#garcy smut

[romanarose]

Leather and Lace: Chapter 10

Santiago "Pope" Garcia x fem! OC

Masterlist

Chapter 9: Chapter 11

Summary: This is mostly just fluff, smut and comfort. I just wanted to give them a day together <3

A/N so long. it's gonna go: smut, shower fluff and comfort, more fluff, more smut (idk what happened here I popped off), more comfort. There will be scenes cut into flashback of the night before, where Laci talks to Santi about what actually happened. These parts are potentially very triggering but I put them all in italics as I always do with flashbacks, so if you want to read but are concerned about that content, you can just skip over italics.

Also, to the anon who left this shitty ask, I assure you, people do care about this story, and they care about Laci. She is not a raped bitch, disgusting or an idiot. She's doing great.

WARNINGS: Usual fic warnings for rape, sex trafficking, abuse, etc. Rape while on substances, substance use, mentions of STD's, physical abuse and death, nightmares, smt, NSFW, fingering, handjob, masturbation, oral (f recieving and kinda m), cum eating, 69.... lmk if I miss anything.

Santiago Garcia was luckiest man on the fucking planet. He knew that, the guys knew that, and after showing her off all night at Benny’s fight all wrapped in his arms and leather jacket, the whole town would know it too. Gossip spread fast. Santi had money, and although he didn’t waste it on extravagance, he knew he had the privilege of comfort and security. He had three of the best friends a man could have, three men who would have his back through anything, call him out on his bullshit and take care of the woman he loved. He had the most adorable little goddaughter on the planet, and although most of his blood family was dead, the life he built in this suburban Florida town was a happiness he never thought he was deserving of. Comfort, friendship, family.

Oh, and he had the prettiest girl had ever seen in his entire life, wearing his sleep shorts and his oversized Metallica shirt, in his bed, grinding her wet cunt on his thigh.

Luckiest man on earth, that was for sure.

“Fuck, Lace, you’re something else you know that?” His grip on her hip was tight, but she didn’t seem to mind. His other hand was wrapped around the base of her neck, fingers entangled in her hair as they guided her head to his for a passionate kiss, Santi licking into her and Laci biting on his lip whenever she had a chance. His boxers had ridden up, and he could feel her wetting his thighs. Santi ran the hand on her hip up to her breast, palming her through the shirt. His shirt. "All those men at Benny's fight eyeing you, watching you, but they don't get you, they'll never get to touch you, right?”

Laci’s hands massaged into his scalp. “Never, only you, wore your jacket, wanted to show them I’m yours, wanna be yours, only yours.”

“You’re mine, beautiful. And I’m yours, you have me, body and soul”

Her fingers tugged at his hair needing something to hold in the intensity building in Laci’s stomach. “S-Santi…” She whined out, one of her hands going to grip his shoulder for stability. Laci angled herself further so that his leg nudged perfectly against her clit. “Need more, need a little more.” She begged.

Santi moved both hands down to her hips again, pressing her body heavier down onto him, eliciting a choked out sob as the electricity shot through her. “That better, Munequita?”

A high pitched ‘uh-huh’ was all she could manage other than a slurred “s’good”, eyebrows pinched together as her shaky breath signified how close she was.

“Can’t believe I get to have you here with me, only I get to see you like this huh? Unraveling just from fucking yourself on my thigh? Think you can give me one like this, sweet girl? Soak my shorts in your come?”

Laci, despite tightly closed eyes and rapidly accelerating heart threatening to beat out of her chest, rested her forehead on Santi’s and took one of his hands off her thigh. He watched her carefully. She was still moving on his, but he made sure this wasn’t a signal to stop. 

With a thrill that shot through his achingly hard erection in her boxers, Laci slipped his hand between his leg and her. She  planted a light kiss on his sweaty forehead. “I think that ship sailed, baby”

Baby such a simple pet name and it just took his breath away. “Fuck, your soaked. Can I make you come like this, then lick you clean until you come again?”

“Fuh, god, fuck, Santi, please” her left over mascara was smudged from sleep, and Santi made a mental note to get make-up remover wipes so he could take care of her face after they got dressed up. (And they would be getting dressed up again, Laci deserved nothing but the best) but right now, he enjoyed how fucked out and wrecked she looked for him.

“Gonna come on my leg, Lacina? Gonna use me, show me how I don’t even need my hands to get you off, drown those shorts so they always smell like you?”

“Santi, so close, don’t stop” Don’t stop any of it, the way he ground her hips down, the way his filthy mouth just kept talking…

Pope was happy to oblige. “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby, love having you here, love waking up to you, loving having you in my bed and finally getting to taste you, better than I ever imagined.”

“You, hm” She whimpered, face all scrunched up.”You thought of me?”

Santi couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course I thought of you, Lace, I fell asleep every other night with you on top of me, you think I could know how you feel and not think of you? Think I tasted your mouth, and didn’t imagine what you’re pretty little cunt tasted like?”

Laci kissed along his neck, her grip on his shoulders seeming to tight with every drag of her pussy up his thigh. He continued talking, the sound of his voice alone about having her spill over.

“Thought of you too, Santi” She muttered, breath hot against his ear.

Santi had woken up hard, how could he help it when such a pretty woman was in his arms. “Oh yeah? That right?”

“Y-yeah. Would put a pillow between my legs and ride it just like this, pretending it was you. Imagined your fat cock up in me, claiming me as yours”

“Fuck baby, jesus christ” He sputtered out, incomparibly turned on by the sound of his sweet, innocent acting girlfriend saying such dirty words. 

“All those nights we kissed, I wanted you to take me right there on the couch, wanted to wiggle my way down your body take off those stupid sweats that leave nothing to the imagination and take you down my throat, choke on you as you feel me swallowing you down .”

“Fuck! Fuck Lace, shit” Santi kissed her pretty little mouth, licking into her. He wasn’t going to last, that was for damn sure. He knew she wasn’t ready for penetrative sex and blowjobs yet, and that was fine by him. Right now, he felt like he could be content with this forever, the stimulation of her thighs rubbing along his cock as she rode him being more than enough. “I know you don’t want hickies, but you can give them to me, if you want” He felt her smile against his neck before she began sucking into him. A high pitched wine escaped her mouth, and when her orgasm came, Laci bit down right where his shoulder and neck connected, and dug her fingers into the flesh of his shoulder. The beautiful sting of her teeth being enough to send him over the edge, his large hands gripped her hips far tighter than he meant. “Lace! Fuck!” He shouted as he felt his release, warmth filling his pant leg.

She collapsed on him, his strong arms catching her, gluing her still-clothed body to him, rubbing her back one hand, her neck with his other. “Fuck baby, you did so good, thank you.” He kissed her neck. “Thank you, Lace.” He buried his face in the crook of her neck, her hair tickling his face.

“Why are you thanking me?” She asked, still breathless from her orgasm and finally being with him.

“For trusting me with yourself”

“But… I haven’t even done that. You don’t even get to have all of me, I’m not-”

He held her tighter. “This is enough. More than enough.” 

“Hm” Was all she replied as she snaked her hand down his stomach, ready to jerk him off like the night before, when his hand stopped her, prompting her to look at him.

“That’s uh, that’s already taken care off” He smiled at her lovingly.

She stared at him, confused for a moment until the realization dawned on her face. “Oh shit” She giggled out, reaching back to feel the wet spot in his pants, then grinning back at him. “All that just from me riding your thigh?” 

“There was some stimulation from your leg rubbing on my dick, but yeah” She grinned back.

Laci carded her hands through his graying hair. “You get off without even being inside me? That’s… that’s insane” She laughed out again, bewildered at the idea.

“Lace” Santiago cupped her face, bringing her lips in for a kiss. “You have no idea how you make me feel, do you? No idea how special you are to me. Sometimes I think I could cum just from watching you bring me pizza rolls”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “Yeah, but you really like pizza rolls”

Santiago pressed him for head to hers, hands skirting up her sides “I do really like pizza rolls” he started tickling her, laying her giggling form back on the bed “but I also really like you”

They got up to take a shower before going to the park. Jana had woken them up this morning calling Santi (he was usually up by this hour, but last night's activities and the woman he loved finally in his arms made for a good sleep.) It was her and Rosie’s first day back in town, and she wanted Frankie to see Rosie. The agreement had been that Santi would accompany Frankie for the first meet up or two, so Jana could make sure he really was getting sober. One of the guys or Jana had to be with Frankie while he was with Rose until Jana felt safe that he wouldn’t relapse. Jana had of course invited Laci along, wanting to meet her finally. Santi himself hadn’t seen Jana since before Laci came into his life, but they had communicated through text when one was worried about Frankie. He always respected Jana for never trying to alienate Frankie from his daughter.

Laci and Santi had spent much of the night talking, Laci opening up about what had happened to her more and more.

“There was one guy, I don’t know where we were at the time, but it wasn’t where you found me. He was nicer. His name was Jaimie, younger than most of the others, younger than me. He was really nice most of the time.” Laci sat between Santi’s legs, he held each of her hands, squeezing the left, then the right, one after the other. “For a while I thought he was a safe person, we got along, he taught me some spanish. Snuck me food when the others were seeing how long I lasted without it. But when he kissed me, I tried to say no. In the end he was just like the others, he just didn’t beat me.” She tried to focus on the gentle squeeze of her hand. In therapy, if she was getting anxious or over whelmed, her therapist had a machine that Laci would hold two items in her hands and they would alternate vibrating. When Laci started to freeze while she tried to talk to him about what happened, she asked him to holder like this, to which he happily obliged, picking her up and plopping her in between his legs.

