Santiago X Reader - Blog Posts

Sweet Nothings [Santiago "Pope" Garcia]

Summary: It's never easy choosing between your feelings and your friendship. In other words, Santi has to decide if he wants the new guy in town to snatch you up or if a friendship will have to be ruined.

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x best friend!reader

Warnings: Angst, Best Friends to Lovers, Santi being an idiot, Benny being a little shit, touching, lots of yelling, Angst with a happy ending, mentions of Santi getting shot, one sided love not really

A/N: scraped endless drafts because I had to look at it from so many angles. 3rd Commission of the year thank you so so much🥳 so sorry it took me so long, had to deal with a lot of bullshit at school and the depression it brought me. I really do appreciate the support you guys bring❤️✨ this one is for Alex (please link your username because 1am here am I'm sleepy as fuck to try and find it at the moment)

He’s an idiot.

He wants a taste.

You’re murmuring a quick answer to Frankie’s question with your mouth full of a blueberry cupcake. Then you take a sip of some beverage Benny ordered. You hardly pay attention to whatever Ben and Frankie are bickering about, eyes too drawn to your book.

But Santi’s paying attention. To your mouth. To your lips. And he wants a taste. He’s an idiot who wants a taste.

“Santi, hermano, come on. Help me out here.” Frankie groans, exasperated while Benny’s mischievous grin flashes brightly.

“Hmm?” Santiago hates having to take his eyes off you. His thigh brushes yours under the table. It maddens the flutter of his heart. The only indication that you took notice was the brief glance in his direction and a tiny smile before your gaze returns to the words on your page.

No doubt whatever the little shit said only said it to grate in Frankie’s last nerve and it is working. And by extension, it’s getting on Santi’s last nerve because he hates it when Frankie starts complaining.

Before he even has the chance to tell them both to be quiet and eat their pancakes (mostly because he hadn’t been listening to a word they said), you chime in, without even looking up from your book, “He wants you to tell Ben that he’s an idiot for thinking that mint chocolate-flavoured stuff are better than caramel-flavoured stuff.”

Santiago raises an eyebrow. “Wait, you’ve been listening this whole time?”

He doesn’t understand how you can be drifting between two worlds. The real life and your book. Usually, you prefer the latter, especially when you’re out in public. Too often, he becomes jealous of the characters in your books. You pay far more attention to them than you do to him.

“It’s hard not to.” you mutter, taking another bite of your cupcake. “Not with that mind-numbing chatter.”

It’s hard not to laugh at your sardonic quip. He revels in these little moments. The tidbits of chaos in your eyes that spark from time to time. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means Benjamin has the inability to shut the hell up and enjoy a good meal on a quiet morning.” You put down your book with the most disgusted look on your face. “Also, mint chocolate? Really, Ben? I bet you like the taste of toothpaste in your coffee as well.”

“Oh, fuck off!” There was a chorus of laughter that sparked Ben’s scowl. “Leave my coffee out of this. It has nothing to do with anything.”

“Your coffee has everything to do with this.” you shoot back, nose wrinkling as you smile.

Frankie’s laughing harder with each second at the exchange. Benny crossed his arms, shrinking in his chair. “God, she sounds exactly like the jackass sitting next to her.”

Your gaze shifts to him, smiling. That knowing look as you let him in on your thoughts. He returns it with a grin.

He’s a moron.

I know, right?

The little moment that you both share as you peer into each other’s minds is one of many that will be cherished. Santiago shook his head, chuckling as he watched you roll your eyes and return to your book. To your own little world. You lean back on your chair, smiling.

There was nothing Santi loved more than watching you be at peace in your own little world. Hardly anything draws you out for too long. Not even him, but he doesn’t mind. As long as you’re happy there because this world doesn’t give much to live for, to dream for.

But you?

You’ve always given him something to dream about. 

“Hermano.” Frankie nudges (kicks) him under the table and Santi has half a mind to wring his neck from where he’s sitting. 

He’s got that shit-eating grin from where he sits, along with Ben. Will doesn’t smirk but simply gives him that look. Like he knows exactly what those two are thinking and he wholeheartedly agrees.

It’s not the first time they caught him staring. It certainly won’t be the last. Nor will it be the last time they’re going to give him shit once you’re out of the vicinity. Frankie gives him the hardest time because he has pried the most information out of him.

