Santiago Garcia X You - Tumblr Posts

Getting Lost in Translation (Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x desi!reader)

Masterlist

Warnings: Violence, mentions of torture, mentions of PTSD, mentions of trafficking (drug and human), non-sexual nudity, swearing

Word Count: 5.4 k

Summary: You go undercover with Santiago Garcia to get information about a drug/human trafficking cartel. 

A/N: Take a shot every time I say “dupatta” and you’ll end up in the hospital (sorry). Also is it really a Santiago fan fic if you don't mention his gammy knees AHAHAHA <333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your POV

You’ve always enjoyed the quiet village life, with people who lived real lives, rather than the calculated and time managed life that you had to endure when growing up. You were grateful for your upbringing in a well-to-do household which allowed you to study and grow up in comfort. 

After five years of medical school and two years working as a doctor in a city hospital, you decided that it was time to give back to the community that needed help the most. One day, you quit your job and never turned back, cutting off all contact with your family, working as an English and Science teacher at a small village in Tamil Nadu, India. You used your knowledge of languages to help the folks of the village by acting as a translator with those who offer foreign aid. 

You woke up at the crack of dawn and went to bed when the moon was up high in the sky. It was tough but you loved every second of it. You were finally happy. 

That was until something horrible started happening in your village. Children were going missing and you started spending your time comforting distraught parents. These were children that you taught in the small school and your heart ached with every second that they were gone. 

The police had done some investigation of their own and found out that the kids’ disappearance was linked to a trafficking ring, which made you feel helpless and you almost lost yourself with the worry that you were experiencing. 

Nevertheless, you had to get it together and find some type of solution to help these families, and after weeks of requesting for aid, you were finally due to meet the group of individuals who would help find these kids. 

So here you were standing with the police at the airport, waiting. They had told you that they would be there at 1 pm but apparently their flight from Miami had been delayed. You nervously fiddle with your big jimmikis as your eyes scan the people coming out of arrivals. Suddenly, you spot a team of big burly western men walking towards you and the officers. 

“That’s them, isn’t it, officer.” You say in Tamil to the police officer beside you. 

“Yes, ma.” he replies, waving them towards where they were standing. 

“Hi! I’m Y/N and I’ll be your translator while you are here.” you say, stepping up, offering your hand to the nearest of the men. 

A tall man with a baseball cap that said ‘Standard Heating Oil’ took your hand and shook it, quickly introducing his team as they loaded their luggage into the trucks. “I’m Frankie, this is my team. The brothers, Benny and Will on the far left, Tom in the middle and Santiago on my right.”

“Nice to meet all of you.” you say, giving them a toothy grin, which they all returned except for the man with salt and pepper curls, Santiago. His face was arranged into a calculated and poised manner that showed little to no emotion. 

You quickly translated a few conversations between the group of men and the police before getting into the van and a few minutes later, the van was speeding towards the outskirts of the city towards the village that was about two hours away. You stayed silent throughout the ride, choosing to admire the scenery outside, occasionally eavesdropping on the conversations that the men were having behind you.

They seemed like a chummy bunch and you were briefed about the field experience that they had, which made you feel slightly better about letting them take hold of the ropes and find these children. The van abruptly stops and you peak to the front to see what was going on. A cow was crossing the road, a regular occurrence here in India.

“I heard people here worship cows, Will.” one of the men says, making you turn to look at them with a disdainful look on your face. 

“We do not worship cows, we respect them. Many people here consider the cow to be a sacred symbol of life that should be protected and revered.” You say, pointedly, trying not to roll your eyes at the men.

Santiago and Frankie chuckled.

“Oopsie, sorry, missy.” said Benny with a smile, leaning his weight forward onto the seat in front of him. 

“See Benny, they don’t worship your girlfriend.” Will says, earning a punch from Benny. 

“She said, respect boys.” Frankie said, sending an unyielding glare at the both of them. He was clearly the mother goose of the team and the other two men actually listened to him. 

“You sound incredibly eloquent for someone who is living in a small rural village. What’s your story?” Tom asked.

“Studied in the UK and worked as a doctor for a few years and decided that there are a lot of people who need help in outskirt villages.” you shrug. “I also speak multiple languages to help with foreign aid.” 

“Impressive.” Tom nods, approvingly.

“So you guys are used to working together?” you asked, awkwardly trying to keep the conversation a float, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Oh yea,” Frankie says “We’ve always been a team and we were tracking the same cartel that we think is operating throughout South India and other parts of the world for quite a while now, that's why we answered to your distress signal. We believe that it is a human trafficking organization as well as a drug trafficking organization.” 

“Those poor children, I know them personally. I can’t imagine what they are going through right now.” you say biting your bottom lip, swallowing the tears that are threatening to bubble out of your eyes.  

“You personally know them?” Will asks.

“Yea, they are my students,” you say. “Very bright kids, quick learners.”

Just as Frankie opened his mouth to ask another question, the van stopped again, signifying that you had arrived at your destination. You adjusted your dupatta, draping it ever so lightly over your hair, smoothed your kurta top and stepped out of the van, waiting for the men to follow you out. 

You led them to the house of the village head and instructed them to remove their boots and socks before entering. Santiago groaned as he bent down to pull his socks off and you heard a light fluster of pain. You waited for him to finish and you followed him into the house.

Tom started to explain their plan, and where they are planning to infiltrate this group. You rapidly translate the information to the village head, taking down some notes yourself. You were impressed by the amount of detail put together in this plan. The intel that they had already collected showed that the children are being kept alive in a village not far from here. If everything went smoothly, the kids would be back with them. But then came the tricky situation.

“We will need someone to come with one of us to stay in the opposite village so that we can make sure that the information we got isn’t bogus without drawing attention to ourselves.” Santiago finally spoke. 

You were slightly taken aback by his voice. It was soft but had an edge to it that tickled you. His slight accent sounded pleasantly melodious to your ears but still maintained an air of authority that could quiet a room in an instant. You blinked, focusing on the information that he had just said, translating it to the village head.

You wait for him to respond and you sigh when he does.

“He wants me to go.” you say to Santiago, looking him in his eyes for the first time, holding his gaze. Santiago stares back, his eyes unwavering.

“And rightfully so, you have medical skills and can pass off as a villager.” Tom says, nodding. 

“Then I’ll go with you.” Santiago says. 

“Do you have a plan on how you are going to disguise yourself?” you ask.

“Yea, I was thinking of going in as a deaf and mute man,” he says.

“Great, I can sign, this will go perfectly.” you say finalizing it.

“Good job, team, now we can start the preparation.” Tom said, finalizing the meeting.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The police had gotten you and Santiago a small hut to live in at the outskirts of the opposite village for him to do his reconnaissance. You both were to pose as husband and wife and they had given you a fake thaali to be worn on a yellow string around your neck to signify your marriage. You slyly noticed that Santiago didn’t wear a ring, unlike Frankie and Tom but you assumed that he had a girlfriend somewhere in America. 

“Hold still,” you tell him, wrapping your old dupatta around his face to conceal his identity. He wanted to go into the markets where most of the town gossip would buzz about. He was dressed in some clothes that were given to him by the village head and had his bulletproof vest under it. 

“I am holding still, your hands are shaking.” he said, smugly. 

Your hands were shaking. You were a trained medical professional and your hands were shaking. Santiago made you feel nervous. He is a very intimidating man. This whole operation made you feel nervous. You just wanted it to be over as soon as it started. 

“Pin,” you held out your hand and Santiago dropped the pin into it. 

You quickly pin the edge and step back to admire your handy work, and catch his eyes. He had the most beautiful baby doe eyes, framed with long eyelashes that could make any girl jealous. You stared a little too long until Santiago clears his throat.

“Done staring, chica?” He says, amusement lacing his voice. 

“Wasn’t staring.” You mumbled, grabbing your saree’s pallu and draping it over your head, tucking the ends into your blouse. Turning you look at the mirror behind you and mark the parting of your hair with a little bit of red kumkum, adjusting your pottu. 

“Do I look like I can pass as someone’s wife?” You say, turning back to Santiago. 

“Yea, you look great.” He answered.

“That's not what I asked, but thanks.” You both walk to the market center, you gripping Santiago’s firm bicep and stirring him around. You strike up a conversation with one of the vegetable sellers.

“I’ve never seen you here before, ma.” The man says in Tamil.

“Yea, uncle, my husband and I moved here a few weeks ago, didn’t have the energy to come out. He’s deaf and mute and our child went missing a few months ago.” you answer, staring into space as your eyes teared up. 

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, ma. Things like that have been happening here too, you know?” He says as you pick a few vegetables. 

“What do you mean?” You sniff.

“We think it's the gang of people at the south end of the village,” he leans closer and whispers. “Children have been going missing and no one is here to defend them.” 

You allowed a tear to drip down your face and you turned to Santiago and signed to him, that you have information. Paying for your vegetables, you thanked the old man and walked along the path. 

“Vegetable soup again?” Santiago whispered. 

“Seriously, we are undercover and that's what you’re worried about?” You hiss back. 

“I’m a hungry man, chica.” he whispers back after a while. You could hear an exaggerated pout in his voice.

“Make do with what you have,” you say, as you stir him to the meat store.

“See, I knew you were nice.” He whispered, his eyes sparkling.

You rolled your eyes and bought some mutton to cook something for the man. After all, he was the one helping you and so far, everything has been going pretty good. 

“Do you find me intimidating, cariño?” Santiago suddenly asks as he chopped the vegetables using his knife while you cooked the rice and mutton into something edible. You look up, not expecting his question, the both of you usually cook and eat silently. He had an eyebrow cocked up and a ghost of a smirk on his face. 

“Obviously.” You say, looking back at the mutton dish. 

“How so?” he persisted.

“Because you’re so, well, you? You just have that infuriatingly calm look etched on your face that doesn’t give me any information to work with. You’re obviously a military man who’s very particular about following the rules and I’ve been known to bend the rules sometimes and I’m scared that I would slip up and upset you.” You blurt out. 

Silence.

“I’ll try to be less intimidating. You’re right, I am very particular about protocol but you’ve followed everything down to a T so far and all the information that you have gotten has been matching perfectly with the intel that we already have.” He says, smiling.

You smile back, absorbing Santiago’s smile. It was genuine and it was a beautiful smile. It contorted his face in a different, more healing way and it was making him seem younger than he is. 

Over dinner, he told you about his boys and how they served together. He also told you all the weird things they would do, which elicited a laugh from you that echoed around the small hut. 

You tell him about your life before this and how different everything was, until the both of you had sleep lulling in your eyes. You don’t remember the last thing you said before closing your eyes, but you did know that you felt significantly more comfortable with Santiago around. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up abruptly to Santiago thrashing violently in his sleep. You’re familiar with the effects of PTSD on a person, you’ve seen it many times before, but this just hurts to watch. 

You grabbed his shoulders and lightly held him until he stopped shaking. His breathing softens and he opens his eyes, looking up at you and then jumping away from your grasp. 

“It's ok, it was just a dream. You’re here.” you say, grabbing a hold of his hand. He reciprocated the touch by squeezing your hand. 

“Sorry I woke you, cariño.” He says softly. 

“It's alright, you wanna talk about it?” you say, just out of courtesy, not really expecting him to say much about it. 

“My team and I came out of a very tough mission recently and I feel like I am the one to be blamed for all the mistakes that we made.” he whispers. “There were a lot of people’s lives on the line and we lost all of them because of one small error.”

You look up, shocked, not expecting a full revelation from Santiago. You mask your shock and scooch closer to him and put a hand on his back, rubbing circles.

“Hey, what happened, happened, alright? Past tense. Stay here, with me in the present.” you say soothingly. You knew nothing could change what had happened and Santiago would always have to carry that pain with him, but you tried anyway. 

He nodded without a word and you both just sat in the dark for a while just listening to each other's breathing and the crickets outside.

“Go back to sleep, we have a long day tomorrow.” You whisper into Santiago’s ear. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You let the cool water of the river envelope you with its freshness. You were used to bathing in cold water so early in the morning after living a year in the village. It helps with waking you up and you feel refreshed throughout the day. 

Despite telling Santiago to sleep, you stayed awake all night staring at his sleeping face. Even though you find it hard to admit it, you were definitely harboring a small crush on Santiago Garcia. A part of you wanted to wake up every morning with him by your side. He is a very handsome man and has pretty good intentions as far as you could tell. You spent all night memorizing every single detail that was etched into his face, wondering whether each one of those lines has its own story. 

Your thoughts were cut off by a sound close to your right and you grabbed the knife that you had strapped to your thigh and held it in front of you. 

“Who’s there?” You say in Tamil and then repeating the line again in English while cautiously step forward from the river. 

“Yo, it's just me- HOLY FUCK!!!” Santiago screamed, eyes wide, frozen to the spot. 

“DUDE WHAT ARE YOU SCREAMING AT??!” You yell back at him. 

Then you look down and realize that Santiago caught a full view of your very topless body. You facepalm, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around you.  

“Sorry, sorry, gods Santiago, you of all people should know not to sneak up on me.” You chastise him, folding your arms across your chest. 

“Pretty amazing way to start my morning though.” He says, after regaining what's left of his brain cells.

Your mouth twisted into a scowl. 

“I guess we have to get even now.” You say, smugly, trying to hide your ulterior motive of wanting to see Santiago Garcia shirtless. 

“Easy, your wish is my command, princesa.” He says, whipping his shirt off with one swift motion. 

God damn.

Yep, exactly what you expected, sculpted by Michelangelo for the gods, even by the gods or greater than the gods. You've had your fair share of men in medical school, but nothing comes close to this archangel. 

“Like what you see?” He tilts his head to catch your expression but you keep your emotions steady, not allowing them to leak onto your face. 

You shrug and avoid his eyes, swooping down to grab your clothes that you wanted to wash. He pulls off his trousers and walks into the lake. 

Tightening the hold of your towel, you begin to wash your saree and underclothes, hanging them to dry on a rock nearby as you watch Santiago do laps around the river, his muscles flexing. You snap yourself out of it and walk back to the small hut to change. 

When you got out, Santiago had a towel wrapped around his waist, a little too low slung for your sanity. He was adjusting a mirror on the tree to shave his face. 