“That must be really difficult, thinking you had someone you could trust in all that, only for him to hurt you too” Santi tried to say enough to show he was listening, to show he cared, but to allow her all the talking she needed. He continued alternating squeezes.

“I think that’s why I was so hesitant when you guys found me. I should’ve trusted you. I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart, no.” He wanted to hug her, but he kept on his repetition movement. “You had no reason to trust us. You were right to have been on guard.”

Laci scoffed. “Maybe if I had been on guard, I wouldn’t have been in that position in the first fucking place. The investigator was right, I never should’ve crossed the border with someone I barely knew.”

“Laci, no-”

“Don’t say it. Don’t say it’s not my fault, just let me be miserable.”

Santi crossed their attached hands across her chest, turning her slightly to look at him. “You can be miserable if that’s how you feel, but baby, I will never hesitate to tell you it’s not your fault. Ever. Because it isn’t, none of it is. And I hope you know I don’t blame you, neither do any of the guys.”

“I know.”

Santi peppered her with kisses as he undressed her, kneeling down as he pulled down his shorts that barely hung to her barely-there hips, glancing over the scars that were sporadically litter across her skin, but pausing at the bruises.

She watched him trail the pads of his calloused fingers over them. “Santi, are you oka-”

He looked up at her. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no baby…” That was a lie. “You could never hurt me.”

He shook his head, going to stand up, but his knees wobbled a bit. Laci caught him and helped him up. He sighed, gently holding her face with one hand and trailing the neckline of his shirt on her. “I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful next time”

She stopped him, “Santi, don’t you dare apologize for anything that happened last night. You are perfect, last night was perfect. I’m going to bruise a bit, I’m pale and underweight.” Laci winced a bit at the mention of her weight, something that had plagued her long before she was taken, and something they never talked about. “And, baby, I like the bruises.” She kissed his softening features. “Reminds me it was real, that you’re real, not just another dream.”

Santi relaxed, smiling. “You dreamed about me?” He stripped off her shirt, taking her perfect body to him again, and he knew then that she’d never stop

A bright pink flushed her cheeks as she looked away. “Shush”

Not wanting to embarrass her further, he didn’t push it, only smiling as he started the shower and peeled off his sticky pants, leaving him bare. Santi reveled in the chance to care for her, using his shitty body shampoo and wondering if he still had some lotion he could rub on her afterwards so it didn’t dry out her skin. Laci keened into his every touch. So responsive for me… he thought to himself, and wondered what she’d feel like taking all of him… shit, fuck, not the time, not the time. Her back pressed against his chest, she rested her head back against him, melting into his touch. She reached for his shampoo, but Santi grabbed his hand. 

“Can I take care of you?” Santi asked softly. I’m

“You always take care of me”

“And I never want to stop, muñequita” 

Their peaceful moment was only briefly interrupted as Santi massaged her scalp, her short height making for easy access. Santiago inadvertently knocked over the almost-full shampoo bottle, causing a loud, echoing thud, Laci immediately turning to cling to him, her arms clutched to his chest as he wrapped his arms around her in turn. For a moment, she was shaking in his arms as Santi rubbed the skin exposed to him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I know that was loud, I’m here, you’re okay.”

She knew that, of course. He was her rock, her safety, her home. She signed. ‘I’m sorry’

“Hey, hey no, don’t be sorry.” He cradled her head as the warm shower fell on them. “Will and I can’t do fireworks, Benny is scared of dogs because he was attacked in his teens, nothing to be sorry for.” Santi looked down, she was still staring at the wall, looking vacant. “Hey, baby, come back to me.” Santi gently lifted her face up to him. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

“I met him at a bar” Laci focused on his hand squeezing hers. “I don’t remember exactly what I was on that night, not anything heavy, coke was the worst of it. Molly maybe? Or maybe it was just acid. Who knows. But he took me home that night.”

She felt Santi’s chest rise dramatically at that, knowing what had happened. She didn’t remember much as that night, just vague flashbacks to sweaty bodies. 

“That should’ve been my warning. But that morning he held my hair as I threw up, bought me food. No one had really taken care of me since my brother died… I was between places at the time, so I stayed with him... I don’t really want to go into that relationship right now, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, Lace, whatever you’re comfortable with”

Still rested up against him, Laci made a gun with her hand.

“They shot guns around you?”

She motioned it shooting over her head and on either side of her head.

“Oh, they’d threaten you? Shoot them by you to scare you?” He held her tighter.

She nodded, then motioned loading a barrel, spinning it and firing.

“Russian roulette?”

She nodded again, sinking back into him.

Santi patted her hair down. “I’m sorry baby, that sounds horrible” He kissed the top of her head. “Do you want to talk more, or would you rather get ready to meet Frankie and Rosie.”

Nodding her head to the side, she cued to him that she was ready to get going. As Santiago and her dressed for the day, she seemed to have recovered from her flashback, starting to talk again in the little bits that she did when she would when she was gaining her voice back. Santi tried to act normal. Laci had opened up a lot the last few days. She had forgiven his mistakes, let him into her heart and body, and he knew it was very important to not let her notice. There was a familiar fury that was flowing with his blood, and he hoped to god she didn’t sense it, and if she did, he hoped she didn't think it was at her. But he couldn’t tell her what he was actually thinking.

Many times in these months, Santi had found himself glad that everyone in the house he found her in was dead. Sometimes, throughout his career, there were people he felt guilt over killing; Will remembered the exact number. But these men were the kind he didn’t feel bad for about, even going so far as feeling borderline pride. These were bad people who hurt women and children, the kind that beat, tortured, and raped them, and now they were dead, so that not only was Laci safe, but anyone else that came in their path. 

But the boyfriend. Her boyfriend. The one that sold her into sexual slavery, he was still out there, and was likely still doing it to others.

He was going to have to leave her. Not now, and not for long. The guys would help. Benny had a lot of connections and Frankie was good at tracking people down. 

They were going to find him, and Santi was going to kill him.

The afternoon was warm, gearing up for the hot, muggy Florida summer. Laci just had to break out shorts. She almost always wore dresses; pretty dresses that fluttered around her thighs, tempting him all these months. He never thought someone could look so, so good in just a pink tank top and white washed denim with white lace. She did seem to like lace… was that because of her name? Or was it just a physical representation of her soft femininity, going along with the pink and the pastel and the skirts…

And she just had to walk in front of him. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get her back home and bury his face between her thighs again.

“Despertarse, hermano” Frankie's voice broke him out of his daydream

“Sorry” Santiago was not sorry.

Jana and Laci were walking ahead, Jana allowing Frankie time with his daughter without feeling like he was under supervision. Santi wondered what they were talking about, nosy shit that he is. Laci started out so quiet, barely able to talk,it was nice to see her able to talk to people other than him, Frankie, Ben and Will. She was nervous in the beginning of course, wanting Jana to like her, since she spent so much time with her daughter.

“I’m so happy to meet you, you must think I’m so weird, always being with Rosie and you’ve never met me…” Laci started after Frankie introduced them.

But Jana is a warm person, greeting Laci like an old friend. “Would it be okay if I hugged you? You can say no, I just feel like I know you already”

Laci grinned and nodded, hugging Jana back. 

Santi pushed the stroller, but Frankie was holding Rose, not wanting to be separated after so long apart and struggling with sobriety. As long as Frankie hadn’t gotten high behind their backs, he was two weeks sober.

“Ow! What the hell, Fish!” Santi exclaimed as Frankies free hand stopped him, turning his chin.

Laci turned around, a pointed glare at Santi “language!” She had a strict rule around swear around Rose.

Laughing, Jana patted her on her back. “You tell ‘em honey, glad Santi has someone to keep him in line” and stuck out her tongue. Fuck, those girls were going to be trouble. It occurred to him that although Laci had Ben, she didn’t have any female friends. He hoped Jana would be that for her. There was something powerful in feminine friendships, a set of shared experiences and understandings that Santi simply could not know. 

 They walked further ahead, allowing Frankie room to tease his best friend.

“You look like you took a vacuum cleaner to your throat” He said, referencing the litany of hickies on his neck.

Santi couldn’t help the shit-eating grin on his face. “Yeah, she didn’t want me to mark her, but boy, she didn’t mind giving them to me” They began to walk again, talking quieter.

“So that means you guys finally sealed the deal?”

“Uh, no, not quite.”

Frankie gave him a look to keep going.

“I don’t want to kiss and tell, but there was some mouth and hand stuff.”

Fish smacked his arm, laughing. “Mouth and hand stuff? Are you a fucking teenager?” Laci definitely can’t hear them, she would have chastised Frankie for swearing.

“I feel like one! This morning I came in my fucking pants just from her riding my thigh”

“Jesus" Frankie balked. “So, you guys haven’t had sex yet.”

“No, we almost did, but she’s not ready. Honestly, with some of the things she’s told me, I’m not sure she’ll ever be.” He watched his beautiful girlfriend, sun glowing on her golden hair that she parted into pigtails that reminded him of Bubbles from the Power Puff Girls, face slightly turned as she talked. She was smiling, she was happy. That’s all he needed.

“You gonna be okay with that?”

“Frankie…” Santi sighed out with a bit of a laugh. “If you experienced what I did last night and this morning, you’d be okay with that too.”

“The first place I went it was just one man, and it wasn’t the worst. I mean, it was awful, but compared to how things went later it just, I don’t know, I’m not mitigating it.”

“I know what you mean, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“I don’t even know how many times I was sold, by the second person I just got… passed… It was multiple… well there was multiple people, I couldn’t really keep track of who owned me.”

Santi wanted to interrupt her, tell her they didn’t own her, no one ever owned her, but he knew that wasn’t the point. He wouldn’t get hung up on semantics, but he would do his best to help her reclaim her autonomy.