Pendejo–

“I said–” Will starts, and it takes a second for Santiago to realize that it was him who spoke. “Are you coming to the game tonight or are you preoccupied? Again?”

Preoccupied is code for ‘trying and failing to ask you out’. Emphasis on failing. Dismally, in fact. He’s blown them off so many times to spend nights at your place, just trying to get the words out.

But all that happens is that his hands start sweating while his heart rattles violently in its cage and he stares at the back of your head while you’re preparing the popcorn in the kitchen. Or he stares at you when you’re watching a movie. Or when you’ve fallen asleep on top of him. No words come out.

He can’t tell you. He just can’t. Because what if you say no? What if he loses you–

God, he doesn’t even want to fathom the thought. But he’s going to keep trying anyway. He doesn’t know how many nights he’s going to spend at your house just trying to ask or tell you how he feels

Before he can answer, someone calls your name.

Then your eyes glance up and–

Oh.

Oh, how they light up. And oh, how his stomach drops because who has the power to yank your head out of that book with such ease?

“Oh, hey, Jax.” You grin sweetly at the man who dared to walk over to the table, to all five of you.

Santiago has seen him before. He’s new in town. Moved a couple of months ago and he’s steadily been making himself acquainted with the locals.

The man is tall. Blond hair in a half bun, baby blues to match, and a jaw that could cut diamonds. He’s tall, built in all the ways that make the women giggle and whisper. He’s got a friendly face and attitude and it doesn’t help that he’s so… nice.

It doesn’t help that his attention seems to be focused on you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Jax smiles before his eyes glance at Will, then Ben and Frankie. Then finally, they meet Santiago’s. The man gives a genuine nod, acknowledging all four of them. “Hello.”

And just like that, the boys are tense. On a razer’s edge and he seems to clock in on that. Good. Santiago wants him to know that he’s not welcome around here– around you. Frank and Will nod back, trying to be friendly, trying not to make a scene. But Santi stays as he is. Stiff as a board. Silent as a stone.

“Hey, man.” Ben plasters a bright smile, but it feels more like he’s baring his teeth. “How are you doin?”

But –heavens forbid– you’ve put the book down.

Santiago stares at it, failing to mask his shock for a brief moment before he masks it when you stand up. You introduce him to the boys. Pleasantries are exchanged but Santiago doesn’t say a word. He leans back on his chair, eyeing this man, Jax.

Those baby blues falter when they find the heat in the eyes of Santiago “Pope” Garcia. And he takes much pride in how he takes a step back, more out of self-preservation. He realizes that he’s looking at four hungry wolves, rather than men.

Only, you follow and go to stand farther away than all four of them would like. You and Jax talk like you’re old friends– buddies. Santi’s fist threatens to break the mug at how you touch this guy’s shoulder and offer a nod and he smiles right back, touching your elbow. Both of you just touching and something aches and burns and threatens to claw its way out of Santi’s chest to tear this man to pieces if he keeps doing that.

When the conversation looks like it’s coming to an end, Santi is jolted in his seat when Jax leans to kiss your cheek and you do the same, waving him goodbye with his two friends, who have their beverages in hand.

Santiago doesn’t want to plan yet another murder. 

But it is damn tempting.

“Want me to make pasta?”

He hums absentmindedly, drumming his fingers on his thigh. Eyes glare out the window as he waits for the traffic to move. It’s slow. Agonizing to be trapped in the car with you.

He still thinks back to the man at the cafe. Jax.

He hates how you were around that guy. He doesn’t think he’s seen you like that with him or anyone else. You don’t let them touch you like that. You don’t let guys kiss your cheek like that.

Santiago has had to bear watching you with previous boyfriends and even a fiance one time and it was one of the most agonising things he has ever gone through. During those days, when you were with someone, he always opted to go back to Columbia so he doesn’t have to be near you. Some days, he wished he would catch a bullet in his head there because it would hurt less.

You say something. He doesn’t hear. But he can’t seem to bring himself to ask you to repeat yourself. Instead, he gives a curt– “Yep.”

“Santi.” The cut of your voice makes him flinch and his gaze flicks to you. Your eyes are narrowed. Makes his hackles rise. “You just agreed to let me put olives in the salad.” 