Suddenly, you hear something to your far left and you feel like you were being watched. Your peripheral vision caught sight of the trees moving and you moved closer to Santiago. 

“Santi, give me the razor, and don’t talk.” you whisper. You give him a smile and sign that there are people watching. He nodded, handing you the razor as you closed the gap. 

“There is someone in the trees to our left.” You whisper as you lather the soap onto his face, caressing his jaw. He places a hand on your exposed midriff and turns the both of you around so that he is facing the trees while you start calmly shaving his face, fingers moving to taut the skin, cleaning the razor every so often trying hard not to focus on Santiago’s fingers on your skin. 

You start to sing softly in Tamil, to act nonchalant, and watch as Santiago’s eyes scan the trees rapidly over your head. 

“I count two to the right.” He whispers back, tilting his head up to allow you better access. You place a finger to his lips to shush him and after a while you turn his head, starting on the other side.

Are they still watching? You sign. 

Santiago nods, barely. 

You finish shaving his face and wipe the access soap off with your fingers, leaving a small kiss on his nose which took him by surprise but he didn’t react, knowing that they were undercover. He pulled you in for a hug and murmured in your hair “Whatever happens, just trust me”. He kisses your forehead and pulls away, giving you a small smile, grabbing onto your hand, leading you into the hut.

Once inside, Santiago rushed around to get dressed and you frantically packed all the stuff you had into the one bag that you brought, along with Santiago’s stuff and stuffed it under a pile of hay. Santiago grabbed the satellite phone and called Frankie. You watch as he paces around speaking in frantic Spanish giving orders to his team mate.

 For days now he’s been in contact with Frankie, giving him the information that they have been collecting. Just before he could put the phone down, a knock sounded at the door. You tossed Santiago a dupatta and he quickly covered his face as you crossed the floor towards the door. 

“Who’s there?” You say in Tamil as you open the door, revealing three men. 

“Hello, kanna, we would like to ask you and your husband a few questions.” One of the men answered, smiling. 

They all looked like village folk but you’ve never seen their faces before. You turned and signed to Santiago and he nodded his head. Stepping back, you grab onto Santiago’s arm and the both of you sit cross legged in front of the men. 

You answered their questions with an unwavering face after telling them that your husband was deaf and dumb. You also tell them the same sob story that you had been telling the village people. 

One of the men leaned forward and grabbed your thali, harshly pulling you with it as they observed it. You feel Santiago flinch beside you as you beg them to not hurt you. They push you down by your shoulders making you gasp. 

“We’re going to ask you again. Who are you and who is he?” One of the men snarled into your face as you tried to recoil away. 

“Please, please don’t hurt me and my husband. Don’t hurt him, he doesn’t know what's going on.” You pleaded and wailed, trying to get away from the question. 

“Hey guys, look here, he's not Indian, is he?”At the corner of your eye, another one of the men had ripped your dupatta off Santiago’s face and your heart stops. 

“I think we need to take these two to our boss.” You noticed that Santiago wasn’t doing anything to defend himself as they pushed him towards you. 

“Don’t say anything, let them capture us.” Santiago whispers into your ear. 

He was offering you and him up as bait. You looked into his eyes and went with it. Went with the trust that you had built up with him over the two and a half weeks. 

You nod as the men bound your hands and blindfold you. You let yourself be dragged up by them and then they lead you out of the hut into the forest. Your bare feet hurt against the harsh forest floor but you didn’t say a single word. 

After what felt like hours you hear yourself approaching different voices, not of the men who kidnapped you and Santiago. You were pushed into your knees and you heard Santiago groan beside you, slight relief spreading through you when you heard his voice. 

Your blindfold was ripped off and you blinked, adjusting to the light. You first turned to Santiago who was kneeling uncomfortably beside you, his beautiful face caked with sweat, curls scruffy. Then you turned to the person who was standing in front of you, trying to decipher his features. 

“What do we have here? An American and a village woman. What an unlikely pairing.” He says in English. “Let me get straight to the point. Tell us who you are and we will decide our next course of action.” 

Santiago stayed silent, staring up at the man, gaze unflattering. 

“Military? CIA? Police? RAW?” The man stepped closer to you, lifting your chin up to face him. He was a big bald man with a giant mustache.

You and Santiago stay silent. 

“Looks like we have to bring out the big guns.” The man says, gesturing to his henchmen.

“You don’t have to worry, chellam, I don’t hit women.” He says to you, squeezing your cheek, your eyes widening with fear. 

Then the torture started. They started to hit Santiago with such brutality that you couldn’t help but scream. It went on for so long and you screamed at them to stop until your throat was sore. 

Santiago was bloody and battered and yet, he still didn’t say a single word. After a while the henchmen gave up, throwing the both of you into a closed cell. 

Santiago’s POV

The room around him spun uncontrollably and pain soared through him in horrible waves. He felt like he was reaching a light, trying to grasp it. No. It wasn’t a light, it was a sound. He tried grasping onto it, but it kept slipping away. Then he felt it, a soft nudge beside him and he grasped onto the sound, letting it envelop him.

It was her voice. She was pleading with him to stay with her, stay in the present, like she did yesterday when he awoke from the horrible nightmare. She was saying his name, and he clung onto that, the way it rolled off her tongue melodiously and reached his ears, canceling out all the ringing that he had been listening to for the past few minutes, or hours. 

He slowly opened his eyes, and focused on her form. She looked relatively unhurt but he could vaguely see tears streaming down her beautiful face. He tried to tell her that he was ok, but all he could do was taste iron in his mouth. He spat out the blood and shook his head, breathing in and out to steady the spinning. 

“Santiago, I need you to listen to me,” Y/N says, kicking her legs over his own outstretched ones. “I need you to pull my saree over my thigh and grab the knife that’s strapped to it.”

He nodded, still trying to process.

“Santi, come on, look at me, pull.” She whispers frantically, shaking her legs. 

His head snapped up at her again and he fumbled with her saree, trying to pull it up to gain access to the knife. Finally after several tries, he pushed the fabric over where the knife was and pulled it, holding it in front of him, unsure of what to do next. 

“Come on, free yourself.” She instructed and he turned the knife towards his bounded hands, autopilot taking over as he sawed himself loose. 

He leaned back, trying to blink away the pain as he focused on freeing her, so as to not cut her. 

The second he frees her, he hears gunshots and yelling. He laughs, completely delirious to the pain. 

“My boys are here.” He says as he slips into unconsciousness.

Your POV

Santiago falls back as you feel your hands slip out of the restraints. You hear him mumble something incoherent as you swung our legs off his own and start slapping him to keep him awake. 

“No, no, no, stay with me, you idiot.” You hiss, feeling his pulse. It was there, but faint. 

You pull his shirt up and run your fingers over his body in the dark, checking for any cuts. You feel something warm and wet, pulling back to smell the familiar twang of iron. You pull the pallu of your saree off your shoulder and use it to stem the bleeding, pressing hard with one hand, the other still slapping Santiago’s face. 

“Pope! Y/N! Where are you guys?” A familiar voice called out. 

“Frankie! Frankie, in here, in the cells, Santi’s bleeding out, please, I need a med pack, stat!” You yell as loud as your sore throat could handle. 

Frankie appears in front of you with full tactical gear and shoots the lock of the cell. In seconds, he got a flashlight and the med pack out. You examined the wound under the dim stream of light and it was still beading with blood. 

You instruct Frankie to douse the wound with disinfectant and your hands as you thread a needle. As fast as you possibly could, you sewed the wound shut.

You sigh and turn to Frankie, shaking your head. 

“I know, he’s a little stupid, but you’ll get use to it.” He smiles down at his unconscious friend. “We got the kids and the others are currently doing a headcount.”

“How did you guys find us?” You say, holding onto Santiago’s hand.

“He has a tracker on him and after that frantic phone call, we traced you guys here. Let me guess, he refused to speak?” He says, squinting at where your hand was.

“Yep, didn’t say a single word, the stubborn man. Your timing is impeccable. I couldn’t imagine what would have happened if you didn’t turn up in time.” You say, your eyes welling up with fresh tears again.

“Hey, it's alright, let's get this man to the hospital, okay?” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Hey.” You hear a voice and you sit up immediately, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Hey, yourself. Do you know how stupid that was?” You glare at the man on the bed in front of you. 

“Mmm, kinda, but we’re alive right?” He says, giving you a smile.

You roll your eyes, biting your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling back at him. His eyes went slightly glassy as if he was thinking about something.

“What are you thinking about?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking him, snapping him out of his daze.

“Your tits.” He replied without hesitation.

“¿Qué? You know what, nevermind, I don’t even want to know.” Frankie says, making Santiago snap his head to his left where Frankie was lounging on a chair.

You massage your temples, embarrassment creeping up your face. 

“Oh, hi Catfish, didn’t see you there.” Santi grins.

“Well, good morning to you too, cabrón.” he says getting up and giving Santiago a kiss on his forehead, making him cringe into the pillows and you giggle at the sight.

Frankie left the room, closing the door behind him, not before uttering “No monkey business, you two.”

“Asshole,” Santiago chuckles, before turning back to you.

“You’ve got a lot of admirers who visited you.” you say, scanning his face.

You were so glad to be present during the reunion of the children and their parents. All of the children were relatively unharmed but the bruises on their wrist signified the burden of the trauma that they had to carry for the rest of their lives.

Santiago shifts and pats the bed. You hesitate, but eventually climb in, snuggling lightly into his side.

“I have to admit, you are growing on me, Pope.” You mutter as his good arm pulls you closer. 

“Mmm, I know.” He whispers, kissing your forehead.

“If you pull a stunt like that again, I swear, I will kill you myself.” You say in Tamil.

“I think we’re getting lost in translation, cariño.” He mumbles into your hair, slipping back into sleep. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Translation:

Jimmikis: A style of earring worn by women of the Indian subcontinent.

Ma: Indians usually call all women “ma”, can be a term of endearment but also is used casually.

Thaali: A mangala sutra, or thaali, is a necklace that the groom ties around the bride's neck in the Indian subcontinent. The necklace serves as a visual marker of status as a married Hindu woman. Mangala sutra's origin dates back to the 6th Century AD as a single yellow thread was tied around the bride for protection from other men and evil spirits. The term mangala sutra in Sanskrit means holy thread.

Dupatta: The dupattā is a shawl traditionally worn by women in Indian subcontinent to cover the head and shoulders 

Chica: Girl

Saree: A sari or saree is a women's garment from the Indian subcontinent,that consists of an un-stitched stretch of woven fabric arranged over the body as a robe, with one end tied to the waist, while the other end rests over one shoulder as a stole, baring a part of the midriff.

Pallu: The loose end of a sari, worn over one shoulder or the head

Kumkum: AKA sindoor. Kumkum is a powder used for social and religious markings in India. It is either made from turmeric or saffron. The turmeric is dried and powdered with a bit of slaked lime, which turns the rich yellow powder into a red color. Kumkum is most often applied by Indians to the forehead

Pottu: A bindi or pottu is a coloured dot or, in modern times, a sticker worn on the center of the forehead, originally by Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists and Jains from the Indian subcontinent.

Cariño: Sweetie

Princesa: Princess

Kanna: Sweetie

Chellam: Darling

¿Qué?: What?

Cabrón: Dumbass

Then and Now

Summary: The boys want a second pass at that fucking money. They need your help. The only problem is that you and Santiago aren't talking, not anymore, not since everything went so sideways.

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Reader

Word Count: ~15.5k

Warnings: angst, pining, canon level violence, lots and lots of cursing, PTSD and assorted metal health issues, smut (p in v), best friend Benny Miller (yeah it needs a warning), reader has a nickname (Blue) in the same way the others do (Pope, Fish, etc.) sparingly used

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please forgive anything that is militarily inaccurate/inaccurate to the ravine location, I changed some things to fit the story better. I am so very aware I'm basically writing in what is probably a dead fandom for a meh movie. That doesn't matter to me, what matters is all that Oscar Isaac ass and the fact that this is genuinely my favorite movie at the moment. That, and when @velvetofyourheart asks for something, I can't really say no.

Tanya, thank you so much for your wonderful idea and always encouraging my aquarius god-complex. This is your fic, you own it. This is your Santi, never let anyone tell you any differently. I love you. Happy very belated birthday.

Now

Fog is still rolling over your front yard when Benny Miller’s familiar jeep swings into your driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. 

You sit down your cup of coffee, the many rings lining your fingers clinking against the ceramic, and huff out a breath at his audacity, showing up at your place so early in the day. 

The morning is muggy but cool, condensation beading along the porch railing where your feet are propped up, booted feet crossed at the ankle. 

The jeep’s headlights go out and the driver’s side door pops open. Benny smiles at you when he climbs out, giving you a big, exaggerated wave before he lopes over, all sweetheart golden retriever energy.

Benny is big feelings and big gestures in a body that would never be enough to trap it all inside, that could never cage all that wild energy. 

“Well, fuck,” you say when he climbs the porch stairs. “Look what the cat dragged in.” 

You haven’t seen him in a couple weeks. 

Benny, who you used to see daily. 

But not anymore, not since he came home beat to hell and looking like a lost dog. Not since he told you everything that happened in Colombia.

Not since he told you how Tom died, how everything they did was so fucked. 

Wouldn’ta happened if you were there. You keep our heads on straight. He had told you that day, crying like you were kids again on your back deck in the setting sun. 

Benny laughs and leans against the banister, a brown folder held in one hand. You eye the folder as you flick open the pack of cigarettes in your lap, knocking out a smoke and lighter. “Whatever it is,” you nod at his hand, “The answer is no.” 

“You don’t even know what it is,” Ben says innocently. “And you know they say those things will kill you.” 

“Fuck you, Miller, this is my one indulgence,” you say amicably as you light up, blowing smoke away from him. 

Coffee and a cigarette on your front porch each morning before work, before driving half an hour into town to serve bitchy local teens still half coked out of their minds from the night before and surly truck drivers just passing through town - that was your indulgence, that was all you could allow yourself, all you could afford most days. 

Benny reaches up to pull off his ball cap, runs a hand through his hair and replaces the hat backwards, before he sighs. “We’re going back for that money. We need you there. Can’t do it without you, obviously. First time you aren’t with us and everything goes to hell.” 