“I remember thinking, and this just… this a weird thought, what a weird thing to think.”

“It’s not weird, whatever it is”

“It was just… multiple men. I kept thinking ‘How do they not all have std’s?’ Well, turns out I was right about that. I thought ‘Oh my god, I’m going to die of syphilis like Al Capon’ which is just a strange dot to connect” Laci breathed out a small, nervous laugh. She had been put on antibiotics as soon as she had her initial exam at the doctor at the embassy. Everything cleared up fine, she was fine, but Santi knew she was humiliated on top of everything. “When it would happen, you just kinda… you go somewhere else. Just try not to exist in the moment, which probably sounds insane.”

Santi shook his head. “It’s not exactly the same, but in the military I’ve seen a lot of things and there’s some stuff you just… you can’t do anything about, you just have to get through it, so you go somewhere else mentally to get through it.”

She squeezed his hands back in reassurance.

Santi was knuckled deep in Laci, the moonlight shining and illuminating her skin, bare and open for him and he laid beside, grinding his erection against her soft, soft thigh. “You ever sat on someone's face?”

Laci burst out in a quick laugh, before realizing he wasn’t joking. “Oh. Uh, no. People actually do that?” She smiled nervously.

“Oh, people most definitely do.” He kissed into her neck. “Wanna try?”

“How do you breathe?”

Santi shrugged, grinning. “Suffocating between the legs of a beautiful woman is how I’ve always wanted to die, baby”

She smacked his chest with a blushing laugh. “I’m serious! I don’t want you to die, dummy.”

Slightly more serious, he reassured her. “I always do, Lace, I can breathe fine. We don’t have to, don’t worry.”

Laci seemed to be considering it for a moment. “Santi?”

He cupped her face gently, kissing the crease in the corner of her mouth. “Yes, Lacina?”

“What do you get out of this?”

The question caught him by surprise. “Out of you sitting on my face?” He pulled his fingers out of her wet pussy.

She shook her hand. “No… when you…” Laci squirmed a bit. “No, when you go down on me, I don’t see why you do it.”

Santiago sat on on his arm, still holding her close. “I know the people you’ve been with probably have been too full of shit to realize it, but you are a gift, Laci. The way you look, the way you laugh, the way you smile, fuck, the way you smell and the way you taste.” Santi brought the wet fingers to his lips, sucking them and really emphasizing the moan he couldn’t help but let out. “Fuck baby, you taste amazing, why wouldn’t I want eat you out?” He teased, and watched her smile, but continued. “I know you aren’t ready for sex, I don’t want you to worry about that for a second.”

“I don’t know when I will be…”

Santi kissed her deeply, nibbling a bit on her lower lip and dragging it out as he pulled away. “That’s okay, it’s okay if you never are. What we have now is all I need.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Now, will you sit on my face, or should I eat you like this?“

She grinned widely. “I’ll do it”

He wanted to make her say it. “Do what? Say it baby, say what you want?”

Despite being the only people in the house, Laci leaned in to whisper. “I want to sit on your face”

Without further ado, Santi lifted a squealling Laci up and over his head. “Don’t just hover, sit down.”

Laci complied, sitting down fully and nearly-automatically moaning at the feeling of his tongue attaching her cunt, his large nose nudging against her clit “Fuck, fuck Santi shiiiit!” She leaned over, bracing herself against his firm chest. Fuck, was he smiling under there? Smug bastard, he knew what he did to her. How had she gone this long without him? Now that she knew his touch, Laci couldn’t imagine being without it. “Santi, more, please?”

Happy to comply, Santi gripped her hips, albeit softly, pulling her down. Laci knew he was holding back, concerned about the bruises he left on her before. She placed her hands over his and forced him to grip the meat of her hips. When she let go, he did not, massaging along her thighs and he vigorously licked into her, lapping up every drop he milked out as she rocked her hips back and force for the stimulation she needed on her clit, his five o’clock shadow perfectly rubbing against her folds. Laci’s view from here was divine. Her eyes trailed over the body in front of her; strong arms, strong chest, brown skin and writhing legs. She remembered their night in the forest, Santi taking off his over shirt to give to her (fuck, he was thoughtful) she saw a peak of his stomach as the long sleeve pulled his t-shirt up, showing off a firm stomach. That had changed. He had definitely gained some weight alongside her, despite his mini home gym of weights and a treadmill he bought when she moved in. Laci was in love with the way he looked, his body was so fucking perfect, he was perfect, everything she ever wanted.

Very much noticeable, also, was his hard cock standing at attention, shit, she did all that to him? Just the taste of her got him that hard? Fuck, she wanted him in her mouth, she wondered if he’d taste as good as he thought she did… just a taste… Laci walked her hands down further, taking his cock in her hand as Santi’s mouth faltered. It looked so perfect, so pretty. A full blowjob with all 8 inches made her nervous, but she knew Santi would be okay with whatever she gave him, so she started with little kitten licks at the tip, tasting the pre-cum that was leaking out

She felt hip lift up her hips enough to talk. “Laci you don’t-”

“I know, Santiago, I want to. Can I take care of you?” She echoed the words he asked her in their shower this morning. 

“You always take care of me.” He echoed her reply right back, and returned to his mission.

Fuck, he was good at what he did, that was sure. Santi moved her wherever she needed to be, depending if he wanted to suck on her clit or lick into her folds. 

Santi was in fucking heaven. He tried his best to focus on her pleasure but if was hard when she was licking up and down his shaft, mouthing over him, sucking over the tip. Laci never fully put him in her mouth, he didn’t think she would, considering, but fuck if she didn’t feel amazing, and christ, the way she tasted. He never had a woman taste so sweet. Her ass was right in his eyeline, he wondered if she’d let him, move his mouth there, put a finger- you're getting ahead of yourself there Santi, put your fingers back in her cunt first. 

A loud groan escaped her as she felt his large fingers reenter her. “Shit Santi, so close.” She sat back up, hearing a little whine escape him. “Touch yourself for me, Santiago, wanna see you come”

He loved hearing her say his full name; well, when they aren’t fighting anyway. It sounded so pretty rolling off her perfect pink lips. Santi did as he was told, fisting his cock tightly, hips bucking up at the feeling of her spit on his hand. 

The sigh of Santi jerking himself while eating her almost sent her over, but she wanted him to go first. “Come for me Santi, let me see your perfect cock come all over your hand.” Laci didn’t know where these words came from, she never talked during sex before but fuck if he didn’t bring it out of her, him and his dirty fucking mouth. His breath against her cunt was hot as he cried out, his white spend spilling out, covering his fist and painting his stomach in warm ropes. Fuck, he comes hard, that’s the kind that could easily get her preg- fuck fuck fuck, no, don’t go there. Too late. The idea of him spilling inside her and filling her up sent her over the edge, collapsing back over him and her orgasm washed through her, her face pressed against his cum covered belly. As Santi licked her up, she didn’t know what possessed her; Laci started licking his stomach. He cleaned her, she’d clean him.

When Santi felt her lick him, it took a moment for him to realize what she was doing. For a second, he thought she was just licking him. Alright, he’d roll with that, whatever she was into; certainly not the strangest place he’d been licked.

Then he realized what she was licking, and his cock began twitching back to life again. Santi pulled her off him, sitting her up as he joined her, looking at her face covered in his come from where she rested on his stomach. “Lace baby, your face looks so good like this…” Santi takes the hand that was inside her, using the same two fingers to wipe against her cheek, tapping on her lips for her to open and she obliged. Putting his come soaked fingers in her mouth and the taste of her on his lips, Santi attached to her face, sucking and licking his spend off of her, only pulling back when Laci was clean and removed his fingers muttering “See how good we taste together?”

Santi was woken up that night to Laci thrashing in his arms, whimpering as sweat dripped down her face. She was having a nightmare. Santiago gently shook her awake. “Laci, Laci it’s me baby, you’re having a night-” When her eyes shot open, she gasped awake and immediately clung to him, gripping onto his life a lifeboat, her rock in the storm.

“Light” She pleaded.

“Oh course.” Santi start to sit up to get the lights, only intending on moving away from her for a moment when she shouted no and glued herself to him. “Okay…” with one arms, she held onto her crying and shaking body, and his other arm awkwardly and slowly scooted towards the lamp to get her light.

He let her cry it out first, then, she spoke. “There were other women. I never saw them for very long, but there was one girl. She spoke Russian, but we became friends. She tried to escape and they beat her to death. They made me watch.”

“Jesus christ, Lace, that’s fucking horrible”

“I have a lot of nightmares, but tonight was about her. I think Jana reminded me of her.”

Santi was not happy by any means that she was suffering so badly, but he was glad she was opening up to him and could still talk. Overwhelming emotions usually resulted in her not talking, like earlier today, but she was able to speak, tell him what she was feeling.

“You have a lot of nightmares? Fuck, Laci, I’m sorry I didn’t know-”

“I didn’t tell you for a reason. That’s why I’d always sleep on the couch with the TV. You can’t fix this, this is just how I am, I’m sorry”

Santi brushed her short blonde hair away from her face. “It’s okay, Munequita, it’s okay. I’m here for you if you need to talk, or just be held, we can get a nightlight if that helps, or we can get a TV in here too. Or we can sleep on the couch? Any time you want. I want to help if I can but if you and the nightmares are a package deal, I’ll be here for you”

“I know” Laci snuggled up to him, already feeling sleep pull at her. “I know”

**********

Anyway I hope you guys liked it even though it was long! I put off doing my spanish for this so lets hope I can get the practice test done before midnight lol. This took hours to write.