He hates olives.

His expression twists in disgust. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” you counter.

“No, I didn’t.” He’s pretty sure he didn’t.

“No, but you should’ve been paying more attention to me.” You face forward on your seat, crossing your arms and slink one knee over another.

Your dress rides up a little, revealing more of your thigh and Santi thinks his blood might boil more because of that than the fact that you’re poking at him. He grits his teeth, facing forward too. His hands clasp the steering wheel tightly.

“What? You mean like how you pay attention to your new friend?”

He didn’t mean to let the words out. But he can’t stand the silence. Can’t stand to let you win this round. He feels a storm brewing and it is going to chew him up and spit him out if he’s not careful.

The lack of your response makes him realize he made a dumb move. He reveals his entire hand. Fucking idiot–

“So that’s what this is about?”

His mouth seals shut. Eyes fixed forward in a scowl that might burn a path through the cars in front so his can move. His teeth might shatter if he doesn’t loosen his jaw but he could care less. It would be easier to deal with than having to explain himself.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. Not when the car moves. Not until he reaches your place and gets out of the car. It’s a torturous stalemate for now, but you hold the upper hand and you don’t realize yet.

You follow, slamming the door. “Santi, we were just talking. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“C’mon, we both know what he was doing.” He’s in your house, beelining for the kitchen to open a cupboard. A bottle of tequila awaits him. He pours himself a cup.

You’re silent as he throws his head back, downing the shot. “Okay, what’s your problem?”

His nose flares, eyes shifting to meet yours. “My problem?”

“Yes, your problem.” you counter sharply, pointing a finger in his face. “You do this every time you see me talking to Jax–”

“No, I don’t!” 

“Yes, you do.”

He hates how your voice remains level while his reaches new heights. He does not understand how you remain calm when he feels like he’s boiling over. You’ve always been so annoyingly exceptional at pushing his buttons to the point where he almost can’t decide between two urges; to yell at you or kiss you.

He wants to choose the latter. Every time. And every time he has to choose the former.

Santiago wants to hurl the bottle of alcohol against the wall. But all he does is run a hand through his curls, letting out a frustrated groan. “God, you’re so blind sometimes! Not every guy who walks up to you has good intentions!”

“So?” you counter. “Why do you insist on acting like this?”

He rounds the counter, eager to get away from this fuming mess before it implodes on his face. But you’re just as eager to follow. 

“Like what?!” 

“Like you’re jealous, Santi!” you snap, finally raising your voice to match his. “You shut down every time you see me with a guy. And what’s worse is that you take off and head back to war because you can’t stand to see me happy!”

And something cracks within him as soon as that happens. He stops in his tracks immediately.

You don’t think for a second that he would whirl on you in a split second. But he does and the silent violent rage that comes with his close proximity frightens you. Even if the urge to kiss you threatens to burn him alive.

“Do you want to know what a jealous boyfriend looks like?” He takes a step towards you, and another. You don’t resign to his simmering rage, your expression remaining impassive, even as he backs you into the kitchen counter.

He wants to show you what a jealous boyfriend looks like. He wants to show you how much he hates not having your attention on him at all times.

There is nothing that can make him understand how or why he’s so drawn to you. He’s known Frankie longer than you. Benny and Will nearly just as long. They get on his nerves nonstop, but never to this extent.

Never to the point where he wanted to tear himself from the inside out at the thought of telling you how much he yearns to put his lips against yours, yet the mere thought of you turning away from him the minute he says it instantly seals his mouth shut.

He remains at that crossroads. He wonders if you’re there with him, trying to decide which path to take. Do you know that this time– this time he’s wading into dangerous territory? Do you know that he hopes it’ll lead him to you?

“You don’t see it, do you?” You don’t say anything. He chuckles dryly. “You don’t see how much it hurts when you’re with someone else–”

“How do you think I feel when the guys talk about your informants?” you harshly interject, eyes burning like dark flames. “You don’t think it hurts when they joke about how pretty they all are?”

Those fuckers. Why the fuck would they tell you that?

His shoulders draw in, ears burning with shame, even though he knows he’s done nothing wrong. He’s never slept with any of his informants. Yes, there is a pattern. His informants are women. Beautiful women. But he doesn’t sleep with them.