You scoff, taking a long drag on your cigarette, holding in the nicotine for a long moment before you exhale through your nose, “You’ve gotta be kidding, Benny.” 

“Not a chance,” Benny says, weirdly serious, “Not with this. Someone else is gonna find it and then what?”

“Suppose it goes to the next drug lord in line,” you raise a brow at him. “Y’all are really going back for that money? That got Tom killed? Didn’t you fuck it up enough already? Leave it lie, it's cursed.” 

Benny winces and straightens, moving to drop heavily onto the wooden porch swing hanging from the ceiling. It creaks beneath him as he leans back and sighs, sounding more exhausted than you’ve ever known him to be. 

“Redfly wouldn’t want that money falling into the wrong hands.” 

“Yeah he’d want it in his hands,” you snap, feeling only slightly guilty about talking ill of the dead. “Or did you forget what happened down there?” 

Benny doesn’t say anything for a moment, cornflower blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, he won’t be there this time.” 

“So why go back? Pope’s greed eating at him again? You know you guys don’t have to do everything he says.” When Benny doesn’t say anything, you glance over at him, watch the way he sighs lightly and the circles beneath his eyes seem to deepen in real time. “Hey, I’m sorry, Ben. That was cruel of me.” 

You stub out your near finished cigarette and grab your cup of coffee, crossing the porch to slide down next to him and knock your cup into his leg. “You look like you could use this.” 

He takes the mug from you, drawing a long swig of coffee before he hands it back to you. 

He eyes your hands, taps one finger against yours. “You still wear Santi’s ring.” 

Santi’s ring. 

It wasn’t an engagement ring, no, you’d have to be in a relationship for that to have happened. He’d picked it up at a flea market somewhere, polished it up himself and presented it to you like it meant nothing. 

I know how much you like rings, he had said simply, nodding at the many rings that lined your fingers. 

You never take it off. 

You sigh and lean back, your shoulder brushing Ben’s as you both stare up at the cobwebbed ceiling. “Just because he hates me, doesn’t mean I feel the same way about him.”

He doesn’t comment on that and the silence stretches between you for a long time. 

Ben eventually says your name and you roll your head toward him to meet his eyes. You can tell he’s thinking exactly the same thing you are - that you both look exhausted. You’ve known Benny since forever and reading him is like looking at a jumbotron at a Marlins game - so fucking obvious it was painful sometimes. 

“You really wanna keep doing this forever? Stay in this shithole town and do nothing? Serve the fuck ups at that diner?” Benny pumps you, poking your sore spots. He knows you hate being trapped, hates the stupid town you live in. “Treated like shit? Making no money? No thanks for the sacrifices you made?” 

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Pope. Save it, Ben.” 

“Maybe he’s right about some things. Listen, we paid our dues to Tom’s family. We went through hell and everything is still the fucking same. Maybe we deserve that money.” When you don’t respond immediately, he continues, “Think about it. Hard part is already done. Money’s already stolen, we just gotta go pick it up.” 

“Actually got a plan this time though?” You ask, knocking your knee into Ben’s. “Shit went so sideways last time.” 

He looks away from you, bangs a fist against his thigh and stands, pacing around your porch as you watch, the Florida heat finally starting to creep in for the day. “It’s gotta be easy. In and out.” 

“Aren’t Lorea’s men still in the area? Or whoever’s running the place now? Didn’t half the fucking town see your faces?” 

“Who says we need to go into that town at all?” 

“Ah. So there is no plan.” 

“There is,” he nods at the folder he’d left on the swing next to you. “Santiago’s got something started.” 

Santi. 

An image flashes through your mind, of him standing on this very same porch, the roar of thunder and rain in your ears as a midnight storm passed through, the din of it so loud as Santiago stood there and hollered at you. 

“You really won’t do this with us?” His voice had been harsh, a lingering accusation on his tongue. “When one of us bleeds out and you aren’t there, that’s going to be on you.”

You had recoiled, felt that sting like a slap. “Fuck you, Pope.” And you saw him flinch at the use of that name. You never called him that, you always called him by his true name. “Don’t blame your greed on me. Don’t pretend this is about anything else than that money. Lorea is a sideshow at best to you.” 

“And don’t you fucking pretend like this life is enough for you! Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t do anything to get out of this fucking town!”

His hair had been damp, sticking to his forehead, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I already did, Santiago. We’ve all been to hell and back already.” You had shaken your head, “And this is my line. I’m not fucking up those communities anymore than they already are.” 

Santi’s face hadn’t changed, but his eyes had burned hotter, scorching into you. You’d touched a nerve and you knew it. “You’re a coward. I’m not even asking you to take fire. Not like before. Something happens to one of us, don’t bother coming to the fucking funeral. You’re leaving us a man down and without med support.”

“So that’s all you want me to do, huh? Come with you and play nurse? Fuck off, I’m the best shot of any of you.” 

“Yeah and shit at everything else. There’s a reason we stuck you out as the sniper. Keeps you away from anything important. But now you’re leaving us without cover.” 

And that, that fucking stung, you’d recoiled from him and said quietly. “Fine. I was useless all those years. My answer is still no.”  

And without another glance at you, he’d walked off your porch and out of your life. 

Only when Benny showed up after Tom was already in the grave did you find out what happened.  

Now, you shake your head and glance at the folder, you can see the edges of a few documents poking out. “Did he send you?” 

“No. No one knows I’m here. Except Will.” Of course, anything Benny knew, Benny had already shared three times over with his older brother. 

“I think you’ve forgotten, Ben. Pope hates me. It’s all my fault shit went sideways for y’all.” You swallow, “According to him anyways. I left you without cover.”  

It’s what you know Santi would say to you, if he’d talk to you again.

“You know he didn’t mean any of that shit. He was just pissed he wasn’t getting his way,” Benny says, still pacing the porch, floorboards creaking with every long stride. “He was just pissed he couldn’t get all of Delta back together. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

But as much as you miss Tom, as much as you had mourned him, you can’t help thinking about how much worse it would have been if it had been Benny or Will. 

Or Santi. 

Fuck, Santiago could have died, and that would have been on you.

A member of your family had died and you hadn’t been there, you hadn’t even been allowed to mourn.  

You roll your eyes now and pick up the folder, sliding the edge of your nail beneath the thick cardstock.

But the pain in your heart lingers as you think about the anger in Santi’s eyes that day. The knowledge now that your absence might have caused a rift in the team, that Tom’s reckless play for more money than any of them could handle and Will’s wounded side slowing them down might be your fault for throwing off team dynamics. 

“I get why you couldn’t do it then. But now? No one has to get hurt now. Someone worse finds that money, then what happens?”

You’d grown up with the Millers, met Santiago when you went with Benny into the army and eventually got recruited to Delta. 

It had been the only way to make it out of your small town, with no money for college and no scholarship opportunities despite your grades, you’d felt it was your only chance. And going with Benny to the recruitment center to follow Will, who’d left a few years before, hadn’t seemed so bad. 

You had stuck by Benny and to your surprise, or maybe to no one’s surprise, both of you were good at it. Good at shooting and killing and clawing bloody tracks into the ground beneath your feet. Good at ruining and destroying, good at being disciplined and regimented and hard. Good at following orders and being better than everyone else. 

You and Benny were to become the babies of Delta Force, the younger pair that always seemed to lag a bit behind the other four more mature and experienced guys. If it weren’t for Will, you might not have been placed in the same unit. But Will had been adamant about recommending both of you, about placing both of you with Delta. 

And the superiors had gotten tired of fighting with him. 

Benny and Will were the brothers you never had, the family you always wanted. 

Santiago and Frankie and Tom only pulled you in tighter, only made you cling on harder, gave you something solid to hang onto. 

Santiago. God, Santiago. 

You wanted him the moment you saw him, with that curling hair that grayed as the years wore on, with those crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled that deepened every year, with the way that he stared at you like you held the secrets of the universe, with a gaze so feverish and consuming it was hard not to be pulled into his orbit, right to the center of his world. 

Santiago pulled a little too hard, loved a little bit too intensely. You’d known the second he showed up at your place that stormy night that whatever he had to say to you was about to break you, that he was about to rip the thread that he had wound around his fingers since the second you met him right out of your heart. 

Something about Santi was so magnetic, so intense, you couldn’t look away, pull away, if you wanted. 

He annoyed you to no end, shielded you from nothing despite your awards and metals for excellency in the field, despite your being on a fucking special ops team, and one of the only women to do so no less. He and Tom had taken one look at your record the day you were reassigned to them, and advocated for your shooting skills, that you worked best at a distance, and had taken you under his wing. 

You wanted to slap him and you loved him and he was so complicated that you wanted to cry just thinking about it. 

Santiago was also lonely, lonely in the same way you were. 

You could be in a room full of people, surrounded by those you loved, and still feel separate, apart, alone. 

Santi was the same - and so you drifted together. 

You were something undefined for years and maybe that was the problem. 

There was a tension neither of you dared address when you were in the service together, not when things were so terribly dangerous at all times, not when feelings could get everyone killed, could have the team that was like a family pulled apart by superiors. 

When your time was up and as your honorable discharge along with the rest of Delta approached, things got more real, too real. Santiago was always there at your periphery, like a wraith you couldn’t ignore.

He was the nucleus of your world, the center of your universe, and you wanted to hate him for it. 

“You and Miller gonna shack up after all this, hermosa?” He’d asked one of those last few nights together, at a base canteen. 

You’d looked up from the beer you were nursing. “Which one?” You tried to joke, but it didn’t land, and the tension between you thickened until you felt you might choke on it. 

You had never wanted to kiss someone so bad, Santi tilting his head toward yours until he was all you could see, everything else blotted out, until the smell of his aftershave threatened to drown you or resurrect you. 

“C’mon Blue. Ben seems keen on it,” he notes.  

“Benny’s got more than he can handle as it is.” 

You don’t know why you hadn’t just denied it, you knew there was something between you and Santiago, that he bred feelings in you that you didn’t know what to do with. But it felt too close to the truth, like something too close to your heart. So you didn’t correct yourself, and gave a hollow laugh, like it was all a joke. 

It was only when you got home and things got restless and bad that it happened. Will attacked some guy in a grocery store, you had to bail Benny out of jail for bar fights twice. Frankie and Tom disappeared into their families. 

And Santi…when you called, he came. 

He came and he held you while you cried and wondered where everything had gone wrong. You’d escaped the town, gone farther and faster than you ever thought you would, and yet here you were back again, with a broken heart and a broken soul, and friends and brothers you couldn’t help, a listlessness settling between your bones that you didn’t know how to name. 

You were still so young, and had seen and done so much, and had nothing to show for it. You had seen and done things you could never come back from. 

And then, you were back in the same town, with the same people, and no prospects. 

You’d had half a mind to join Benny in his bar fights, just to feel something, just to make the ache inside your bones go away. But then Will would have had to bail you both out and neither of you wanted that. 

The loss of your routine, your regimented military life, sent you and the Millers spiraling for a while.

But you and Benny tended to follow Will, and when he pulled his head out of his ass, so did the two of you - group counseling, hobbies, jobs, - things that gave you meaning and routine, that kept you from spiraling into the worst kind of crisis. 

Compartmentalizing became key. 

But you never really figured out how to compartmentalize Santi, never knew where to slot him in your mind. 

He’d been there for you, the violence and reintegration into civilian life hadn’t seemed to phase him, and maybe that was because he’d never returned to it - working with independent contractors and security services abroad, right back into the fray. 

He came and went, but he always came back to you. 

When you called, he came. 

He had come with groceries or take out, stayed with you for a weekend. He’d refuse to let you back away from the violent feelings inside you, fucking them right out of you sometimes, letting you use him or him use you, depending on the mood. 

You were something close to a relationship, but not quite. 

Things got better with Santi around, with doing group therapy at the VA, your job at the diner, and taking up boxing as a hobby. Poker nights started up, bar nights, going to Benny’s fights together when he started MMA.

And when Santi was in town - even better. 

You watch Benny pace around your porch now, and flip open the file. “I’ll take a look, Benny,” you say gently. “You’re gonna wear a hole through my floor.” 

You couldn’t lose all of that, you can’t let your family do something so stupid without you again. 

“Think about it, sweetheart,” he says, suddenly dropping next to you on the swing again, causing it to jolt and rattle your teeth. “You could do something so good with that money. Someone else finds it first, it's just gonna have more blood spilled on it.” 

You laugh, “Fuck you, Benny.” 

“And be set for fuckin’ life,” he says. “C’mon, what’s not to like?” 

“Pope won’t like it.” 

“Fuck Pope. He’ll get over it. We all miss you.”

You miss them too, and you can’t let them go alone again.  

Then

The third time you break down after you’re stateside, you call Santi, because he’s your life line, your hook into reality, your tether to the Earth.

Santi always comes when you call, he always knows exactly what you need. 

The first two times you called, he came with takeout, with a movie, and sat with you on your couch for two days straight because you had so much fear built up inside you, you couldn’t move. 

Going into the military wasn’t the hard part, you found, it was coming home. 

The third time, he finds you in the bedroom of the apartment you rented as soon as you were back in town. 

“Hey,” he crouches down across from your place on the floor, curled between your nightstand and the edge of the bed. “You okay?” 

“I don’t think I can do this, Santi,” you mutter, feeling like your lungs are collapsing, like you can’t breathe. “Fuck, I don’t think I can. Everything - God, it's so loud, but it's too quiet. Everyone is just going around like everything is fucking normal - like - like - ”

Like you hadn’t killed and bled and fought and cursed and -

Santi nods, “I remember my first time on leave was like that. Just sat in my fucking bedroom for two weeks straight because I didn’t know how to be anymore.” 

Your frantic eyes seek his out, his intense gaze that was heavy enough to feel like a weighted blanket against you, soothing the ache inside you a little, before he holds his arms out to you. 

You crawl across the carpet to fit yourself into his lap when he falls to his ass with a groan. You breathe hard and fast, his scent like catnip to you, fingers tangling hard into his shirt. 

“Thought you were gonna hole up with Ben.” 

“Fuck you, Santiago. You know Ben is like my brother,” you grit out, pulling so hard on his shirt that you think it might rip in your fingers. You tuck your head under his chin, feel the slow slide of his touch up your side, listen to the steady beat of his heart. 