Two chapters left! Next chapter I think will be shorter, Laci/Benny focused, as Santi has a *mission* lol, then chapter 12 is completely fluff/smut wrapping everything up! Then, I start on my Will story <3

Hope that last sex scene was good I've never written 69 before!

That last anon left me feeling really shitty for a while, I hope you guys actually do like this work as it means a lot to me, either way, i love writing it a lot

Would anyone be interested in my thoughts for laci and the boys love languages? What do you guys think is there love languages. I think Santi’s is touch primarily ☠️ comment below! I’d love to hear what you think!!

Finally, I'm looking to write a few winter fics! If y'all have any requests you'd like to see with Santi and the guys, please send them to my ask box! (which I will be widdling down more asks after this week, so if you have an ask in there, dont mind me lol) Ice skating, getting a christmas tree, sleding with the team, sex by a fire place etc, if you'd like to see a leather and lace specific winter short, send away! I know most of you probably know I am converting to Judaism, but! I was raised catholic, don't worry if you'd like to see christmas specific fics. The Millers were at least canonically raised in a semi-christian household, and since no one is canonically jewish, im totally cool writing christmas works, more religious based or just basic christmas.

Love you guys!

@littlenosoul @bensolosbluesaber @milkymoon2483 @gogh-with-the-flow @itspdameronthings @trinkets01 @p0edameronswife @welcometostayingawake @spxctorsslxt @username21mk @lucianadraven32 @sgt-morgan @xaestheticalien @howaboutcastiel

Please reblog to spread, and your comments mean the world!

And I knowwwwww the gif is bad bc blue is bad but my god it’s just so tender and she’s got the short blonde straight her just like laci it was perfect

[titanicnerd-blog]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Timeless (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston Characters: Garcia Flynn, Lucy Preston Additional Tags: Smut, more smut than I usually write, Summer Of Garcy 2023, historical clothing, Longing, Kissing, laughing, there is ice cream too Summary:

Lucy lets her guard down on a mission where she encounters the handsome and irksome Garcia Flynn.

[chiefnooniensingh]

one more chance to say what really mattered

A/N: I’ve been caught in a Timeless spiral this last week, and the amazing Titanic episode of @timeless-season-four plus this (completely canon) add-on by @qqueenofhades has finally inspired me to write. I have to wake up in 4 hours to go to Berlin but fuck it. Enjoy some Garcy post-Unsinkable/pre-Aloha ‘Oe fluff. The title is a quote from The Matrix Revolutions because I’m watching that in the background. Sorry, neighbor.

Rating: M for mature. No smut but a looooot of kissing and some suggestiveness and nakedness.

Summary: It’s freezing worse than Lucy has ever experienced, her clothes are soaked through and stiff with frost, yet the physical cold is nothing compared to the cold fear that strikes her heart when she and Wyatt board the Carpathia and there is no Flynn anywhere in sight. The chaos on deck makes it hard to search, but Garcia Flynn is built like a slightly enthusiastic tree and should be able to stand out like one. The fact that he isn’t…the thought is too horrible to entertain.

on AO3 here

It’s freezing worse than Lucy has ever experienced, her clothes are soaked through and stiff with frost, yet the physical cold is nothing compared to the cold fear that strikes her heart when she and Wyatt board the Carpathia and there is no Flynn anywhere in sight. The chaos on deck makes it hard to search, but Garcia Flynn is built like a slightly enthusiastic tree and should be able to stand out like one. The fact that he isn’t…the thought is too horrible to entertain.

And there’s more people than expected. Lucy remembered only a little over 700 people making it alive to the Carpathia, yet she’s pretty sure the ship is already loaded with more than that. And there are still lifeboats being hauled onto the deck. She has flashes of her and Wyatt warning people, forcing the crew to led third-class passengers board, and under different circumstances she would feel some form of relief. There’s only ice-cold terror. Lucy, I’ll see you soon. I swear. Was Garcia’s last promise to her a lie?

They were prepared. They knew beforehand where and when things would go south. This mission, this one mission, had the highest probability of them making it back alive. And yet, here they are, freezing, soaking wet, and sans a Croatian.

“Lucy…” Wyatt says, reaching for her helplessly, trying to offer her some form of comfort. Soup and dry blankets are shoved at them, Wyatt taking one, Lucy still frozen in place, her eyes scanning the despairing, half-drowned Titanic-survivors. Tears slowly blur her vision as the realization that Garcia probably didn’t make it hits her like a…well, like an iceberg, she supposes.

At that moment, behind her, there is some commotion as a collapsible lifeboat is being hoisted to the top. Another heart-breaking, horrifying view as it reaches the deck and a whole wave of dead and dying people spill onto it. Others, however, are staggering, half-frozen and dazed. Among them…

Lucy’s heart lurches, hardly daring to believe, and she takes a single step. “G-Garcia?” she stammers, her voice weak with cold, pain and emotion.

The figure straightens up, whirls around, and stares straight at her. Lucy lets out a sob of relief, as the whole world falls away and her sole focus becomes him. It’s him, it’s Flynn, miraculously standing right there, alive. Half-frozen, shell-shocked, but very much alive. His mouth falls open slightly as he clocks her and then he’s moving. It looks painful, but he’s moving faster than he has any right to move. She’s crying, and either there’s ice melting on his face, or he is too, and then he reaches her. Grabs her around the waist, lifts her up with a strength neither of them knew he still possessed and kisses her.

Weeks, months, perhaps years of tension and emotion breaks open over them like a tidal wave, culminating in this one single moment of relief, hope, despair, love. They could be anywhere. The Carpathia could blow up around them and they would probably not notice. Lucy wraps her arms around his neck, and lays kiss after kiss on him, barely noticing how soaked and freezing they both are. She wraps one hand into his hair, holding on, making sure, because he’s here and she’s never letting go if she can help it.

Vaguely, she’s aware that he’s moving, shifting his grip on her so he can grab a blanket, which he wraps around her shoulders. She does not stop kissing him, and he lets her, sometimes managing to mumble her name between kisses. Then he’s moving down, through a door, into the slightly warmer, drier interior of the ship. His back hits a wall in a hidden corner and he sinks down with her in his arms. It’s dark, cold, and quiet, and not even a little comfortable, but this is not the time for physical comfort.

They break apart for a moment to look at each other. His dark eyes gleam in the darkness as he takes her in. His hand comes up to stroke her hair, her cheek and finally comes to rest in her neck, like he’s checking her pulse. She, likewise, moves her hands from his hair to his face, all the way down to his chest, where she can feel his heart beating. She lets out a small sob, then moves in to kiss him again. And again.

Vaguely, she hears more bodies hitting the deck above them, more desperate cries and shouted commands. If she had any energy left, she might wonder what Wyatt was doing, but all her remaining energy is focused on Garcia. He’s alive, he’s alive, they’re both alive, miraculously. The chances of making it off the Titanic were astronomical, and somehow, they’d all managed to.

“Lucy…” Garcia mumbles, his hands coming up to frame her face, and that’s how she realizes she’s been staring blindly at him for several moments. “We’re here, Lucy. I’ve got you, I’m here, draga.” She wants to ask what it means, but finds she doesn’t really care at the moment. She moves in again, capturing his mouth in another desperate kiss. She shifts position, placing her knees firmly on either side of his legs, pushing her body forward to get even closer. His arms wrap around her waist, and he pulls her against him. They’re basically one, unable to tell where one ends and the other begins.

The Carpathia finally starts to move, Lucy notices distantly. Relieved and anguished cries fill the early morning air, and she pulls away from Garcia to look at him again. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark some more, and she can see more of his face now. He looks at her in awe and wonder, as if he can’t believe he’s holding her, kissing her. “You-you saved more,” Garcia mutters, moving a hand to touch her cheek again. “You changed history.”

Lucy shakes her head, fingers tangling in his hair. “We did that. We saved more. Those passengers from third-class…that was you, wasn’t it?”

Garcia shrugs one shoulder. “I might have killed a steward and destroyed some White Star Line property.”

Lucy lets out a laugh, because of course he did. Chaos incarnate, always looking to do the right thing in the most dramatic way possible. “I adore you,” she says, breathlessly, before moving back in. Garcia is caught off guard this time, and he lets out a small noise of surprise. But he’s not fazed for long, and reels her back in. The kiss turns hungrier this time, the first desperation of their reunion finally fading and the relief of their survival, their…success, in a morbid way, washing over them. She has no intention nor desire to take this any further than what it is, but the swooping feeling in her stomach is building, and if they don’t stop soon, a slightly more animalistic side might take over. But, as ever with Garcia Flynn, rationality is simply thrown out the window, because this wonderful, frustrating man is holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the universe to him, and she’s not immune to that kind of attention.

In the end, it’s a sharp turn of the ship that jostles them enough, Lucy nearly keeling over at the sudden movement. Garcia holds her tightly, pulling her back, and despite everything, they giggle. It’s a wonderful sound, and slightly weird to hear from the mouth of a man that usually growls or sasses. She settles more comfortably against him, pulling the blanket over them both, and puts her head on his chest. His heart beats strongly, comfortingly, against her ear, and she sighs. Now that they’ve finally settled down, she notices again how cold she is, and she shivers. His arms tighten around her and he rubs her arms to give them some warmth. She closes her eyes, counts his heartbeats, reminding her with every beat that he’s alive. Alive alive alive.

“You checking my pulse, Lucy?” Garcia asks, a slight tease in his voice, even as his hand wraps around her wrist to do the same. Lucy can only nod. “I’m alive, Lucy, I’m here.”

Lucy nods, doesn’t move. “I keep thinking that this is a dream. That I’ve slipped into unconsciousness from the cold. Or maybe never left the Titanic at all and these are just my dying moments.” She shakes her head to clear her mind before the fear takes control of her and sends her into a panicking spiral.