Not when he’s constantly thinking of you. This last job, getting rid of Lorea, all he could think about is getting that money so he can make a better man of himself. For you. All for you. That’s why he was so determined, so driven. Not by greed, as everyone thinks. But by love.

He did it because he loves you and he would do it all again if it meant it would give him the slightest chance.

He feels himself careening towards the point of no return. He takes a steady breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Do you know how much I wanted–”

But it’s like no matter how much he tries to choose his words carefully, they all lead him back to the definitive truth. The one truth he’s always tried to keep under heaps of soil, in the deepest grave he could dig.

It is unearthing and unbinding itself from every restraint, every chain and rope. Finding its way to you.

You wait for him to keep going. Only to be met with silence and it does not sit well with you.

He feels your hand graze his chin. The soft caress sends him spiralling further and further away from his sanity. “Wanted what?”

How many times has he let you touch him like this –like you weren’t his best friend? Too often, that line is blurred and the singular question of “what are we?” hangs in the balance. Taunting him every time his knee brushes yours under a table. Haunting him with your scent when you stand too close.

When his eyes flutter open, he falls right into the deep end. Whatever restraint he’s been clinging to all this time, it snaps as easily as a twig.

He inches forward, pushing against you, pushing past that line, pressing his lips against yours.

His hands grasp your arms, pulling you closer. He couldn’t bear it if you decide to draw away when he’s just getting the taste of you for the first time, and maybe the last. But you don’t. You don’t move away, you don’t push him away.

He takes another kiss. Then another. He can’t get enough. Years of orbiting around you and he realizes how starved he is after only having you in small doses. Each kiss feels like an overdose. It feels like it will kill him, but he doesn’t care. He wants more.

“You.” he rasps sharply against your mouth. “Wanted you.” You don’t stop his hands from cupping the back of your neck, angling your head as he quickly amends, “Want you.”

A weak moan escapes you as he touches you, a sound that melts right through his ache. He brings you closer, letting you sigh into his mouth, your hands slipping through the curls of his hair, wondering how he could’ve gone without this for years.

“Oh, Santi…” you peck his lips as he does to yours, nudging your nose against his. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

But you’re giggling. You’re laughing and it makes him weak at the knees and when you draw him close, closer until your lips meet his again–

It’s like he’s learned a new meaning to breathing again.

He starts to laugh a little too, at the ridiculousness of it all. The record number of years he has gone without telling you how he felt seemed silly now. He was worried over nothing.

“For the record…” you murmur into his mouth, grinning. “Jax is gay.”

Jax.

Tall blond, baby blue-eyed, who’s got the women giggling and whispering Jax.

Santiago is momentarily stunned by the revelation. It doesn’t correlate. He thought that… No, because Jax was all over you. Constantly talking to you every chance he got. Touching your shoulders, your arms. Smiling sweetly as he speaks. Kissing your cheek to say goodbye. It never occurred to him that Jax might just be friendly. That he might not be attracted to you.

He groans, frustrated more at himself than anything. “Oh, for fuck’s sake–”

You’re laughing when you kiss him once more, wrapping your arms around his neck while he’s muttering curses in his native tongue. Yet he smiles as he walks forward. His mouth slinks against yours while you walk back against his steps until your knees hit the couch and you both fall back.

You’re still laughing, half moaning as he draws the zipper of your hoodie open to plant kisses along your neck, your shoulders as he mutters “tu puta madre– idiota–”

You’re still laughing because you’re overjoyed. Filled with such warmth because finally–

“Pendejo–” he’s still murmuring curses into your mouth, though they’re more directed to himself for being plain stupid.

Finally, he has you in his arms the way he wants. Finally, the boys are really going to dig into him for saying something.

“No way he’s gay.” he whines, pulling his head back to look at you with a stern expression. “Did he tell you that?”

“He’s been checking you and Frankie out since he got here.” you explain, smiling and shaking your head. “Wanted to know if either one of you is available.”

Santiago clicks his tongue, cheeks heating heavily as he shakes his head. “Get outta here.”

He feels stupid. Blinded by jealousy. Throwing tantrums like a petulant child over nothing. He should’ve come clean a long time ago. 

When his mouth meets yours, he comes to one final conclusion.

He really is an idiot.

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