve that sort of treatment, that someone else would treat you better.

But you hesitated. If you told him what Santiago said, you would have to explain the context of why he was saying it - you would have to explain that you and Santi had been sleeping together, and that you had, inevitably, fallen for him, and, oh, how embarrassing that would be.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, as you pull back in Frankie’s arms. “It’s just... hard.”

He nods in understanding, more than willing to offer you all his patience.

“I want to tell you, though,” you exhale. And so, you do.

The Day Of

This plan is obviously not going to work, you tell yourself, as you make your way over to Santi’s place. You aren’t living in a dream, where everything works out in the end just because it should. This is real life, and Santiago Garcia is leaving you today, no matter what you tell him.

But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t confess your feelings. If nothing else, it just means you’ll get them off your chest, once and for all, and everything will be out there in the open. The worst thing he can say is “no”.

You haven’t considered how exactly you’ll handle that situation, though.

You’ve purposefully arrived an hour earlier to help him finish packing than everyone else, wanting to make sure no one will barge in while you have this talk with Santiago. Though, you’re sure they would support you in your decision, you didn’t need them to actually be there to witness this.

He knows you’re coming, and yet he still takes three whole minutes to answer the door. You go to greet him when he swings the front door open, but you’re met with the image of him shirtless and sweaty, which does, embarrassingly, have you short-circuiting briefly.

That is, until you see the other figure appear in the door frame. She’s gorgeous, of course she is. And she kisses Santi’s cheek sweetly, giving you a courteous smile, as if she has no idea what she’s doing, before taking her leave. She brushes past you, and you hear Santiago say something to you, but it doesn’t register. Your ears are ringing, and every well-planned thought you had about this conversation goes out the window.

“Tell me what the fuck I’m doing wrong, Santi,” you spit at him, overwhelmed by a desire to voice all your emotion to him, all at once.

“.. What?” he chuckles. “What are you talking about, princesa? Come on, come in, and we can sit and talk for a while before the guys get here.”

“No. I don’t want to come in and talk. I want to stand here while you tell me why you’ve been leading me on for months- fuck, no, years, even, when you have no intention of doing anything more than fucking me?”

He says your name then, before he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Look, just come in, okay. You’re upset, and I understand, and I want to talk about this, but-”

“I told you, no. If you can’t say it here and now, then I don’t wanna hear it at all. I just want to know what the fuck we’ve been doing here. Don’t tell me that you don’t know that I like you. I’ve always liked you. And I was okay with that, because I knew nothing could ever happen between us. I learned to live with my little crush on you because it meant we could still be friends, you’re my best friend, Santi. But then you kissed me first, and I thought maybe you felt the same way, but then... then you would leave, or make some comment about someone else you’d slept with, and I just... I felt so stupid. I feel stupid. I feel stupid that I have to stand here and say this right now, because you should have just told me how you felt at the beginning of all this.”

There’s a silence while Santiago shifts on his feet. His eyes are cast down, and they have been throughout your whole conversation. He looks like he’s just searching for another excuse and it makes a fresh wave of anger wash over you.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have led you on?”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t. And I deserve better than that, so tell me why you did it. If you don’t like me back, then I at least deserve this.”

He looks up at you, then, finally, and now it’s starting to tug at your heartstrings, because this is real. This is going to change your friendship forever, and you might not be able to fix things.

“I liked that you were all over me. I knew you liked me, and I thought... I thought if I kept giving you things and being affectionate, that you’d keep looking at me like that... And then... it had been a while, and I was... you were tipsy, and seemed like an easy... I didn’t want to change our friendship and I thought we wouldn’t have to...”

“You knew I liked you,” you repeat, accusingly, breath shaking, your eyes wet with tears. “Do you have any idea how fucked up that is, Santi?”

Head in his hands, he shakes his head. “You can’t put this on me. You could have said something. If you were so in love with me, why didn’t you just tell me, huh?”

You know he’s just defensive now, because this is how he always reacts to situations that make him uncomfortable - you’ve just never been on the receiving end of his defence before. 