Garcia takes her hand, pulls it up to his mouth and kisses every digit individually, his warm breath washing over her freezing skin, sending pins and needles through each digit. “I know the feeling.”

They sit in silence some more, the hold around them slowly filling up with shivering and frightened people. It feels unreal, having read about the most famous shipwreck in history, having watched the movie, having known about this part of history for most of her life, and she’s living it. “The RMS Carpathia takes three days to get to New York, dodging icebergs for most of the journey. We’ll be slowed down by thunderstorms and fog, so it won’t be a pleasant journey.” She can feel her historian side beginning to kick in, take over, take control. Teaching is good. Teaching is not crippling fear. “I hope you’re not seasick.”

Garcia lets out a breath. “Three days. That’s going to be rough.” Lucy nods, linking her fingers with his. It will be rough, but at least they’ll be together. “Rufus is going to be waiting for us at the harbour, on the 18th.”

At hearing Rufus’s name, she looks up hopefully. “Rufus made it out?”

Garcia glances down, and Lucy can see he’s uncertain. “I told him to go straight to the Lifeboat. He promised he would. I hope to God he made it out.”

Lucy feels the fear creep into her heart, but then thinks of Rufus’s brilliance and resilience, and her she looks Garcia straight in the eyes. “He made it out. There’s no other option.” He nods, pulls her close again, kisses the top of her head.

“Lucy? Flynn! Did you guys die of hypothermia or what?” Lucy and Garcia are startled from their little cocoon when a nearby voice starts calling their names. “Guys!”

“Over here, soldier boy,” Garcia calls, half-sarcastic, half-relieved. Lucy feels a little guilty. She’s pretty sure they’ve been down here for at least 2 hours, and not once have they given a thought to Wyatt. From the shadowy darkness, Wyatt stumbles towards them, relief written clear on his face as he drops to his knees next to them and, to everyone’s surprise, wraps them in his arms. Lucy wraps her own arm around his shoulders, too. She feels Garcia, frozen in shock, slowly move to pat Wyatt on the back. Flynn and Wyatt aren’t usually on the same page, and even less physically affectionate, but they seem to be equal parts relieved and embarrassed to be relieved in this situation.

“Look, I know you needed your alone time, but I’ve been getting really worried. I’m sorry if I interrupted…you know…”

Garcia rolls his eyes and pulls Lucy into his lap so as to make room for Wyatt to sit. “We’re slowly contracting hypothermia after just having survived one of the most horrible disasters in recent history, in the hold of an over-crowded early 20th-century steam ship. But yeah, we were humping like bunnies.” Lucy hits him in the chest at that, and he takes it with a wry chuckle. Even Wyatt manages to chuckle at that.

Wyatt settles in next to them, wrapping himself tightly in his own blanket and produces another he managed to snag. He drapes it over the three of them, and the huddle together for warmth, settling in for the gruelling three days yet to come. Ridiculous, Lucy feels a sense of calm. The three of them are together, and Rufus is waiting for them three days from now, as they’ll arrive. They’re going to be fine.

The three of them stumble off the RMS Carpathia in the early hours of the evening on 18 April 1912. Their clothes are stiff from the cold, still slightly damp, and all of them must look ridiculous. It doesn’t stop a lone figure from barrelling towards them and wrapping the three of them in a bone crushing hug. A huge wave of relief washes over Lucy, and fresh tears threaten to spill over. With one hand tightly holding on to Garcia’s, she wraps her other arm around Rufus’ shoulders. Rufus buries his face in her shoulder, and she feels more than hears his sob. “Thank God, thank God, you guys made it,” he mutters.

Garcia wraps him in a gigantic hug, too, the first time Lucy sees true affection between the pair of them. “I was worried you hadn’t made it to the Lifeboat,” he said, his voice breaking a little.

“How long has it been for you,” Wyatt asks, giving Rufus another hug of his own.

Rufus laughs a little maniacally. “Only a couple of minutes. I went back, had to change clothes, because I was soaked to the skin. Had to wade through waist deep ice water to get to…” He clocks their soaked and dirty clothes, realises they’ve been through worse, and stops talking. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter. I changed clothes and jumped straight here.” He takes a step back, looks at them all with tears in his eyes. “You all look like crap, you know.”

And despite everything they’ve just been through, despite all of them being colder than they’ve ever been in their entire life, they burst into laughter. The euphoria of having the Team back together, of being alive, finally settling in, as Flynn, Lucy and Wyatt realise that they’re safe and going home, to functional plumbing and hot water. They hug again and Lucy lets tears fall, and she’s laughing and crying at the same time, but it doesn’t matter, because they’ve made it and her boys are safe.

“Let’s go home,” Rufus says at last, and he links one arm with Lucy’s and wraps another around Wyatt’s shoulder. Garcia moves naturally to Lucy’s other side and slides his hand into hers. They hold each other tight as Rufus leads them towards the Lifeboat. Garcia helps all of them in before climbing in himself, and Rufus prepares to take off while the other three strap themselves in. From across each other, Lucy and Garcia take each other’s hands again, holding on tight, reluctant to even let go for a second. When Rufus turns around to check if everyone is secure, his eyes land on their hands and he raises an eyebrow. “That’s new…”

“Rufus, can we do this when we’re clean, warm and dry, please?” Garcia interrupts, and Rufus turns back with a nod. Lucy locks eyes with Garcia and gives him a soft smile. He squeezes her hand and at that moment Rufus flips the switch. The Lifeboat rocks and spins and then disappears. They materialize a second later, landing roughly, and with a high whine.

“Yeah, she did not like that. Three jumps without a charge is pushing it. But we made it. Let’s go get you guys warm and dry.”

The door opens and they pile out, dazed, confused, a little seasick. “Showers,” Wyatt grunts, as he hugs them tightly once more and then moves immediately towards the company showers.

“No offense, guys, but I gotta get to Jiya. She’ll be worried sick.” Rufus hugs them once more and then hurries off, leaving Lucy and Garcia alone in the landing bay. She moves closer to him, allowing him to wrap his arm around her waist and pulling her against him. He presses his lips to her forehead, then looks down at her. Lucy asks before she can stop herself.

“Garcia, do you – do you want to come home with me?”

He rears back, stunned, and Lucy has to giggle. They kiss like the world is ending, don’t let go of each other for three full days, and the man is still surprised she might not want to leave his side now. “Lucy,” he says, voice raw with emotion, “Are you – are you sure – ?”

“Yes. Yes.” Lucy is more than sure, and is absolutely done with pretending like she doesn’t want to spend every waking moment with him, like he isn’t the reason she gets up in the morning sometimes. She’s done waiting, and when Lucy Preston sets her mind to something, she usually gets it. “If you don’t want to, of course, then you don’t have to, but – ”

“No,” Flynn says, half to himself and then louder, “No. I want to.” He breaks out into a grin and leans down to kiss her. She kisses him back fiercely, determinedly, and the kiss is full of promise, of possibility.

“Come on then,” she whispers, takes his hand, and leads him to the company garage. He follows eagerly, and they can’t help but stop a few times to make-out like teenagers against several walls. They make it back to her home slightly more dishevelled than they left MCI. And then suddenly he’s nervous, and she has to take him by the hand and lead him up the stairs and into her shower. They undress each other as the water heats up, but there’s not heat behind it. They’re gentle, kind and the warm water nearly causes them to drop to their knees with satisfaction. They help each other wash all the muck and rime off, as they slowly remember what it’s like to not feel cold anymore. Lucy fetches them towels and they dry each other off, without any meaning behind it other than taking care of each other. After they’ve both wrapped themselves in towels, Lucy takes his hand and looks up at him with bright, clear eyes. “Should we – do you want to – ”

Garcia takes her face in his hands and silences her with a heated, searing kiss that sends tingles all the way up her spine. “Yes,” he whispers. With a sly smile, she starts walking backwards, taking his hand once more to lead him towards her bedroom. Garcia follows, gripping her hand tightly. When they enter her bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He pulls her into him, lifting her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist, and closing the door with his foot. He presses her back against it and captures her mouth in another searing kiss. “Lucy…” he whispers, as he moves his hand down to unwrap her towel. She lets him, feels his fingers brush the side of her breast and the top of her thigh. It’s thrilling, and they’ve waited far too long. She allows the towel to fall away, and he takes a sharp breath. They’ve seen each other naked in the shower, but this is different, the air between them is charged and the promise of what’s to come pours out of every kiss.

“Take me to bed, Garcia,” Lucy whispers, as she starts frantically pulling at his own towel. He grins, kisses her hungrily, then turns around to move over to the bed.

“Yes, m’lady.”

[electricbluebutterflies]

2. Oral sex for Garcy?

Look y'all I managed to write vague smut! Usual post-canon-divergence 'verse and also on ao3.

She isn’t used to this yet.

Lucy has had, to put it politely, reliably questionable taste in lovers over the years. She’s never made the same flavor of mistake twice, at least she’s got that going for her, but not having a type means every new partner is a new set of ways she can be disappointed. She’s always waiting for the catch, always waiting for-

With this one, it hasn’t happened yet. Given how they happened to each other, the tangled knots of fate that have brought them to where they are now, she can almost believe it won’t.

They’re making out, a mess of limbs on their bed, her mostly on top because she really is half his size and he’s aware of that in a way that still amazes her most days, and they are only just past the point where all of this is new. It’s the sort of not-going-anywhere-fast entanglement they have time for, in this afterlife she’s still amazed they get, and-

She doesn’t think anyone else she’s ever kissed has felt like home as much as this man does, and that scares her a little. The fact that she lost track of times they almost died well before she decided to go somewhere with their recurrent flirtations, and that’s over now, their war over as far as she knows but what if it isn’t, what if-

“Lucy?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing the thing again.”