His touch is warm, it grounds you, makes you feel so very safe. 

His comment about Benny reminds you of something, of something you should have told him that night weeks ago at the canteen. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t say it now, but Santi I -,” 

Before you can continue, he presses a finger under your chin, to tip your head up. He doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, just stares at you - just pins you down with that unwavering stare, brown eyes like chips of amber. 

“I know,” he says simply, so gentle and cocksure as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “I know, hermosa. Me too.” 

You suck in a breath but whatever you’re about to say, dies on your lips. Santiago presses a hand to the back of your neck, holds you firm and doesn’t let you look away, his eyes flicking down your face. “Tell me you want me, baby. I’ll give it to you. Help you shut out the world.” 

You’re so drunk on his gaze, at the way he holds you hard and soft and tight and fucking perfect - that you don’t hesitate when you say, “Please, Santi, I want you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears you. 

One strong hand cups beneath your chin, fingers tight against your skin as Santiago kisses you for the first time. 

It’s not a gentle kiss. 

It’s like breathing in smoke, like choking down hot coal, but you revel in the pain, you take pleasure in the way he fights to consume you, in the way his strong jaw juts forward in a harsh pass of his lips against yours. 

He’s rough with you, that first time, because he knows it's what you need, that you can handle it, that you’ve had worse.

But you’ve never had better, will never have better again. 

Santiago kisses you like a man possessed, he bites you, he tears his fingers into your flesh, down into the marrow of your bones. He pushes you down into the carpet and doesn’t waste time with helping you out of your clothes. 

He shoves his hand down the front of your cotton shorts without preamble, his fingers expert in seeking out your wet heat. His mouth stays on yours as you tug at his hair, pull and pull until he hisses and shoves a finger inside you. 

You forget about the world, about how you don’t recognize your town and recognize it all too well - how the ordered madness you were used to sustaining you was gone. 

The pain you feel is subsumed by Santiago’s heavy presence, the way he pulls back from you but hardly lets you breathe - his fingers in your mouth, the taste of yourself in your mouth, his hand insistent on the back of your neck. 

You claw at his back, raking your nails over him as he licks into your mouth, holding your head still with a hand on your neck, beneath your jaw. He pinches your nipple through your shirt so hard it stings but all you can do is arch up into him. 

Santi pulls back from you, a whine you can’t control rattling out of your throat. 

“Fuuuck,” he groans into your skin, “Fuck. Fuck.” 

He pulls back and yanks on your shorts, “Off.” 

You scramble to remove your hands from him, to push your shorts down your legs until they get caught up on your ankles. 

Santi doesn’t bother with undressing, just yanks down the zipper of his jeans until he can free himself. He sits back with a groan, knees protesting, so he can yank your shorts off your ankles before he slots himself back over you, his dick slipping against you. 

The heat of him clears your mind, the anxiety and the thoughts you couldn’t stop from consuming you before, washing away until your mind is pleasantly empty, a blank white space that only Santiago can fill. 

The town doesn’t exist, the past doesn’t exist, none of the things you’d done exists, you are purified, you are only the tips of your toes and the edges of your fingers, one long nerve ending. 

His mouth is back on yours and you curl your hands back into his hair again, groaning into his mouth when he roughly yanks up the hem of your shirt to your armpits, large calloused hand palming your tits roughly, his mouth skating down your throat to your chest, until he can pull one stiff nipple between his teeth and tug. 

You can only moan, fisting your hand into his hair to jerk his lips back to yours. 

“Santi,” you murmur against his mouth. “Santi.”

“That’s it, hermosa. Say my name,” he breathes into your skin as he notches his cock at your entrance. “Say my name,” he demands when you don’t immediately answer. 

“Santiago,” you whimper, pathetically needy, the air punched out of your lungs when his hips snap forward. He’s fully seated within you in one hard push, your thighs burning, the stretch of him so painful you cry out. “Don’t,” you hold onto his arms, force him to stay where he is when he starts to pull back. “Fuck, don’t, feels so good.” 

Santiago doesn’t need anymore encouragement, hips drawing back just far enough to slam into you again, pushing you up the carpet. 

He sets a brutal pace, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, the burn easing and the pleasure settling in. 

Santiago whispers to you in Spanish and even though you speak the language well enough, you can’t make yourself understand what he’s saying. 

The heat builds inside you until you feel like you might scream, until you feel like your body might give out on you. 

But Santi always knows what you need, always knows you. 

And so he slows the pace of his hips, dips his mouth to your neck and presses a finger through your folds, tracing circles around your clit until you come with an earth shattering force. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering against the sweat slick skin of your throat, the only thing real in the whole world to you in that moment him. “Look at you, fucking soaked my cock, baby. So perfect.” And then he’s whispering in Spanish again, something about so fucking perfect, all mine. You’re fucking mine.  

You don’t let Santiago pull away from you, the hot weight of him against you drowning out every horrifying thought in your head. You feel him seeping out of you, feel the grip of his fingers against the fleshy part of your hip, tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck. 

He doesn’t move, doesn't try to, and stays buried inside you. Santiago whispers sweet as sugar words right into your hairline until he’s hard again, and then he fucks you so softly - you’re sure its what love should feel like. 

~

And so, for a while after you come home, that’s all your life is, fighting and fucking and hating the world for chewing you up and spitting you out, and not being strong enough to fucking take it. 

~

The fucking is by far the best part. 

You feel best when Santiago is with you, when his cock is buried so deep inside you it’s the only thing you can think about - when you’re cockdumb and sex drunk. 

That’s when things feel normal again. 

That’s when your brain finally shuts the fuck up. 

But then Will pulls it together, starts getting real help, and inevitably you and Benny follow suit. 

It doesn’t stop you and Santi from fucking like rabbits, but it makes it softer, it lets you round out the edges of your heart against his. 

The thing between you stays undefined, but it comes somewhere close to ownership. Santi is yours and you are his, though it’s never said out loud.

He dances with you around your kitchen, spars with you in your backyard when you put a down payment on your house, cooks you breakfast, and asks for input on his consulting jobs. 

Santi tries to get you to come with him, back to those places you’d left behind, back to the fight, back to the guns and blood and drugs. 

But you can’t do it, at least not yet.

For a moment in time, you are content, content with that small town, your little job. 

Will starts giving speeches to recruits, Benny starts MMA, Frankie gets married, Tom spends more time with his daughter. 

You and Santiago - your worlds revolve around each other, when he’s in town and when he isn’t, how quickly he can drive from the airport to your house, how he catches you in the front yard in his arms and spins you around. 

Sometimes, you don’t even make it inside. 

You have no neighbors for several miles, and the front porch steps were a good a place as any to fuck. 

Unfortunately that’s the same day that Will decides to swing by with your new boxing gloves you’d asked him to get you. Will gets a full view of Santi’s ass, but he never pulls out, never stops fucking you. 

“He’s seen worse,” he laughs into your ear, nipping at your skin as heat pools embarrassment around your bones, the man who was like your brother doing a one-eighty to hightail it back down the road. “Don’t worry about him, cariño.” 

It’s then as he laughs and kisses you, kisses away the annoyed groan, that you realize that you love him, really love him. 

And that you’d probably never love anyone else. 

Now

“Hey, there she is!” You hear Will announce as soon as you slam the door of your truck shut, parked against the curb outside Santi’s place. 

“Hey Blue,” Frankie calls when you approach the group sitting around a picnic table, a canopy of emerald green shielding them from the sun and prying eyes. A cooler of beer popped open, burgers on the grill. 

You smile and accept the hug Frankie offers you, moving quickly to Will and then Benny, despite seeing the Millers often enough, now that you and Ben were back to seeing each other daily. 

Santi can’t even be bothered enough to turn from the grill. He says nothing and a fissure of pain cracks open your chest, your heart bleeding all over again, just like that.

“How’re you Frankie? How’s the baby?” You slide into the open space next to him on the bench, accepting the beer he reaches down into the cooler at his side to hand you. 

Will automatically starts constructing a burger for you, disregarding the onions and adding extra pickles and an extra slice of cheese, without you having to ask. 

It makes your heart hurt to be with them. These were the people you’d been through so much with, who knew so many little things about you. 

No onions, extra pickles, extra cheese.

You feel the absence of Tom suddenly, like a hole in the middle of your little family. 

Santi’s disregard does nothing to help the feeling. 

“Good,” Frankie says. “They’re okay.” 

“That’s great-,”

“So,” Benny interrupts, ever tackless, “We gonna talk about this thing or not?” 

“Jesus, Ben,” Will says. “Let her settle in.” 

Benny raises his brows and looks at you, “You settled?” 

“I’m good,” you nod, “Always.” 

“There ya go, girl’s all settled up. Let’s talk.” 

Santiago joins you at the table then, plate of freshly grilled burgers deposited in the center of the table. 

Will passes you the burger he’d assembled for you. 

Silence descends, awkward and piercing for a long moment as you look around at them. Pope holds your gaze when you meet his eyes, and for the first time in years, you can’t read the look in them. 

You glance away, back at Frankie who you haven’t seen since forever and Will who you infrequently saw these days. “I missed y’all,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. 

The heckling that immediately follows breaks the ice surrounding the group of you, Frankie cooing sarcastically at you as Will laughs and Benny breaks open a bag of chips that you know he won’t share with anyone else. 

“Fuck you guys,” you say without venom. 

“We missed you too, kid,” Will says, Frankie throwing an arm around your shoulders. 

“Yeah, sister,” Frankie intones, “When are you finally gonna come meet my kid?” 

You take a sip of your beer, “As soon as you invite me, Fish.” 

“So you take invitations now?” Santiago’s voice cuts through the chatter, his eyes are still glued to your face when you look back at him, the coolness in his voice matching the ice in his eyes. 

Something in your chest crumbles and you can’t make yourself keep his gaze this time. 

You glance away. 

“Pope,” Will warns, a threat lurking in his voice. “You wanna start us off?” 

Santiago finally looks away from you, his jaw clenching, before he rattles off the strategy he’d devised - a one day plot to get the money.  

You sit and listen without looking at him, thinking of all the ways this plan can go sideways. Again.

Thinking of all the ways you could lose another one of your boys, how the group might not survive losing another member. 

You hear the others take up threads, concerns - namely how you would get the money out of the ravine, how it could be transported without notice to the beach. They would hire the same boat as the last time, to transport the money off the coast and out of the country, to the same bank setting up the off-shore shell accounts. 

“Can you approach the ravine from any other way than through that town?” You ask. 

“Not unless we’re goin’ over the fuckin’ Andes again,” Benny answers you. “And I’m out if that’s the plan.” 

“No,” Santi confirms, “Through the town is the only way.”

You consider quietly, biting into your burger as Will details the town’s layout, where you could expect areas that would probably cause issues for you. 

“And weapons?” You inquire. “We need to be armed.” 

“There’s a shipping freight -,” Santi offers.

“Oh, fuck, you’re not seriously considering arms trafficking on top of everything else, are you? That’s so fucking tracable.” 

“You got a problem you can fucking go,” Santi bites back at you. “We don’t have the benefit of time to go scrambling for arms sourced in-country.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and consider for a moment wondering if you should offer or if Pope would just bite your head off again. “No,” you say quietly. “I think I might be able to help there. Contact that might be able to make a drop for us. Something locally sourced.” 

Will is nodding, smiles at you, “So no arms trafficking. That’s something.” 

Santi reluctantly nods, shoulders loosening. 

You might be at odds at the moment, but he does trust you with things like this, knows you would never suggest something that might put the team at a real risk. “I’ll reach out and let you know when it's confirmed.” 

Pope saws a hand over his chin and nods, and you recognize that gleam in his eyes, that intensity that said he was starting to believe in this plan, he was starting to see the fruits of this labor. 

It's akin to the way he used to look at you, when he would make promises to you that he eventually broke. 

The rest of the conversation passes you by, rappelling gear and fuel and rations and passports and how to move the money once it was out of the ravine - but you can’t stop looking at Santi. 

He’s always been beautiful, since you first met him all those years ago, when you and Benny had just passed the ASVAB and were then recommended to join Delta by Will. 

Anything to keep the siblings together. 

He’d been beautiful then with wild dark curls and brown skin darkened by sun exposure, solid and sure and steady.

But now, with the pepper of gray in his hair and the darkness in his eyes, the kindness that he showed every stranger, the slightly startled way he always laughed, his creaky knees - well, he’d only gotten more beautiful. 

Age suited him well. 

The conversation closes - with you assigned to the arms issue and Will sorting out local transport, if the money was even possible to retrieve. 

Benny pokes you in the side as he helps Frankie ball up the used paper plates and gather empty beer bottles, and tilts his head toward where Santi stands fiddling with the grill. 

You roll your eyes and shove him back but take the hint and stand. 

Santi doesn’t turn when you stop next to him, watching as he meticulously cleans the grill. 

“We gonna hate each other forever?” You ask, stepping close to him, his shoulders going stiff beneath his t-shirt. 

“I don’t hate you,” he mutters, glancing up but not quite meeting your eyes as he drops the scrub brush in his hand, folding his arms over his chest. 

“No? Sure seems like it,” you muse. “Didn’t even invite me to Redfly’s funeral.” 

Santi says your name, a sigh that makes your stomach curdle. “We didn’t want you implicated. Everything had went so fuckin’ bad and you knew way more than I should have told you.” 

You nod, like it makes you feel any better. “Yeah, I get it.” You almost don’t ask, but you can’t help the question that slips out, “And after that? Why didn’t you come home after that?”

Santiago finally looks at you, his intense gaze locking onto yours and you freeze, pinned down by that heaviness, that stare that is so soft and piercing. The ice in his eyes has curiously melted down into a warm brown, his brows tugging together. “I’d done enough damage.” 

And he leaves it at that. 

~

Santiago always comes when you call, and you call him for the first time since he left your porch that last night before things went to hell. 

Benny’s already at your place, parked on the couch in front of the TV with a beer in his hand and a bag of cheetos spilling onto the worn fabric. 

“Hey Benny boy,” you hear Santiago say when he comes in the back door. “Our girl around?” 

Our girl - something all the guys used to teasingly say, something that had annoyed you to no end because you just wanted to be, be a part of the team and the family. It was only after a year being with Delta that you’d realized that was exactly what it meant. That you belonged. 