“You’re unbelievable. This isn’t my fucking fault. What would you have done if I had told you? Would you do what you’re doing now? Call me a name and tell me to get out? Would you pretend to love me back, just so you could keep fucking me, and keep me hopeful that I meant anything more to you than that? You’re sick, Santi. This whole thing is sick.”

He moves towards you then, and he does it so quickly you barely realise it’s happening until he’s in your face and grabbing onto you.

“You’ve ruined what would have been a perfectly fine goodbye. We could have done this pain-free. I would have left, you would still think maybe I loved you, and would someday come back, and we all could have gotten on with shit. And now... now you’ve made it fucking complicated by pulling this. I didn’t want you to get hurt, but-”

“What the fuck did you think was gonna happen? That goodbye would have been no less painful for me. Maybe for you, maybe you could sleep better at night if you thought I was out here, peacefully dreaming about a life with you that we could never have. But not for me. I would spend the rest of my life waiting for you, not understanding why you chose to leave me. But now, I know. So, thank you, Santiago, thank you for everything.”

You take one last look and the expression on his face is pained, but not for the reasons you wish.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say to me?”

You laugh wetly, “I hope you enjoy yourself in Colombia. I hope you finally find something that fulfils you, and you can stop searching for it in everyone who tries to love you. I hope you have a good life.”

He lets go of you, finally, and you slip away, while your feet will still let you.

4 Months Before

It’s a warm day, and you’re thankful for the AC at Santi’s place, knowing that you’d be boiling at your own, right now. You’re laying on his couch, near one another, but not daring to touch a single patch of skin together, for fear of passing body heat. The TV plays quietly in the background as you sip at your icy drink and try to focus on the cool breeze hitting your exposed skin.

“Where you do think you’ll be in five years time?” Santi’s question comes seemingly out of nowhere, but you don’t read too much into it.

“Hmmm... I don’t know, really.”

He groans and scoffs at you, but you laugh, knowing he’s being playful. “Just play along, okay? Indulge me.”

You sigh, “Okay, okay. I think, um... Quiet, little job. Not too boring, but nothing that amazing. Cute house. I like that one on 34th. Not sure I could afford it with my not-too-boring-not-too-exciting job, though, so I guess I’ll just have to marry rich.”

“You wanna be married by then?”

You shrug. “Yeah. But only if it’s right, I guess. I do want to, though. Get married.”

He hums and you continue.

“I want a kid. I want a couple. Maybe a baby and a toddler by then. Although that actually sounds like horrible planning. Not sure I could handle both of those at once, even with the help of my extremely rich, doting partner.”

You peek an eye at him then, and he does the same. Your gazes lock for a moment before you both start laughing, feeling as though you’re both part of the most delicious inside joke, something just for the two of you, something you’ll look back on, years from now, and still laugh about.

“What about you?” you ask.

“Same sort of thing, I guess,” he replies, nonchalantly.

And you believe him.

5 Years After

The kitchen bustles with life as you try to simultaneously put toast in the toaster for your three year old daughter, and cradle your seven month old son on your hip. You call out for your partner, and they come rushing, apologising about not being able to find their shirt. You chuckle, and kiss their cheek, saying there was no need to be sorry.

They smile at you, as they pick your daughter up, ready to take her to pre-school. You shove the toast in her mouth, and she takes it gladly, smiling and giving you a kiss at your partner’s instruction, as they both rush out the door.

Finally, wanting a moment to yourself, you set your son down in his crib, smiling down as he appears to drift off to sleep. You pull your phone out your pocket, having felt it go off earlier, but not having the time or the spare hand to check it.

Your heart stops for a beat, seeing a message in a chat that no one has texted in five years. You rub your eyes, convinced it’s not real. But it is.

You open, and though you know it won’t be, you pray it’s just from Will, or Benny, or-

But, of course, it isn’t.

Back in town! I missed you, idiotas. 

Meet me at the club. Got a gig. You’ll all be interested.