The thing, he calls it when she recoils for no reason. They both do it, on occasion and never at the same time, but she does it more. They don’t have the same past, she reminds herself, and his is a better one when hands are reaching under clothes. Hers, on the other hand…

“I’m into this. Promise.”

Flynn gives her that look like she’s not near as good a liar as she thinks she is, but he makes no move to shift their positions or remove the hand on the clasp of her bra. They’ve both been through hell, they can’t get lost in each other without some kind of reminder that they are two deeply fucked up people whose relationship only makes sense because it means they’re not inflicting their respective damages on undeserving innocents out there, they can’t-

“Stay still,” he murmurs after a few moments’ contemplation, and then he does start maneuvering her and oh, there are days she’s appreciative of his physical capabilities. She doesn’t have to do much, she can just lie there and be pleasantly passive, they are so low-effort sometimes it breaks her heart and-

He gets between her legs and she’s thankful for king-sized beds and flexibility, gets his fingertips under the waistband of her leggings and looks up at her with the deepest want. “May I?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

The thing is, Lucy still isn’t used to having a partner who will voluntarily go down on her without some kind of catch. At best, before, she’s accepted this as some kind of apology. But Flynn seems to have been put into this world to challenge everything she thinks she knows, and he does this on occasion out of desire, no obligations in return but no complaints when she’ll return the favor in a few days, no-

He’s thorough. Damn him. The man has never done anything halfway in his life, and it makes him an interesting lover, makes him determined to be good at undoing her. Lucy has never understood the “eating out” euphemism before, but she does now, it’s like her body is a buffet and her lover is determined to enjoy and all she has to do is cooperate. His mouth is on her core and they are just familiar enough with each other that he could be efficient but that wouldn’t be any fun, and his hands are everywhere, and she’s overwhelmed and into it, and-

She’s always been quiet in bed, always too afraid of her own want. He ruins that too. She isn’t annoying, she doesn’t think, but the gasps and whimpers feel safe, she wants, she wants so badly, she wants-

There’s no clear moment she falls apart, but somehow she does, with enough attention and the feeling that there is no point in restraint. She gets this now. She gets all of this now. Maybe for the rest of their lives. A woman can hope.

He stays down there for a bit, and her body refuses to fully shatter again but it’s at least nice feelings, and she doesn’t know that they’ve been this quiet together and both awake in the years they’ve known each other and she’s not sure she likes it, and-

“You can stop,” she says as she accepts that today she is definitely not multi-orgasmic. “Get up here and…”

He does, and it’s nice to be held, nice to feel small and safe and taste herself on his lips. “I’m alright,” he murmurs, even though the feeling of his body against hers says otherwise. “Really.”

“You don’t have to-“

“Unsure means no.”

She’d fight, but oh she is in no mood to be assertive right now, so…

“Alright,” she says between kisses. “This still good?”

“Always.”

[twoshipsnorowboat]

@ununpredictableme HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Here's a little Garcy spice for you to celebrate the occasion:

away from the party (1/1) - Timeless, E for sexual content. Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston. Post-canon. Lucy escapes from a stuffy academic function with her tall, handsome, and, ahem, *attentive* boyfriend.

[thescholarlystrumpet]

Moments Stolen from Time

Rated Explicit

Lucy needed to get out of her own head. She had a feeling Flynn would be happy to help…

CHAP 1  CHAP 2

Chapter 3 - Oh Won’t You Stay

In which some things are still left unsaid.

There was a soft knock at Garcia’s door just before midnight. He knew who it was before he got up to answer. Only one person it could be.

“Hey,” Lucy glanced down at the floor then up at him.

He said nothing, knowing how silence could unnerve her.

She rocked on her heels, smoothing both palms down the front of her flannel PJ pants. “Can I, uh,” she pointed to the interior of his room. “Is this an okay time? To talk?”

Garcia blinked twice in rapid succession. “Mmm, I’m afraid I’ll have to check my social calendar.”

His effort was rewarded by a half smile as Lucy tilted her head to one side. “Social calendar or antisocial calendar?”

He grinned. “Touche.” Standing aside to let her in, he quickly touched his hair to make sure it wasn’t too much of a disaster zone.

Lucy gave a cursory glance around the room before turning to face him as he closed the door. She had scrubbed off the makeup and piled her dark hair atop her head in a messy bun that drew attention to her lovely, graceful neck. Out of habit, he fought back the urge to nuzzle it before remembering that he might not be unwelcome, any longer.

Garcia closed the space between them in a single long stride, cupping her cheek with one hand and bending to capture her lips.

She inhaled against his mouth “Wait.”

Read the rest on AO3

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Rating: E because plot? You expected a plot in here?

Pairing: Flynn/Lucy, pre-Garcyatt, Amy/Jess via text

Summary: After chapter four of this fic, certain people (*cough* @extasiswings​ *cough*) were rightfully upset that Amy had interrupted Flynn and Lucy.

So here’s what might have happened if she hadn’t.

[enbyprentiss]

Risky Buisness

Genre: Smut and some fluff

Pairing: SubSpencer x Dom!Penelope

Warnings: exhibitionism, mommy kink, handjob, slight degradation and bimbofication, some praise, and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: this takes place in that one episode after Reid fucks up his knee and has to stay behind with Garcia, meaning Kevin doesn’t exist. Which is fine, I hate him.

--

Hotch tossed a file in front of Reid, who inspected it before picking it up.

“What’s this?”

“You told me you were clear to travel, you lied.”, Hotch stated simply.

“Naughty boy.”, Emily slyly commented before disappearing from the room. 

“No, I didn’t. I am a doctor so technically it wasn’t a lie.”

“What was it then?”, Penelope mused, appearing in the doorway of the conference room. 

“Um--second opinion?”, it wasn’t really a question but it certainly came off that way. 

“Huh, you’re my bitch now.”, she smirked. 

As if I’m not every day, Spencer thought as Morgan chuckled behind him. He picked up his crutches before following her back to her ‘bat cave’. Was he looking forward to getting to spend extra time with her? Absolutely. What he wasn’t looking forward to was being surrounded by screens all day. He couldn’t fathom how she works the miracles that she does, how she types at an alarmingly fast rate, practically piecing all the last pieces of every case together. 

--

Penelope picked up JJ’s call, delivering details as she ripped one of her many desk toys from Spencer’s hand, which of course, made him pout. She hung up the call, picking up on Spencer’s signature puppy dog eyes. 

“What’s the matter, baby?”, he muttered a small ‘Nothing.’, “Don’t lie to me, Spencer. I know you want to be out in the field, but we have to take care of our boy genius. You’re hurt, remember?”

He nodded, sticking his lip out slightly, “It’s alright, sweetheart. You’ll bounce back before you know it.”, she smiled and placed a kiss on his forehead, making him cheer up a bit. 

Every second that they weren’t delving into file after file of victims and suspects, was spent messing with bright desk toys, sucking on lollipops (though that was mostly Spencer), and exchanging chaste kisses. 

Spencer quickly grew into his role as assistant, even if it included interjecting Penelope’s words on calls. Of course, she loves seeing him do what he does best but that doesn’t stop her from shooting glares at him every once in a while. 

“On it.”, they concluded the call while speaking at the same time. Penelope looked at him in disbelief. 

“What?”, he returned her expression. 

“Don’t you dare get sassy with me, Mister.”, she warned. 

“Sorry, Mo--Penny.”, he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts before gently holding her hands in his, stroking his thumbs gently back and forth. And how could she ever resist her sweet boy? She lifted his hands and covered them in light kisses as he giggled. 

They settled back into a comfortable silence before Penelope stole glace at her boy genius, “Dr. Reid, I know you are not typing like that!”

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

“You are only using your index fingers! That’s what’s slowing you down.”

“It’s not slowing me down!”

“Oh, you poor little anti-tech baby.”, Spencer blushed as Penelope placed her hands over his, guiding his fingers over the keyboard, “See that’s better, try on your own now.”

His tongue poked out slightly between his pluh pink lips in focus, wanting to impress the tech goddess herself, “Like that?”, he asked, shifting slightly to look up at her.

“Yup, just like that. I knew you could do it, you’re so smart, sweet boy. 

Every once in a while, Penny would turn to make sure he kept up with typing correctly, and to her surprise he did. Sure, he’s a quick learner but when it comes to technology he’s mostly stuck to his ways (which secretly drives her insane). 

--

It had been a long two days, but the case was slowly coming to an end. Rossi patched them both in on the call. 

“Hey that kid--the uh, the smart one. I could use a little help.”, the other man on the line spoke. 

Reid turned to Garcia, quietly whispering, “The smart one, that’s me.”

“Reid?”

“Reid here.”, Penelope rolled her eyes at his little smirk.

“Cross word question. 10 letters. Crater creator.”

“10 letters. Crater creator.”, he repeated, his eyebrows crunching together in thought.

“Arctangent.”, Penelope stated simply. 

“Did you get that?”

“Damn, she’s smart.”, with that, he concluded the call. 

“Mmhm.”, she nodded looking at Spencer with a sly smile, “Who’s the smart one now, lover boy?”

He crossed his arms and sulked, “You’re being so mean, Mommy.”

“What, you can’t take it all of a sudden? Because you seem to love it when you’re being such a little slut.”

His face turned a vibrant shade of pink before Penelope cupped his jaw, leaving a heated kiss on his lips. He quickly returned it, parting his lips to give her more access. Slowly, she moved down to his neck, sucking lightly but careful not to leave marks and trailing one of her hands down all the way to the growing bulge in his pants. He whimpered as she palmed over the fabric put pulled away when she went to undo her belt. 