“Blue’s in the kitchen,” you hear Benny say through a mouthful of what you’re sure is toxic orange cheeto dust drifting down onto your couch. 

Santi laughs and his footsteps sound on the linoleum, tracking closer to you. “Hey,” he says. “Benny’s fucking up your couch.” 

“Yeah nothing new there,” you say, turning from the counter where you’ve just finished rolling out premade pizza dough onto a tray. “It’s a Friday tradition at this point. Beer and fucking up the couch with crumbs.” 

Santi stands in the doorway, gazing around with a stricken expression for a moment, and you wonder if it's jarring for him - to be back in this house with you, after spending so much time in it and then leaving it abruptly behind. 

You’d quit each other cold turkey, and the separation had not been easy for you. Especially not when traces of Pope lived all through the house, not when he’d fucked you in every room, made you laugh in every room, carried you from the couch to bed, cooked meals together, danced together.

But when Santi meets your eyes, his gaze goes intense, assessing, like he’ll never know everything about you. But sometimes, like now, that ferociousness also feels like it's concealing something, hiding something. 

“You had an update?” He prompts, leaning against the door jam with his arms crossed, ball cap shading his eyes as he scuffs a booted toe against the floor. 

“Yeah, thought I probably shouldn’t be sharing over the phone,” you wipe your hands on a dishtowel and try not to feel his gaze lingering on you from beneath the bill of his hat. You turn to the fridge and dig out the pizza sauce you’d made earlier in the week with the tomatoes that Santi had once planted in your backyard, various cheeses, and the toppings Benny had brought over. 

He had a bizarre palate that you didn’t try to understand - so one side would be Benny and the other just cheese. 

“My contact got back to me. He can make the drop. But only to me,” you hip check the silverware drawer closed after grabbing a spoon and turn back to the pizza, spooning sauce onto the dough. 

“I’m thinking this,” you continue, “I go into the town alone, do the weapons pick-up, get the transport Will is arranging, meet y’all down the coast and we go around and up into the mountains. I know it's a way longer route but it's probably worth it for you guys not to go through the town. In the meantime, you guys just have to sit tight in that cove's cave.” You nod at a folded map at the end of the counter. “If we can get enough fuel arranged, there’s a way around that I mapped out. Roads shouldn’t be too much trouble this time of year.” 

He doesn’t move to pick up the map.

You finish with the sauce and start sprinkling cheese, feeling Santi lurch away from the doorway and approach you slowly, until he’s beside you and every muscle in your body is tense and hot. “Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?” 

“It’s a good plan,” you say, tearing some fresh mozzarella. “Keeps you boys outta the town. Gets us weapons that were sourced in-country, fuel, and a ride.” 

“And puts you right in the firing line. You’d haveta land and be without weapons until the drop. What if your contact doesn’t show?” 

“I’ll be fine. I’m the only face that won’t be recognized.”

Santi rolls his eyes, “They’ll know you’re a foreigner and that might be enough.” 

“I’ll be careful.” 

You can feel Santiago’s irritation building. “Why are you so gung-ho to do this now? You’ve always been shit at infiltration. There’s a reason you’re the sniper.” 

Since one of you died! You want to shout. 

“Fuck off, Pope,” you say instead as he takes his hat off and tosses it down, leaning his forearms onto the counter next to you before ducking his head and running his hands through his hair. “You know why I didn’t want to do it the first time around. And now -,” 

And now you were terrified that if you didn’t go, another member of your family would come home in a bodybag. 

And you wouldn’t even get to go to the funeral. 

And this time it could be Santi or Benny or - 

You clench your eyes shut, the heat of Santiago next to you too much suddenly. You suck in a sharp breath and try to get the panic bubbling up under control. 

“Hey -,” 

His voice is too soft, too close. 

“Whatever,” you cut him off. “What-fucking-ever, Pope. I’m shit. I was never valuable to Delta. I get it, okay? But this is your best shot. Unless you wanna go coordinate shipping arms into some backwater town through cartel territory.” 

Santiago stares at you, his gaze wide and shocked, so unlike the hard stare he usually sported. His mouth softens a fraction but you turn away, adding the gross shit Benny wanted onto his side of the pizza. 

“Yes or no?” you ask. “This is it. This is how we do it.” 

“One of us stays with you. We split two-three.” You open your mouth to retort when he continues, his voice strangely quiet. “I understand you have to go to the drop by yourself, everything else doesn’t haveta be. You need someone watching your six.” 

You heave a sigh, picking up the pan with the finished pizza to stick in the oven. “Jesus, what the hell does that kid eat?” Santi asks, noting the toppings. 

“Shit,” you answer, snapping the oven door closed. “Who?” 

“Frankie. He can make up for your shit Spanish.”  

You quickly catalog another thing you’re deficient in, swallowing thickly.

“Fine.” 

Santi nods and keeps staring at you, staring at you standing in the middle of your kitchen with your arms crossed. 

And you feel the sudden urge to cry, to break down and scream. 

Your breath is heavy in your chest, and the weight of Santi’s eyes on you doesn’t help. 

“We should talk about it,” he says.

You shake your head, grab a beer from the fridge and walk out of the kitchen, down the hall and past the living room where Benny was invested in a baseball game, and out onto your back deck. 

Santiago follows you, snapping the screen door closed after him. “C’mon.” 

“No. You left it the way it is. We don’t need to talk about it,” you knock the bottle cap off the beer with one well placed smack against the edge of the deck railing. 

But you can’t find it in yourself to drink it and so you set it aside.  

Santi’s jaw clenches and he runs an agitated hand through his hair, pacing a line back and forth before he stops and cups a hand over his chin. “Don’t be stubborn about this, Blue.” 

“Fuck off, Pope.” 

He rolls his eyes and approaches you, stepping right into your space, crowding you against the banister, bracketing his arms around you, palms against the railing behind you. He tilts his head over yours, his nose nearly touching yours. “I missed you. I wanted to come back. I didn’t know how.” 

You scoff. “It was easy. You could have walked through the door.” You grit your teeth, “Would you have even told me Tom died? Or would I have seen it on fucking Facebook from his widow months later?”

Santi flinches at your accusation but doesn’t back down, his eyes still boring into your, his voice quiet. “Yes. You’re our family. You know one of us would have, if Ben hadn’t.” 

“Right,” you say disbelievingly. “It hurt the most that I didn’t hear from you. Did I ever really mean anything to you? Or was I just a liability to the team? Another whore to get you through the night?” 

“What?” 

“Don’t fuck with me, Santiago. You never came home. And I know you were fucking people when you were out of town. I always knew.” 

His eyes are so dark they read black in the fading evening sunshine. “Is that what you think? That I was sitting around here playing house with you for fun?” 

Your belly lurches. “Get away from me,” you snap, shoving at his shoulder. “I don’t need you to call me stupid in my own house. I got it, Santi. I wasn’t good enough for the team and I wasn’t good enough for you. I get it.” 

He makes a noise of frustration and doesn’t move. “Stop being so fucking hardheaded.” 

“Okay,” you sniff. “Go ahead then. What do you want to say? About that night, about why you never came home? About what you said to me?” 

Santi gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to just give into him, “I - I -,” he flounders. 

“Yeah,” you duck under his arm, snatch up your beer, and head back inside, “That’s what I thought.” 

~

“You never went out there to see her? Fuuuck man, no wonder she’s pissed,” Benny says, offloading their tac bags into the sand of the cove from the dinghy, the walls of the cave-like outcropping reflecting in the shallow water. 

Will moves the bags further up the sand and doesn’t say anything. 

And Santiago - he doesn’t know what to fucking say about any of it. 

Going back to that house, back to you, after everything he’d said to you, after he’d implied that any injuries they got would be your fault, after he told you that you were a weight to their team even though it was the farthest thing from the truth. 

He didn’t know how to go back to you. 

He didn’t know how to make things right, and so one month had turned into two had turned into six. 

“She never said anything?” Santi asks Benny, almost afraid of what the answer might be. 

“Not like we sit around talking about you, man. I wasn’t out there all that much for a while. Going through my own shit,” Benny says, jumping out of the boat to work on tying it down. 

Santi thinks about Benny going out to your place, dumping all his shit on you and leaving. Of Will and Frankie visiting infrequently, because they were, as Benny so eloquently put it - going through their own shit in the aftermath of that mission. 

All of them wrongly assuming that Santi had been to see you, that he was still seeing you. 

All of them thinking that you were okay because Santi was always with you. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

No wonder you felt abandoned. No wonder you believed him when he’d said - 

He can’t think about that right now. 

You must have felt like you lost all of them for a while. 

“Check-in with Fish and Blue,” he snarls at Benny instead. “I want an update. They landed yesterday and should already be on their way here.” 

Benny glances at Will but neither of them say anything as he fiddles with the comms. 

Santiago makes a point of not looking at either of them, pointlessly cataloging the shit they did bring with them, mainly rappelling equipment, rations, and protective gear.

The comm in his ear statics and then Benny’s voice is reaching out for a status report. 

Your voice comes back after only a few minutes. “Hey Ben,” you say, your voice clear but with a rift in it, a thick line of tension. “Heading your way. Should be there around 1900 hours. Sit tight.”

“Roger. Sitting tight.” 

Santiago opens his own line. “Report,” he barks out, not satisfied with the way you sound, that slight crack in the edge of your voice. 

“Cargo en route, Pope,” is the only response he receives. 

“Roger, Blue,” he says. “Any trouble?” 

There’s a long silence before you respond. “Minor incident. Intercepted in vehicle retrieval. One dead. No witnesses. Minimal injuries.” 

“Injury report.” 

“Fuck, Pope,” Will mutters, “They’ll be here in a couple hours. Leave it.” 

“Fish is fine,” you say and Santiago’s heart seizes because that means - “I was grazed. Minimal impact. Over and out, see you soon Delta one.” 

Your line clicks out, the static retreating. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck.” 

“C’mon, Pope,” Will says, “Quit thinking with your dick. We’ve all been shot. She was only grazed. They’re fine and heading to us.” He sits back on the sand, Benny following suit. 

He knows. 

Fuck, he knows. 

He tucks the information away - compartmentalizes it and hopes like hell it works. 

~

You and Fish show up exactly when you say you will, radioing out to them when you were a couple klicks away. 

Santiago and Will head up to help you hide the truck you arrive in, grab the duffle bags full of weapons.

The cache you’ve been provided with is well stocked and Will whistles when he sees it. “Fuck, Blue, you’ve got one hell of a contact.” 

You smile tightly at him, limping around the front of the truck. 

Santiago’s breath catches when he sees you. 

It’s hell to see you looking like that again. Although you’re in jeans - the rest of the getup is similar enough to the fatigues you used to sport that it makes his chest tighten. Your hair is tucked back, a backward ball cap on your head, and he recognizes it as one of his, one he must have left at your place. Sunglasses are hitched up above your brow. 

You have a strip of cloth tied around your upper thigh, and Frankie has one concerned hand under your elbow. 

Santiago never wanted to see you like this again, never wanted to have to think about you being shot at again. 

You ignore his stare and say to Frankie, “C’mere and help me calculate this fuel shit. We need to be sure it's more than enough to get us there and back with room for detours.” 

Frankie opens the back door and lets you rummage around in another bag before turning back with a scrap of paper and pen. 

When Santi just stands there staring at you, you turn and tilt your head. “Gonna help Ironhead with that shit, Pope?” 

He flinches, can’t help himself when he hears you call him that, it takes him back to your porch, to the words he can never take back. 

Santiago doesn’t say anything, catches Frankie roll his eyes as Santi turns and grabs a couple bags to drag down to the cove. 

A few minutes later you and Fish make your way to the cave. “-wish we had a bit more but that should do.”

“It’ll be fine,” Fish assures you, sounding a lot less concerned than you.  

“Uh huh,” you say, dropping next to Benny on the sand to take the canteen he offers you. 

Will turns to look at you, his eyes flicking over the bandage on your leg. “What happened?” 

“Exactly what I said. Some guy caught us grabbing the truck. He shot first, Fish took ‘im out.” 

All cold practicality, Will answers, “Clean it properly.” 

Fish laughs and raises a brow at you and Santi knows he had already told you to do it. 

You roll your eyes and glance at Benny with an exasperated huff of breath. 

Before, when you served together, Santiago would have read that look all wrong, would have seen something more than what it was. Now, he sees it for what it is - two younger siblings exasperated by their older brother. 

You and Ben have been attached at the hip since the third grade, and have done nearly everything in your life together. You were best friends and nothing more than that. In fact the idea probably repulsed both of you. 

He wonders what it was like for you then, when Benny suddenly wasn’t around anymore after the failed Colombia mission. 

Santi hooks one of the hand guns into the holster on his hip, grabs a first aid kit, and crosses to you. “I got it.” 

He holds out a hand and you hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand and letting him haul you up. He leads you a little way from the group while they continue sorting the weapons out, nodding for you to lean back into the edge of the beached boat. 

“Shit,” Santiago mutters when he crouches down and peels the makeshift bandage off of your thigh. “This is more than a graze, you got ate, mi vida.” 

“Only a little. No bullet in me.” 

He shakes his head and briskly cleans the wound, dresses it with a proper bandage and a wrapping of gauze around your thigh. He slides his knuckles down to your knee and glances up at you. “Fuck, Blue, please. Be careful.” 

“You think I got shot on purpose?” You ask, amused rather than pissed for once, as he stands. 

He licks his lips and plants his hands on his hips, not able to keep his eyes off you. 

Fuck were you pretty. 

Even in fatigues and sweating from the humidity, you were so fucking beautiful.

And then he notices the rings on your fingers, notices the ring that he gave you years ago now, and his mouth goes dry, his heart pumps like it’s trying to break the cage of his ribs.  

“‘Course not. Just saying. Be careful.” 

“Okay,” you agree. “When should we head out? Frankie -,” you call and the other man glances over at the two of you. “We thought 0400 hours, right?” 

“Right,” he confirms quietly, “Early enough that we’ve got a bit of light but it's still dark,” he agrees. 

“There ya go, Pope,” you say. 

He doesn’t look away from you, can’t quite manage it. “You’ve got my hat.” 

“My hat now,” you snip. “Left it in my house.” 

“You ever gonna forgive me?” He doesn’t know why he asks, it's not like he deserves it. 

“Dunno, Santi,” you say. “You ever gonna apologize?” 

He clenches his jaw and walks away from you, announcing, “We’re out at 0400 hours. Sharp.” 

~

The sun is only really starting to blaze alive when you park the truck at the edge of a canyon. “We gotta walk from here, y’all,” you say, slapping the map down between Will and Santiago in the front seat. 

“Hooah,” Benny intones, popping open his door so you can slide out behind him. 

When the truck is hidden in the foliage and you’re all geared up, you say, “So, I was thinking, I can split with you guys here, follow the ridgeline up so I can see farther-,”

“We aren’t splitting up again,” Santi says, lowering protective glasses over his eyes. “You’ll be able to see plenty in either direction from the ravine.” 

“Are you sure-,”

“Yes,” he grits his teeth. “We’re wasting time, let's go.” 

So you wrap the strap of your rifle around your neck and go. 

You don’t talk as you move through the canyon and through the mountainside, up the steep rocky crags, Santiago at the head with a GPS and the coordinates. 

Finding the correct ravine is surprisingly easy, and you peer over the side to see a mountain of snow at the bottom. “Looks like you guys will be digging.” 

“Wonderful,” Frankie says. “You wanna trade? I’ll man the horizon.” 

You smirk, “Nah, I’m good here.” You screw a silencer onto the end of your rifle and walk away, scouting for a position where you could easily see in all directions to cover them while they worked. 

“Not too far,” Pope says into the comms and you don’t bother to turn, waving a hand above your head to show you heard. 

You settle down, between two rocks, adjusting the scope on your rifle to make sure you have a clear view. 

“Blue, check-in,” Frankie’s voice comes over the comm. “Pope can’t see you and has his panties in a twist.” 

You chuckle and respond, “That’s the idea. Present and accounted for. How’s it going, boys?” 

“Benny and Santi rappelling down now.” 

You don’t respond, focusing instead on your task, wondering how long it would take them to get all of it out of the ravine, if they would have to dig it out of the snow, if it was even still there, how long it would take to haul out to the truck. 

Two hours pass in which the horizon in all directions is clear, and which the boys stay silent in your ear. 

And then - “Fuck yeah! Money’s still here baby!” Benny nearly deafens you and the others. A long string of curses and hyena-like laughter follows. 

“Shut the fuck up, Ben! Jesus,” Will mutters. “Just get it the fuck up here.” 

“Keep your head on straight,” you say into your comm. “We’re not taking more than we can handle, got it?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Santi says. “Of course.”

“I’m serious. I will leave you here, Pope.” 

“I’ll leave him here,” Frankie adds.

The rest of the day passes by slowly, and without incident. Occasional comments come through but nothing that warranted a response until near sundown, “Come on back, Blue,” Will says. 

“Done already?” 

“For tonight.” 

When you approach the camp, duffle bags are strewn around. 

Many more than you expected.

“Jesus, you sure this isn’t all of it?” You assess the amount of bags. “Think we might have to be okay with this.” You shoulder your M16, “We should start moving it to the truck now.”

The guys glance at each other. “C’mon,” you whine, annoyed with them. “Y’all really gonna let money go to your head again?” 

“You don’t want any?” 

“Any is more than none, which is what I have now,” you say. “And no, Ben, I don’t need a Ferrari.” 

They all glance at each other, then, “One more run tonight and then we’re done. We’ll move the cash in the morning, and be on the boat by the afternoon.” 

You roll your eyes, “Fine, whatever.” 

Benny hoots and goes about getting strapped into the harness again, Will following suit. 

“That was kind of you,” Frankie says, coming to stand next to you with arms folded across his chest. “We coulda used your level head last time.” 

You feel your heart sink, surprised Fish would say anything about it to you. “Yeah,” you say softly, watching Santi help Ben and Will start down the cliffside. “I know it's my fault that it went down the way it did. I’m sorry.” 

Fish is silent for a few minutes as you watch the boys, before he suddenly turns to you, “Wait, what? Your fault?” 

You press your lips together, Will and Benny finally disappearing as the last light faded from the sky. “Threw off the team. Wasn’t here to-,” 

“Hold on. We’re grown fucking men and you had the choice to say no. No one’s holdin’ that against you.” 

You don’t answer, watching Santi, the broad line of his shoulders, the firm set of him as he keeps an eye on the ropes. 

“Not everyone thinks that.” 

“What, Pope?” When you don’t answer he continues, shaking his head. “God, if I know anything about Santiago it's that he’s upside down, head over heels, makes him look stupid, in love with you. And he has been since you and that fucker Ben rolled up to Delta like you already belonged.” 

You swallow, not sure what to say, your throat dry as you rub your hands together and then stuff them under your armpits to keep them warm in the cooling air. “Oh yeah? Helluva way of showin’ it. He said I was fuckin’ useless. Called me a coward. Said anything that happened to y’all was my fault. And then Tom died. And you all were never around anymore, not even Benny.” 

“Shit, honey,” he says softly. “We thought Santi was still going out there to see you every chance his dumbass got.” He pauses and then looks over at you, shifting to cradle his weapon in his arms. “As for that other shit, Pope says some shit when he gets mad, and no one gets under his skin better than you. You know nothing that happened down here was your fault. It was our fault, our choices.” 

You bite the side of your cheek. “Thanks, Fish.” 

“You can call it stupid if you want. It was.” 

“It was stupid and you’re all greedy bastards,” you say, knocking a shoulder into his. 

He smiles, “Yeah. But it might just work out this time.” 

~

The night passes easily. 

You don’t start a fire, and the guys are curiously silent about the prospect though you know it's smarter not to start one and draw attention to your position. 

Benny takes the first watch and you end up sandwiched between Frankie and Santiago. 

It takes all your willpower not to curl into him, the smell of him exactly as you remember, the heat of him, the press of him against you. 

Right when you’re about to fall asleep, you feel Santi’s fingers curl through yours and squeeze gently, his lips at your ear. “I’m so fucking sorry, mi vida.” 

~

The next morning, at first light, with most of the cash already transported to the truck, you spot movement on the ridgeline, and when you lift your scope to your eye and see bodies traveling down the rocky mountainside. 

You call out a warning just as the first shot slams into the ground several feet from you. 

You duck for cover before coming up on a knee to squeeze your own trigger, the silencer muffling the sound of the shot.

Santi turns and watches a distant body fall to the ground, as he too falls behind one of the many boulders.  

“Hey, hey, what the fuck are we shooting at?” Ben yells at you as you grab him and yank him down beside you. 

“We gotta go,” you spit out over the comms as Benny lifts his body away from yours to take a couple shots of his own, clearly felling his targets by the look on his face, “Looks like somebody patrols this area now. Probably because of you fuckers.”

“Frankie, Will, stay where you are,” Santiago says over the comms. 

“What’s going on?” Will snarls back. 

“Fuck just -,” 

You pop off another shot, using hand signals to tell Santi to start moving his ass toward the treeline. He’s closer to your exit route than you and Ben. “They’re all down the fucking mountain - we’re about to be cut off. We need to go,” you say into the comms. “Grab that shit and let's go,” you say to Benny, pointing to the last duffle bag at your feet before gripping his tac vest as you start moving forward together against the rocks as fast as you dare.

You look ahead and note that Santiago isn’t moving, instead standing his ground and shooting back at the ridgeline, covering the two of you. 

It’s a stupid fucking move. There were too many of them, too many shots for it to make a difference. But he’s clearly waiting for the two of you, the babies of Delta, to make it back to him before he moves off. The rest of them had always been overprotective of you and Ben though none of them would ever admit it. They know you’re both more than capable but that didn’t stop them from double and triple asking if you were sure you wanted to do something, or making it a priority to intervene when one of you were in trouble, especially Will when it came to you and Benny. 

And while you hadn’t been here before, you know. 

This is where Tom died. This is where they lost everything. 

Santiago doesn’t like to lose. 

“Fuck!” You can hear him shout, directing Benny to stop with a raised fist, moving back toward you instead away from you. 

They’re close enough now that you can hear shouts, and you meet nearer to the trees, all three of you pressed behind a rock. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Benny is screaming, the noise muffled in your ear, your concentration fastened back on the moving targets, the bodies, the people. You take a steadying breath and line up your shots. “You’re going to get us fucking killed!” Benny continues. “What the fuck, man! We had it!”

You always were the best shot of Delta, and the people closest to you fall. 

You can’t tell if they’re dead. 

The clip is empty and you take a moment to reload, slamming the cartridge into place with more force than necessary. 

“You really must think me fucking useless if you think I can’t move six feet without you!” You shout at Santiago, who grabs the two of you and shoves you ahead of him, crouched down low. “You fucker!” 

“Fuck! It’s not about that-,” he starts, but you ignore him moving quickly over unsteady ground. 

You and Benny are younger than the rest of the team by years, and it shows now, Santi panting as you run and cuss without a hitch in your breath. Ben cursing in front of you the whole way.  

“You stupid fucker,” you snarl again, Benny echoing your sentiment as you pause again, bullets richoching around you. 

Santi pants as he leans back against the rock for a moment, letting you rage against him, fear eating your heart because he had just ran at you. He had ran back to you for no fucking reason and now he might die with you and Benny. You raise yourself up to shoot back again, Benny taking shots to the right.

“They’re closing in, we need to move,” Benny says, radioing over the comms to warn Frankie and Will to have the truck ready and waiting.

You and Santi are silent, taking coordinated shots. 

“Fuck! Why are there so many of them?” You grit your teeth, the recoil of the gun against you starting to bruise. 

“They knew we lost that money, they’ve been waiting for someone to come poking around for it so they could get it,” Santi says, his breathing even again. “Probably set up patrols here after we came though.” 

You glance over at him to ask why he hadn’t shared that thought before this moment, and feel your heart stop. Up the rockside and to the left, there at the edge of the rocks, a kid stands with a gun sighted up on Santiago. 

“Santi,” you whisper, voice hoarse. And then so loud, you hurt you own ears, “Santi!”

He starts to turn but you reach over and grab him by the back of his neck, jerking him down, and using the leverage to haul yourself up above him. The kid shoots at the same time you do. 

Your bullet lodges between his eyes, but the shot that would have split Santago’s skull in two, lodges deep into the fleshy part of you between your shoulder and your clavicle. You wobble and then crash back between Santi and Ben, not entirely sure what just happened. 

You look down at yourself, where the bullet perfectly caught right at the edge of your skewed tac vest, just above your heart 

Panic surges up through you suddenly and your vision clouds as you grit your teeth against the pain. 

Santi grips your jaw hard, those dark fathomless eyes boring into you, shouting something at you. 

But you can’t get enough breath into your lungs to feel like you can respond. “Fuck,” you whisper, touching the blood on your hoodie. One of Santi’s old hoodies, you hadn’t realized until now. “I think I’m hit,” you say as Santi slaps your hand away from the wound. 

Blood gushes out of the hole in waves. “Blue, look at me,” Santi says, a sudden pressure on the wound making you bite down a howl. His hands are covered in red. Blood, it must be your blood. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Okay, Pope,” you whisper, the edge of your vision fading, “Fuck I think it hit my heart.” 

You don’t hear his answer, the last thing you know is Santi and Ben leaning over you, dead panic on their faces but you can’t quite figure out why. 

~

Carrying you to the truck, your eyes unfocused and glossy, feels a lot like carrying Tom’s corpse home. 

Santiago doesn’t scare easy, but cradling your head in his lap while Ben cries his eyes out and snarls at Will to drive faster, scares him. 

Frankie’s worried eyes turning back to assess you, scares him. 

Will’s stoic silence, scares him. 

But nothing comes close to the fear he feels at the prospect of having to carry home your corpse. 

And suddenly that money, everything in the world, nothing matters to him but you - and it’ll be his fault if you die now. 

He leans down over you, presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. There’s blood caked on your neck, crusting along the edge of your sweatshirt. Your ball cap and protective glasses are on the floor of the truck at his feet, stained a crimson that his brain can’t make sense of. 

The graze of the bullet against your thigh was god’s warning to turn back, and he hadn’t heeded it. 

Ruthless. 

He’s always been ruthless. 

And now maybe that ruthlessness really would get you killed. 

He can’t really make himself understand it, why you would jump up like that and pull him out of the way. 

“Santi,” you murmur, your breath sweet against his skin, your bloody fingers scrubbing against the stubble on his cheek. “Santi,” you whisper against his skin, the copper smell of you making him sick, makes him want to fucking vomit. 

“Hold on, cariño,” he says gently. “We’re gonna get you home safe and sound.” But your skin is ashen, your lips chapped already and he knows there isn’t a chance in hell of you making it to the States alive without them addressing the mess that is your shoulder. 

“Fuck,” he snarls when your eyes flutter closed again, your body going limp as you pass out. “Benny, grab that med pack. We’re gonna have to sew her up before she loses any more blood. She’s not gonna make it if we don’t.”

Pope rips back the straps of your tac vest, rips your sweatshirt open as Benny goes cool with determination, grounded and levelheaded even as tears slip down his nose. There’s no exit wound and so Benny passes over the supplies Santi needs to dig the bullet out of your shoulder. 

He stuffs cloth in your mouth when you lurch and give a blood curdling scream, forceps squelching deep in the wound until he can finally rip the metal out of your shoulder. 

He forces you to keep it in your mouth so you don’t break your teeth, bite your fucking tongue off, when they dump peroxide over the wound. 

Benny holds you still after he hands Santiago the threaded needle, closes his eyes and takes a breath, before he unsteadily and messily sews your shoulder closed. 

By the time he’s done with you, you’re so still he might as well have killed you himself. 

Then

“Hey, killer,” Santiago says when you thrust open the front screen door with a toe. 

“Hey yourself, old man,” you snipe at him, “Wanna help me out a little?” 

Santi finishes wiping his hands on a dishtowel and moves to hold the door open for you. 

You’re wearing ratty gym clothes, boxing gloves spilling out of your duffle bag, a couple of grocery bags fisted in your other hand. 

Santiago gently takes the groceries from you and dumps them on the kitchen table as you wave out at Benny’s retreating jeep. 