“Mommy!”, he gasped under his breath, “What if someone sees?”, they had kept their relationship under wraps and were planning to keep it that way for a while. 

“So you don’t wanna cum?”

“No!”

“No, you don’t want to cum? Ok, that’s fine.”

“No, I do want to cum! Please?!”

“Come here, then.”, she patted on her lap. He scrambled his way over to her, it was a bit of an awkward fit considering how much longer his legs were than hers, but neither of them minded. She actually undid his belt this time and he lifted his hips up slightly to allow her to pull his slacks and boxers down just enough to expose his cock. As soon as she grazed her fingers across his flushed tip he moaned out shamelessly. He really did try to hold it back, but he couldn’t help it. He always fell apart at the slightest touch from her. She swiped her thumb over his slit to collect the peads of precum, pumping her hand up and down slowly. 

“Mmf! Mommy!”

She hummed against his throat, “For someone who doesn’t want to get caught, you sure are being awfully loud, baby.”, she teased. 

“Can’t help it.”, he whined, “Feels t--too good!”, he yelped as she picked up the pace, just to be a little more wicked. Spencer ducked his head down, burying his face into her cleavage in an attempt to drown out his noises. She moved one of her hands to pull down the hem of her dress to give him more access. And feeling his hot breath, and vibrations of his moans against her skin was enough to have her soaking. 

“God, you’re such a good boy, Spencer.”, he bucked his hips up into her hand at the praise, “Do you want to cum now?”

He nodded frantically against her, “Words please, baby.”

“Yes! Please, please, let me cum!”

“Go ahead, sweetheart.”

“Oh, oh, oh! Mommy!”, he moaned out desperately, coating her hand in thick white ropes. Penelope put her fingers up to her mouth, sucking them clean and giving Spencer another sweet kiss. 

“Thank you, Penny.”, he smiled shyly. 

“You are oh-so very welcome, honey. You’ve been such a good boy these past days, helping me out.”

“Love you.”, he muttered.

“I love you too, Spence.”

[qqueenofhades]

Smut promt 44: “Hmm, is that a threat or a promise?” For garcy?

Only if you’re so inclined!

"You know," Lucy pants, trying (with no success, and truly, not very hard) to extricate herself from her current predicament beneath a large Croatian, who has stretched her out into the tousled sheets of their bed and seems very intent on giving her a proper Christmas present, if you know what he means. "Iris and Amy are going to be here any minute. We don't really have time for -- ungh, Garcia, listen to me -- for this."

"Mmm." Flynn, of course, is not in fact listening to her. "Turn your head a bit. Hmm. Yes, like that."

"No, really," Lucy persists, in the middle of a gasp. "We need to go down and set the table and get everything ready for dinner, so -- "

Flynn swallows her increasingly feeble protests with a long, slow kiss, and Lucy sighs, whimpers, wraps her arms around his neck, and tries to keep one eye on the clock, so they don't get so carried away as to forget to prepare appropriately for Christmas dinner. This is their first one since it all ended, since Valkyrie and the recursion, the last time-traveling mission and the return of their lost ones, and obviously, they're all looking forward to it. They dropped by Rufus and Jiya's place last night for Christmas Eve celebrations and general tomfoolery, with Wyatt, Sarah, Denise, Michelle, Mark, and Olivia, and today is for just the Flynn-Prestons. Or, well. It will be. If they succeed in not getting terribly, terribly distracted, though it might be nice for Flynn to know that he can still provide Iris with a few traumatic childhood memories at this stage in the game. But Lucy has been laboring to actually cook a proper dinner, she doesn't want it burned, and --

Except Garcia Flynn is still kissing her, with those intense, burning, soul-scorching kisses that make her feel like the only person in the universe, and if they hurry, they can get this done before the turkey's ready (or at least before it burns). "C'mere," Lucy pants, squirming around to change her position and pulling at him in a needy little fashion. "If you really insist, then you are going to regret this."

Flynn cocks a dark, categorically sassy eyebrow. "Hmm," he breathes. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

(Of course, they both regret it-but-not-really, and by the time Iris and Amy arrive, carrying wine bottles and presents and stepping inside to hug them both, it's pretty clear what they were doing a few minutes ago. But that's just par for the course when you have family, when you aren't alone anymore, when Flynn's daughter and Lucy's sister are with them around the table, laughing and joking and passing the mashed potatoes, and she would not trade it for anything, anything, in all of time and space.)

[fic prompt list]

[emmathompsonsmartini]

read these lyrics with Garcy in mind and try to tell me it isn’t them

Honey, you look lost

And I've never really been religious

But I heard finding a god

Just might help when someone's starting to feel helpless

I don't know much 'bout Buddhists, Jews, or Christians

But I got something I think you could worship

I'll be your deity, fall to your knees

Oh, honey, pray to me between the sheets, whoa

Get down and start to confess

Come into the church between my legs

I'll be your deity, fall to your knees

Oh, honey, pray to me between the sheets, whoa

Get down and start to confess

Come into the church between my legs, baby

And I'll set you free

Oh, I don't believe in a vengeful god

No, I don't believe in punishing the sinner

Unless punishment's the kind of love you want

'Cause God is love and she just wants you in her

I don't know much 'bout Orthodox traditions

But I got something I think you should worship

I'll be your deity, fall to your knees

Oh, honey, pray to me between the sheets, whoa

Get down and start to confess

Come into the church between my legs

I'll be your deity, fall to your knees

Oh, honey, pray to me between the sheets, whoa

Get down and start to confess

Come into the church between my legs

Baby, praise me

Make me your deity

And I'll set you free

I'll have you singing hallelujah (hallelujah, amen)

(Hallelujah, amen) Oh, hallelujah

(Hallelujah, amen) Hallelujah

(Hallelujah, amen) Hallelujah

Hallelujah

I'll be your deity, fall to your knees

Oh, honey, pray to me between the sheets, whoa

Get down and start to confess

Come into the church between my legs (get down)

I'll be your deity, fall to your knees

Oh, honey, pray to me between the sheets, whoa

Get down and start to confess

Come into the church between my legs

Baby, praise me

Make me your deity

And I'll set you free

[thewindigos]

Here the moodboard for my collection:

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

[electricbluebutterflies]

“we couldn’t find a condom so we’re getting each other off in other ways” + garcy

Usual post-canon-divergent 'verse / look y'all I wrote smut and I don't hate it! Also on ao3.

There are, on occasion, some distinct downsides to living in isolation.

There’s the fact that, when in his own timeline, Flynn’s world is limited to half a dozen people – almost all of whom are excellent housemates, he will point out, but it’s still a damn fishbowl. There’s the fact that, while the current safehouse is spacious and being the only structure for several miles means outdoor time is an option too, being stuck in the same place gets boring at a certain point. And right now in particular, there is a particular set of issues regarding supply runs and things that are awkward to clearly put on a list that someone else, likely someone he is several degrees removed from who he will never meet, will have to interpret and acquire and-

One of these days he’s going to accept that normal penetrative sex with his current partner is just… not going to safely happen until their war is over. Today is not quite that day. Adapting to the circumstances, yes, fine; being calm about it, not so much.

He can’t recall ever being the more practical one in a dynamic before – his late wife, much more predictably his type to the extent that he’s ever consciously had one, was impeccably cautious and set her boundaries very clearly. Lucy, by contrast, is impulsive and self-destructive and he knows her tendencies all too well and someone has to be the more reasonable one and-

It’s hard to make good choices when she’s kissing him like she’s never wanted anything more in the world, but he’s trying.

She pulls away and lays herself out on their bed, this bed he’s not sure was designed to accommodate a human body of his size let alone a smaller one in addition but they’ve made it work since she decided she sleeps better curled up with him and oh there really is no going back from this. If there is a life after, if they both survive, it will involve her and some kind of attempted domesticity somewhere quiet and-

He wants so many things right now, and very few of them are good ideas, and at least he’s capable of making good choices, and-

“We can’t-“

“I wasn’t… let me daydream for five seconds,” she sighs, almost a pout. “Let me forget for five fucking seconds that none of this is normal.”

At least she allows that caution. At least… after what she’s been through, he couldn’t fault her for anything, but she’s been cooperative enough about this one boundary he’s defined, and there are still so many other ways they can take care of each other, and-

“Move down for me,” he says, halfway to an idea.

She does, legs parted, plan understood before he’s even sure about it. She’d been more hesitant the first time he went down on her, a few months ago now – bad history, he suspects, not bad enough that he felt a need to ask about it but clearly past partners hadn’t properly enjoyed her. He… is trying to be less proud and to compare himself less to what he does not know, but he’d like to think he’s at least competent in whatever he does, and he was happily married for over a decade and that’s a more pleasant lingering ghost in this new relationship, and-

He knows what he’s doing, he thinks as he places a kiss right above her slit. If this is the easiest and safest way to have her, so be it.

Lucy is, he is learning, more delicate than she thinks and decidedly not used to attention. She has this tendency to make herself small – again, questions he won’t ask about past lovers because he suspects the answers would wake up something territorially violent in him – and he is trying to bring her out of it but that sort of thing takes time. Years, probably. Decades. The rest of natural lifetimes he’s unsure they’ll get.

They are here now, in this room that was probably never meant for two occupants but they’ve lived peacefully for months, and he is not trying to fix her. Let that be his defense, if some higher power decides to side-eye this shade of his life choices. She is perfect, her sensitive parts warm and soft and begging to be kissed, and what changes he would wish upon her would only be to add to her happiness and take her pain. Perhaps he is the wrong person to give her this, perhaps in a better world she would find her way with someone who doesn’t have such a perfectly complete set of emotional baggage, but…

They are here now, and he adores her, and the goddamn moment they return to civilian life he’s going to thoroughly wreck her in some cheap roadside motel and that too will not quite be what she deserves, and that’s enough future motivation to make both of them behave.