Ben obnoxiously lays on the horn all the way down the road, but it makes you laugh and so he doesn’t roll his eyes too hard at it. 

“You weren’t here when I got in last night,” Santiago says when you beeline into the kitchen and dump your bag on the floor. 

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else because you kiss him, your palms against his cheeks, the line of your body against his. When you pull away you smirk at him and peer at the breakfast he has started on your stove. 

“Don’t you have your own house to go to?” 

“My own house isn’t where you are.” 

You laugh, bell bright, but he knows you think he’s just fucking with you. “You stay at Ben’s?” 

“He lost last night and was pouting about it,” you say, unloading the grocery bags. “Me and Will stayed with him. Re-watched Predator for the millionth time. Knew we’d end up at the gym in the morning together anyways.” 

Santi tucks his arms around you and drags you back against his chest, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck and then the shell of your ear. “Left me high and dry here, honey.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you managed to entertain yourself, Santi.” You turn your head and bump your forehead against his temple. “You’ve got a hand don’t you?” 

He scoffs, “That’s fuckin’ cruel. Expecting pussy and getting a hand.” 

You turn in his grip and wind your arms around his neck, smiling and stretching against him like a cat. “Lemme shower and this pussy is all yours, babe.” 

“Shower, breakfast, then pussy,” he says. “I know you didn’t eat this morning.” 

You roll your eyes, “Hurts my feelings when you ignore me like this Santiago.” 

“The last thing in the world I’m doing is ignoring you,” he says, cupping his hands under your ass to lift you onto the counter. 

You settle back against the cabinets and he slots himself between your legs, running his hands up your thighs, beneath the fabric of your gym shorts. “You’re so pretty. Have I ever told you that?” 

A grin splits your face, one he’s glad to see, one that had taken a year of counseling and fucking and boxing and bar nights to coax back out of you. “Sure,” you say.

“I mean it.” 

“I know.” 

Santiago licks his lips, takes your hands in his, the dozens of rings that line your fingers grazing his. 

It was one of the things you’d started wearing to feel more like yourself again, to recapture your identity outside the military, outside Delta. 

He traces the rings carefully for a moment when your voice reaches out to him again, your hand touching his jaw. “Santi?” you ask. 

“I brought something back for you,” he says, squeezing your knee gently. “Stay here.” 

He looks up and meets your eyes, searching the gaze he knows so well, and still coming back empty, still confused about what it all means to you, what he means to you. “Okay,” you say, “What is it?” 

Instead of answering, he ducks out of the kitchen to rifle through his own bag that he left in the front hall the night before. 

When he returns to you, you have one heel up on the counter, a cup filled with coffee at your side, picking bits of food out of the pan on the stove. 

He knocks your heel down, jolting you, “Feet on the counter? Really?” 

“It’s my fucking counter, Garcia,” you snap at him, but you smile when you say it. 

“Fucking counter, huh?” 

“Shut up.” 

“I mean I have fucked you there enough times, haven’t I?” He asks, watching you roll your eyes, tracking your every movement, unable to glance away from you. 

You lift that same foot and shove at his shoulder as you sip your coffee. “Fuck off.” 

Santi catches your foot, presses a kiss to your ankle and lets it drop again so he can slot himself between your legs again, holding up the ring he has pinched between two fingers in his other hand. 

Your eyes lock onto the gold, lips parting. “Found it at a market in Bogotá. Polished it up on the way back. Thought you’d like it for your collection.” 

Gingerly, as though the ring is made of smoke and not metal, you reach out to take it from him. “It’s beautiful,” you say, examining the stones embedded in the gold. 

Santi takes it back from you, and examines your hands, the many, many rings that stack on your fingers. “Which finger you want it on, mi vida?” 

You wiggle your right ring finger and he slips it into place. It's a perfect fit. 

He looks up at you, he means to tell you in that moment, that there’s no one else, that there’s only you, that this thing between you is solid and real and he wants no one else, ever. That you’re his and he’s yours. 

That you are his girl. 

But the words die on his lips as soon as he looks at you, and then you’re sliding off the counter and kissing him so hard, he feels like he might bruise. 

“Why don’t you shower with me and we can kill two birds with one stone?” You ask. “I get clean and you get pussy.” 

He holds you so tight he feels you exhale a sharp breath, tilting his head over yours, brows pulled together as he watches you, watches the widening of your eyes. 

“All for a ring?” he undercuts his own fucking plan, his own feelings. 

“It’s a pretty ring.”

Now

They have to leave you in the hotel they check into, to meet with the bank, to deposit their fucking money. 

Fifty million and it feels like nothing. 

Benny and Will wait with you while he and Fish go to the bank first, and then switch places. 

You’re awake when they get back and Santi wants to cry. Fish pretends there’s something he forgot in the lobby and leaves. 

Santi pulls up a chair next to you and takes your hand. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He murmurs. 

“Was thinking I didn’t want your brains all over me,” you say, weak fingers tightening on his. “You did a shit job stitching me up, by the way. But I think it saved my life.”

Santi says your name quietly, picking up your hand, your skin clammy against his. “Well our combat medic was out.”  

He closes his eyes, gritting his jaw, trying to wash away the image of your prone body on two different boats, carrying you with Benny away from the line of fire like you were already gone from the world. 

“Why?” He asks again. “Fuck, why would you do that?” 

You grip his hand weakly, “Because. Because you - probably the same reason you ran toward me instead of away. Because I knew you were about to die and couldn’t let that happen.” 

“And what if you fucking died, huh?” 

“Guess I’d be dead then.” 

He winces but doesn’t let you look away from him. 

You swallow, “Help me sit up? I want some water.”

Santi hurries to help you sit up, listening to the way you groan tightly before he fetches a bottle of water for you and unscrews the cap. 

Your hand shakes when you lift the bottle to your lips, and he has to cup the bottom of it to hold it steady for you. 

When you’ve drunk your fill, you handle the bottle back and yank down the strap of your sports bra to look at the gauze webbed around your shoulder, the blood that slowly begins to stain through because of your movement. 

You sigh and then fiddle with your rings, his ring on your finger, where it's never moved since he placed it there. “Santi,” you murmur. “I know we never said it - but I love you. That’s why it hurt so goddamn bad when you left. It just confirmed that it really never mattered to you. And this - this stupid fucking money - I know how you get. I couldn’t believe - couldn’t believe you just dropped me like that. I told myself you didn’t mean it. That we’re both mean sons of bitches when we’re pissed but then you never came home.” 

You take a long stuttering breath, and his heart feels like it's stopped beating, like god has a boot on his chest. “I never woulda done that to you. You left it up to Benny to tell me what the fuck happened. I didn’t just lose you, I lost all of you. You know what that’s like? To have your best friend, who you’ve never been apart from for more than a couple days, just drop you? To have - to have you - for better or worse, the man I fucking love - abandon me?” 

Is this what it takes to get him to spill his guts to you? 

Having you half dead in his arms, your eyes lined with circles, your skin tone off by several shades, telling him things he already fucking knows? 

He cups your cheeks in his palms gently, swipes away the tears that fall. Santiago hasn’t seen you like this in years, since you finally started coming back to yourself. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers. “Fuck, mi vida, I’m so fucking sorry.” 

~

Santi curls his arms around you, shifts you on the bed until he can lie down with you, the pressure off of your injured shoulder as you turn on your side to fit yourself against him. 

“I can never take back those things I said to you. But you have to know - I didn’t mean a single word of it. Nothing that happened on that mission was your fault. Not a fucking thing. As soon as things went sideways the first time, the only thing I could think was thank god she’s safe at home.” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead and you feel more tears leak down your cheeks. “You are the best shot we have - proved that a couple times over yesterday, I think. You were never just a medic, you know that. You’ve beaten me in hand to hand more than enough times, all the rest of those fuckers too. You’re the best of us, honey. I was just so goddamn scared you’d never forgive me for the things I was about to do - you had it right about Lorea and the money and my motivation.”

You feel the movement of his throat against you, arms tightening by a fraction, before he says, voice hoarse, “And I’ve always loved you. Always. I never knew how to say it. You’ve been my only girl for so fucking long.” 

You shove his shoulder gently and feel him stiffen but you only bring his forehead to yours, peering into those eyes that were always so intense, that missed nothing, and read you like a book. 

You scrub a hand over his stubbled cheek, the pull of the hair against your hand soothing. “You know I love you, Santiago.”

“I love you,” he answers sincerely. “Sorry it took so goddamn long.”

You pull him down into a kiss, your shoulder aching, a biting pain that lances across your chest. “Me too,” you murmur, gingerly unbuttoning his jeans, careful of the very messy stitches in your shoulder. You hiss through your teeth and Santi stops your hand. 

“No, your shoulder-,” 

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. You just have to be careful with me. You just have to be gentle.” You peer up at him, into those brown eyes that feel so like home to you, like the warmth of a summer forest. You touch the hinge of his jaw, “Just be gentle with me.” 

Santi’s eyes clench closed and then he’s nodding and kissing your forehead, all resolve gone. You thought the strings of your heart had been wrapped around his fingers all these years. You never imagined that you held his too. 

He pulls away from you to undress, since you won’t be able to do it for him in your state, and you use the opportunity to push your shorts and underwear off with your good arm. 

And then he’s back, naked against you, one arm under your neck to support your head, the other curving around your knee to hitch over his hip, pressing so close to you. You feel the ridges of his cock against your pussy, already wet.

“Just like this,” he murmurs to you, never breaking his eyes from yours, his gaze just as steady and intense as it always has been, but now there’s a thread of vulnerability that makes you duck your head to press a kiss over his heart. Your good hand against his cheek, the other carefully skimming along his abdomen, the thick muscle and padding he carries. 

You both watch as he slides into you, watch your bodies join slowly, the stretch of him so fucking good and heavy. 

Your breath leaves you in a gust and Santi pauses, more gentle with you than he’s ever been. “Fuck. You have to tell me if I’m hurting you. Okay?” 

You meet his gaze, rolling your hips against his, “Santi.” 

He moves then, meeting the slow thrust of you. “Yeah, baby, tell me what you need.” 

Instead of biting something out at him like you usually would, you cup both hands against his cheeks as he tightens his arm around your waist, bringing you that much closer. 

Santi leans his forehead against yours, and neither of you shut your eyes. You can’t, you have to know he’s there and real and everything that he’s said the last few minutes is true. 

He’d always been better at doing than saying and now is no different - his gaze unwavering, making love to you so softly you feel a tear bead and slip down your nose. 

Santiago swipes it away with his thumb as he shifts the arm beneath your neck so he can cup the back of your skull, fingers digging through your hair. 

The pleasure in your belly builds slowly, but that almost feels secondary to the other things you’re feeling - like you finally belonged, like you were no longer adrift, like you finally found your home. 

You press your hand flat over his sternum and feel the thrumming of his heart against your hand. 

“It beats for you,” he says, closing his eyes briefly to press his nose into your hair. 

You almost want to laugh, at how corny it is, if you didn’t know for certain that he’s never said anything more sincerely. 

Sweat beads along his salt and pepper curls, the smell of him like his cologne and cheap hotel soap and sweat. 

You move your hips more frantically, Santiago matching you thrust for push, when you bury your nose in his neck and inhale sharply. 

“I’m close,” you murmur. “Please, Santi.” 

“Look at me, baby,” he says. “Lemme see those pretty eyes when you come for me.” 

You meet his eyes, trace the long sweep of his lashes with your gaze when the pressure in your belly snaps and you cry out. 

Santiago captures your lips, swallowing down your moan, as he presses a hand to the back of your neck, fingers slowly sliding down your spine. His thrusts become sloppy and slow and his brow is furrowed. 

When you whisper, “Come for me, Santi,” he exhales sharply into your mouth and comes inside you, hips slowly stuttering to a stop. “I love you.” 

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, if I don’t love you more than I deserve to.” He tugs you close, careful of your shoulder which aches more than you’re willing to admit in that moment. 

But you’ve been shot before, and it's not as bad as it could be. 

“Yeah,” you coo. “But I want it anyway. I want all your fucked up love.” 

Santi laughs and it sounds like a sob, and you curl your fingers through his hair tugging lightly. “I meant to - the day I gave you the ring. I meant to clarify that day that we - ,”

“Mhm,” you hum against him. “Is that what this ring means? You claimed me?” 

“Means we belong to each other.” 

You nod, “Move in when we get back.” 

“I’m gonna put in a pool in your backyard, that deck is begging for one. Gotta have somewhere to keep the boys entertained when I need to fuck you.” 

You laugh and then wince at the movement in your shoulder. “Backyard is all yours.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Just then someone knocks at the door. “We have the contract for you to sign if you’re done fucking,” Frankie calls, loud enough that the whole hall probably hears. 

You groan but Santi just keeps gazing at you, lips pouted, “And a dog. We gotta get a dog. And a new couch, I’m done sitting on Ben’s cheeto dust.” 

“Anything. As long as you’re there.” 

His breath catches and he looks like he can’t quite breathe. “Yeah,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “As long as you’re there.” 

Your heart beats so hard, you think it's trying to break free from your chest to join with his.

you never were a saint

⊱ ━━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━━ ⊰

⊱ ━━━━━.⋅ 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 !!

⊱ ━━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━━ ⊰

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.

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 !!!!!!

so who wants to be tagged in part 2 👀

you never were a saint

⊱ ━━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━━ ⊰

⊱ ━━━━━.⋅ 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 !!

⊱ ━━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━━ ⊰

Keep reading

Broken Yet Reunited || Santiago Garcia x Reader

gif made by Cass - please credit us if you use the gif.

Summary:  Long after your break up, Santiago finds his way back into your life

Warnings: none, just fluff & comforting 

Word count: 2143

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x fem!reader

Authors: Cass & Rouge

Hundreds of loud conversations competed with the music that dominated the atmosphere in the bar. The audience was mostly young people. Santiago made his way through the crowd to order a drink, a dark local beer. He felt someone melting their body to his from behind before the drink was poured, and he knew you had arrived. "What brings you here, Y/N?" Santi inquired.

"I should ask you that question, Santi," you chuckled as you wrapped your arms around his waist. "I would never think of you as someone who enjoys such places, but I can't blame you… All the young ladies in the room."

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes theatrically. "Stop, that isn't a reason. One for the lady," he ordered a drink for you as well. "How's life treating you? I haven't heard from you in a long time."

You shrugged as you sat on a high chair next to him, patting his shoulder. "Oh, you know, doing my things, popping in and out. This is standard fare. So, how about you? I heard you're doing well."

"Could be better," he said quickly, sipping from his pint. "Been missing ya."

"You? Did you miss me? Do you know how to do it?" You asked, slightly teasingly, tilting your head. "I'm sure your cute contacts or informants are enough for you."

"No, as you can see, Y/N," he said flatly. "You're familiar with my work. I wanted to keep you safe from any potential dangers."

"I'm a mercenary, and you think I'm afraid of some ex-shady soldier's business? My cherished softie," you tease him even more.

He rolled his eyes again as he sipped his beer. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, work is going dry for the time being, so I'm using my free time to rest," you explained, taking a large sip of your drink. "I was shot in the knee a few months ago and am still trying to recover. I'm not going to run a marathon, for sure."

He frowned, disappointed that you didn't even send him a message informing him of the seriousness of the situation. "Do I want to know about the circumstances?"

"Let's call it a team misunderstanding that results in friendly fire. That's all, but I'm still alive, so it's not all bad."

Santiago slowly nodded his head.

"How are things going for you? Was it something like neck surgery? I hope you're not running around doing crazy stuff like I am." Looking at him, you raised an eyebrow.

"I've been trying, but haven't been successful so far," Santiago joked lightly before putting his palm to his nape and smiling sadly at you.

You slid out of your chair and approached him. Your hand soon replaced his on his nape. "I think you enjoy the difficulties more than I do, Santi."

He gave a small smile, leaning into your touch. "Isn't it getting later? Could we get some takeout and come to my house?"

"Are you tired of all the pretty ladies around you?" You laughed and leaned in behind him to kiss his scar. "Takeouts and your establishment? Sounds intriguing."

A shiver ran down his spine and spread throughout his body. He nodded and hummed softly.

"Let me just pay for the drink and we'll be on our way, sweetie." You said this as you kissed his nap again before walking away.

"This one's on me," he said, nodding to the bartender and leaving a few dollars on the counter.

"I'm not returning that money to you." You cautioned him while patting his back.

"I'm not expecting this, babe."

"I'm hoping so, baby." You took his hand in yours and yanked him out of that damn bar.

Then you followed him to wherever he chose to get the food.

Santiago's apartment was small and cluttered, just as you remembered. A single man explained a lot.

"Same place, same shambles. As far as I can tell, nothing has changed." You chuckled as you sat on the couch.

"Sorry, hadn't expected guests," he apologized as he unpacked the food and offered you your portion. Santiago gathered a few boxes and relocated them to the second small room that served as his bedroom.

"You haven't had any visitors since you moved in? This place looks exactly the same after... four? five years? Typical guy," you laughed. "A woman's hand is needed here."

"As you can see, there's no line of women on the horizon," Santiago joked lightheartedly as he joined you on the couch. "I'm delighted you came. I missed the old days."

"I missed them as well," You agreed and moved your legs onto his lap. "If I may say so, this is surprising. You were always the one with the most female informants."

He laughed. "It's not my fault that I'm attractive and women treat me this way."

"Nonetheless, none of them stayed. A slew of bitches... Of course, no offense intended," you said this before you started eating.

"You're talking about yourself as well?"

You raised an eyebrow as you looked up. Things were getting interesting.

"Pardon me? First and foremost, I was not your informant. Second, you ignored me on your own volition, love."

"I told you about my motivation, and if I recall correctly, you sold your mates twice."

"I swear Santi, if we're going to pull dirt on each other, you'll end up with that fork in your eye and you'll never see me again," you warned, playing with a metal fork. "According to what I know, you took four of our buddies to rob a drug lord and only three of them returned, so don't pretend to be a saint, darling."

He rolled his head back, resting it on the back of the couch, and set the food down. "True. It's been a fucking disaster. Tom was far too avaricious."

"He was never perfect. Of course, I don't think he deserved it," you sighed and popped some food into your mouth. After a brief pause, you shrugged slightly. "I have a feeling he didn't even like me. I didn't like him very much; he had a difficult personality."

"I'm afraid he never truly liked anyone," Santiago replied, rising from his seat and walking to the window, where he sat on the windowsill and peered out.

You walked over to him, placing food on the small coffee table you had obtained. You wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled his shoulder without saying anything.

"I'm still not over that fucking failure. I lost a friend, so screw the money."

"I know," you gave him a gentle squeeze while whispering. There was nothing else you could say because nothing you said would make things better. Actually, you've been feeling bad since you brought up the subject.

"Return to eating, darling, it'll get cold," he said, tapping the bridge of your nose. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Yours will as well; I'm not returning to it unless you return to me."

He let you pull him back onto the couch where he was sitting, grabbing the box containing his meal to finish it. "Hey, did you meet anyone?"

"I did, in fact," You nodded and smiled at his slightly disappointed expression. "But don't be concerned, Santiago. You're not going to get a wedding invitation anytime soon. I abandoned him, so I am mostly alone. You? Are you sure you're not keeping some pretty girl from me?"

"I'm not," he assured, more like he'd be assuring himself as well. "No girl could stick with me as long as you actually did." Santiago indeed felt an unpleasant sting in his chest when you mentioned having someone, but thankfully it was a past thing.

You hummed loudly while chewing your food and nodding your head. "Don't give me that look, my tolerance for 'Santiago's bullshit meter' is not too high. It's something I made up with the Millers."

"What?" He cast another glance your way. "Come on, for a change, stop being a jerk."

"I am not a scumbag. If you don't believe it, ask Ben "You lay down and ruffled his hair gently. "You should know that I don't mean it negatively."

"I don't know anymore," Santiago hissed, jolting up, his palm resting on his nape.

"You okay?” You asked worriedly. "That neck, huh? Can I do something?"

"It's fine," he said but it clearly wants fine. He crossed the room to reach the bathroom, and with a shaking hand, he opened the box with pills, instantly swallowing two.

You, of course, followed him, and your palm was gently placed against his nape. "It's really that bad, huh?"

As you looked into his reflection in the mirror, he gave a slight nod and a single tear streamed down his cheek.

"C'mon. We're going to sleep. "The bed is still in the same room?"

He nodded and walked into the small room that served as his bedroom.

You walked alongside him and, once in the bedroom, you removed items from the bed. This man didn't seem to change much. You were the first to lay down when it was finished. "Please come here." You muttered.

He laid down beside you, taking an almost embryonal position, grunting a little with pain.

You moved closer and wrapped your arms around him. "Is there anything else I can do to assist you?"

"It's fine this way," he said quietly, his eyes closed, taking in your warmth and presence.

You nodded and carefully placed your hand on his nape, covering the scar. "Did you miss me that much?"

Santiago silently nodded. "When you spend your entire day alone, you have plenty of time to think. And I've been thinking a lot about what we talked about recently. I missed your presence and the relationship I should have given more thought to. I'm sorry I didn't pursue you."

You wanted to say something, but your knee was acting up, so you hissed. "Fuck..." You stretched your leg in the hope of some relief, muttering more curses. "To be honest, I missed this relationship as well. To be more specific, I missed you, which is probably why I never stayed with anyone. They weren't you."

He rolled onto his back and extended his arm to you. "Come on in, doll. Maybe I should go to the pharmacy and get some pain relievers or ointment? What about your knee?"

You nuzzled closer to him and sighed deeply. "No, I've got mine, but I kind of shoot myself in the knee, pun intended. Because I can't mix them with alcohol, I'll just have to wait." You laughed as you rested your leg on his. "Oh, Santi, we're so broken. "Where have all the good times gone?"

He gently rubbed his palm over your aching knee, whispering soothing sentences into your ear. "I guess they're gone."

"Wow, and I was dubbed the 'team's biggest pessimist,' guess you took after me, huh?" Before looking at him, you moved your hand into his hair, sadly smiling. "Santiago?”

His eyes were closed as he got lost in your touch. "Yes, doll?"

"Let us try to make good again in the coming days. Together. What are your thoughts on this concept?"

"Mhm," Santiago hummed softly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his hand soon stopping rubbing your knee and lying still.

"Santi? Don't leave me like that, sweetie," you kissed the top of his head softly.

He reluctantly opened his eyes and smiled at you. "You're a tease."

"This makes me very happy. I'll be your pillow for as long as you want." You kissed his brow and gently cupped his cheek. "Maybe I should move in since we've already been together?"

"Where do you keep your belongings? I'll go get them for you."

"Well, I live with a friend now, and all my belongings fit into a box and a traveling bag, so I'll get them myself, but I was wondering what you thought about such an idea?"

"I'll make you a room in the wardrobe and the bathroom," he chanted happily.

"So eager suddenly. Look at you. Where is that sleepy pessimist that I was cuddling just a moment ago, huh?” You couldn't help but laugh.

He raised his head and his lips met your jawline.

Turning your head, you smiled and simply kissed him like during good old times.

He hummed softly. "Esta vez no voy a dejar que te vayas de nuevo."

"I hope so. Try it and I will kick your ass before leaving," you warned him with a short laugh.

𝓓𝓪𝔂 26 - A Good Boss || Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Consider a scenario in which you and your boss are into each other. It doesn't happen very often, right? Now imagine that your boss is Santiago Pope Garcia, and he already knows you better than anyone else on the operational team…

Warnings: smut without plot (unprotected)

Word count: ~ 1010

Author: Fenrir

A/N: The prompt for today is: Wall Sex First-person narrative style is used in this fic

Santiago Garcia was watching me; he watched me constantly nowadays; he was the head of the operation I was part of; he was the same man who had me standing over his desk not a week ago, pleading for his cum.

Here he was, practically eye-fucking me. It's just a matter of getting your work done, you moron, I thought to myself. Don't pay attention to him, ignore him, pretend he doesn't exist. 

I got absolutely nothing done during the rest of the day, my mind drifting to that night. Because I was staring at my screen so hard, I didn't notice that the rest of our team had left. As I finish packing up, I rush to the door. I hear him call out to me as I walk past his office. My heart races as I turn to him. "Yes, Mr Garcia?"

As he saunters to the door frame, grinning, he takes his time looking at me from top to bottom; after what seems like an eternity, he responds, "Why have you ignored me the entire day?"

Looking him square in the eye, I say, "You know why, it was a mistake, it shouldn't have happened." 

I remember you enjoying yourself quite a bit," Santiago whispers, grazing the back of my cheek with his fingers.

Glaring at him, I smack his hand away. "That doesn't mean shit, and you know it. Fuck you for thinking otherwise, you cocky bastard." Turning, I turn to walk out, but am thrown against the wall before I could go too far.

"Quite a mouth on you, I like it better when you moan my name," he closes in on me and pushes me against the wall, mouth close to my ear, one hand resting on the wall beside my face, the other trailing down my chest.

I try to leave again, but his hand flies to my throat.

Santiago whispers into my ear, nipping at my lobe, "I know you have been thinking about it. Don't deny it."

With a struggle, I spit out, "I haven't. I don't care about cocky, self-centered idiots."

Suddenly, I'm yanked into his office, the door closing behind us. He warns, "I'll fuck you until you're too tired even to speak."

As our lips crash together, I try desperately to get him off me, but he is just too strong for me.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I ask.

My chest presses into the wood as Garcia forces me onto the desk. Kicking my legs apart, I curse myself for wearing a skirt that day, hating that he was right - this is exactly what I wanted, as evidenced by the damp spot on my underwear. 

He pulls my underwear off without warning, tearing my cry from me; he plunges a finger into me, up to his knuckle, with full, unhindered access.

As I recall the last time I was bent over this desk, my cunt flutters around the intrusion as I moan loudly like a whore.

Adding another finger, he scissors me open; at least he had the courtesy to work me open first. As he continues to fuck me, pleasure starts to rise; adding another finger, he continues to fuck me with his fingers.

As I turn my head to look at Santiago, I see his bulge clearly visible as he stares intently at his fingers.

I whimper, the pleasure almost reaching its peak. As I pressed back against him, he thrusts his fingers faster, forcing me back down onto the desk. He pulls out completely just as my orgasm crests.

In a chuckle, Santiago pulls himself out of his pants and says, "You don't get to cum until I tell you." Rubbing his engorged cock against my slit, my hips pitch uncontrollably.

You are a wanton whore. Does your superior teasing you with his cock turn you on, Y/N?"

Almost unable to contain myself, I moan, "Fuck you." Just as my pleasure started up again, I shout as he pushes to the hilt inside of me.

It feels like I'm being torn apart, his thick length filling me, his pink bulbous head kissing my cervix; I swear I can feel every vein, his balls pressing firmly against my clitoral region.

Then, he pulled out up to the tip, pressing a hand against my spine, setting a punishing pace, skin slapping against skin, desk making horrific sounds as it rocks with Santiago's every hard push.

Garcia flips me onto my back and hooks my legs onto his shoulders.

My juices leak down the crack of my ass as Santiago smacks his dick onto my mound.

He pushes back into me as he looks at me, continuing his slow pace; he keeps my gaze, and every time I close my eyes, he smacks my cunt, causing a whimper; he takes pleasure in my moans, taking pleasure at the fact that I hadn't cum yet, basking in my pleasured frustrations. His arms are tightly wrapped around my waist as he lifts my almost ragdoll body against the wall, continuing to pound furiously. “You like that, don’t you?” Santiago asks, pressing his lips down on my earlobe as he grunts in my ear. “You like having me inside, huh?” His strong hands hold my ass firmly, keeping me from falling.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I let him use and abuse me the entire time. “Oh, fuck, Santiago, fuck, yes!” I make sure my legs are tightly wrapped around his snapping hips.

"Cum on my thick cock, little one," he encourages.

In my orgasm, I clench so hard that he is nearly forced out. Electricity shocks through every nerve in my body as I roll my head back, resting it against the wall.

In one final thrust, Santiago grasps my neck with his teeth, filling me with his warm seed. Every rope splashes against my cervix, filling me to the brim as Santiago lets out a loud grunt of satisfaction. "Well, we see you're capable of being a good girl if you want to be."