He can’t help but wonder if she’s naturally quiet or if she’s just adapted herself to the circumstances, if she’ll be different as a lover when they are not living like sardines and the walls around them are far too thin. She is perfect caution now – he glances up to see her bite her lip and skip a breath, the only signs that her body feels the right things, that he has done right by her. Another thing to add to the list of future daydreams, he decides. Find out if she can scream. Find out if-

No. He highly doubts that’s who she is. Still a pleasant thought.

She melts down to the floor beside him and takes a few kisses, and she’s wide-eyed and soft like she almost never is and it’s a goddamn tragedy that he can’t move her just slightly and let their bodies rest together and-

“Okay if I just touch you?” she asks, and in her hesitance he has another undirected homicidal thought.

“Please.”

It’s not ideal but it’s enough, her hand almost too light on his cock, they have time they have time they have time and she is using every second she can, the closeness and the kindness of her, he wants to close his eyes and he can’t, he can’t miss a single moment of the way she looks at him, like everything he’s ever been has led up to this, to her, to-

He does not naturally run quiet, and he accidentally bites her lip hard enough to draw blood but at least no one else heard anything.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t mean to,” she repeats like that makes it completely okay.

“If I-“

“For all the things you’ve done, you still apologize too much,” she says, untangling their bodies and wiping her hands on his discarded shirt. “You don’t need to. Not with me. Not anymore.”

He did, he forces himself to remember vividly, basically ruin her life. On multiple occasions. That she still decided to accept his various offerings of atonement, that they have still become something almost functional, is…

“I will never deserve you,” he murmurs.

“I’ve heard that one before, but… you say it nicer.”

There are too many things he’d like to say to that, but instead he moves behind her and kisses the back of her neck. “However many times it takes you to believe it.”

“Might take a while.”

“I can wait.”

[phoenixfeatherquill]

Chaos Theory

AN: I guess I’m writing Timeless fic now.  Sigh.  My take on what may have happened when she spent the night with Flynn.

“You’re attracted to chaos.” 

 Lucy’s eyes narrowed. The vodka burned as she swallowed slowly, enjoying the exquisite pain. A year ago, the drink would’ve made her eyes sting and her throat close, but nowadays…since her sister’s disappearance…since Wyatt’s wife returned from the dead…she was growing accustomed to the pain. 

Flynn watched her, perhaps expecting an angry retort. She did not give him that satisfaction, merely asked, “How do you figure?” 

He opened his mouth to respond and she quickly interjected, “You better not quote from that damn journal.” 

Flynn chuckled. His glass of vodka was still half-full, an unacceptable imbalance. She frowned and leaned over to pour him more. He watched her actions in utter fascination and she avoided staring directly into his eyes. She used to hate those awful, penetrating green eyes. Snake eyes. Hypnotic, intense, disturbing. She already didn’t like that he knew so much about her from the journal, it was even more disconcerting that his unsettling snake eyes seemed to read her expressions just as well. 

“From the beginning,” Flynn’s hands tapped the glass musingly. “Wyatt had only one thing on his mind when he discovered the time machine. His wife. He was desperate to get her back. Would stop at nothing. And who could blame him?” 

It struck Lucy that Flynn and Wyatt had a great deal more in common than Wyatt liked to admit. Flynn, however, seemed perfectly comfortable with their parallels. 

“He told me he wanted to move on,” Lucy murmured, pouring herself another glass. She flinched at Flynn’s snort. 

“You knew there would be no moving on,” Flynn pointed out. “You were attracted to his chaos. The unattainable burden, the longing for something that could never truly be yours. You like the chaos, Lucy. Even when it cuts you down.” 

“I don’t buy it,” Lucy informed him. “I’ve spent my life trying to have control. Why would I be attracted to something I couldn’t control?” 

He took a thoughtful sip of vodka and they sat in silence for a moment. They’d be running low on drinks in a moment. She ought to wander off to the rec room to get more…perhaps she could send Flynn. If she heard Wyatt and Jessica through the walls again, she wasn’t sure how she’d react. 

“Where there is control,” Flynn spoke suddenly. “There is no passion. And you…crave passion, despite all the neat little ordered boxes you’ve placed around you.” 

Lucy didn’t entirely know how to respond to this. She took another gulp of vodka and mulled over his words. 

“Anyway,” Flynn said smoothly, readjusting himself on his chair. “Even if Jessica hadn’t returned—I doubt you and Wyatt would have lasted.” 

Lucy choked. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?” 

“He is too predictable. You would’ve gotten bored.” 

“And who would’ve been better for me?” Alcohol buzzed through her veins and she spoke the forbidden word. “You?” 

The sudden silence was deafening. She could feel the heat in her cheeks but she determinedly stared his snake eyes down, refusing to give an inch. She absolutely hated how she couldn’t read his expression, particularly when he seemed so good at reading hers. 

Flynn took his time to answer. He finished his drink and slowly set his glass down. 

“Hardly,” He said finally. “I would be terrible for you.” 

The tense silence broke and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “You’re the one who said I was attracted to chaos. You’re the most chaotic person I know.” 

He smirked. “I didn’t deny an attraction. I simply said I would be a terrible man to be with.” 

“I never said I was attracted to you!” Lucy found herself at her feet. The room was spinning slightly and she wobbled as she stomped towards her. He half-rose, as though expecting her to fall over herself. 

“I didn’t come here for—whatever you think I came here for. I just came to drink, okay? So knock it off!” 

The amusement in his eyes was infuriating. “Knock what off?” 

“Acting like you know so much!” Lucy resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a child. “I’m not the Lucy in the journal! You have no idea who or what I’m attracted to and you don’t get to pick who I’m with!” 

“I know you’re not,” He said gently. “I apologize for offending you. You’ve had a hard night. I shouldn’t tease.” 

She glanced at his clock. 2:37AM. What was that sitcom that said nothing good happened after 2AM? She couldn’t remember, the vodka was making everything hazy. She knew her night would be patchy and disjointed in the morning, like an unfinished puzzle. The knowledge of this, however, made her feel particularly reckless. 

Lucy took a step—backwards or forwards, she wasn’t particularly sure. But she tripped, naturally, and immediately Flynn was up like a shot, steadying her. He led her to his bed and sat her down carefully. 

“Shall I return you to your room?” He asked and she tried not to look into his snake eyes. Too glittering, too enchanting, she was losing all sense of self… 

“No.” 

The certainty in her voice gave him pause. He seemed a little startled at this turn of events. 

She scooted over a little. “Sit.” 

His eyes flicked over towards the rumpled bedsheets. “Perhaps I should…” 

“Sit,” Lucy commanded. “Two shots left in this bottle.” She waved it tantalizingly. 

Flynn sat gingerly, giving her a wide berth. But she was past the point of caring. She poured him a glass and swigged the remainder. 

 “One more drink,” She told him and pointed at his glass. 

 “And then you’ll go to bed?” 

Lucy nodded. She felt as though she were floating like a ghost, like she was watching herself do vodka shots with the man who shot Lincoln. Amusingly enough, the terrorist seemed both amused and uncomfortable with how the night was turning out. 

Still, he finished off his last drink obediently. Lucy stood up from the bed to take his glass. 

“What are you doing?” Flynn complained. “You said you’d go to bed.” 

“I am,” Lucy said with great dignity. “Clean up first. I will not be accused of trashing your room.” 

She promptly tripped on an empty bottle and fell backwards into Flynn. She expected him to shove her off his lap, but instead, he froze. 

Lucy looked up at him curiously. She caught his gaze and wondered how long he would allow her to remain on his lap. 

“You’re drunk,” He said very softly. “I’ve never seen you drunk.” 

She poked his chin. “I’ve never seen you drunk.” 

“You have. But not yet.” 

Stupid, stupid, time loop. She scowled and poked his chin again. “Do you want me to get off you?” 

He hesitated. Interesting. A wave of recklessness that only vodka could supply swept over Lucy. She traced the outline of his chin and watched with interest as his green eyes darkened a shade. This was the first time she thought she could read his expression. 

“Yes,” Flynn said finally, though he made no move to extricate her from his lap. 

“Took too long to answer. Now I’m comfortable.” 

He exhaled noisily and she smirked. There seemed to be an intense conflict of interests warring across his features and she rather wanted to know how it would play out. 

“Lucy,” Flynn growled. “Do not—do not tempt me.” 

At that, she pulled down his collar and kissed him. 

You’re attracted to chaos. His words rang through her mind as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She had shocked him and it pleased her. He thought he knew everything about her, didn’t he? But he hadn’t seen this coming. 

His lips remained firmly closed. It was a little like kissing a statue. Undeterred, she kissed him again, gently massaging his lower lip with her tongue. This seemed to break whatever resolve he had and he finally gave way, allowing her to explore the taste of him. Smoke and vodka, something sweet…like cinnamon. 

He pulled her closer to him and she moved in harmony, until she was straddling him. His fingers twitched against her back and she threaded her fingers through his dark hair, marveling a little at its softness. She liked the way he growled a bit when she kissed him and she tugged impatiently as his sweater, slipping her hands underneath. 

“No, no, no.” He broke away from her and to her delight he was flushed and his green eyes almost looked black. “No. Go to sleep, Lucy. I’ll take you back to your room.” 

“I don’t want to go back to my room.” The idea of her cold, lonely bunker was intolerable. 

“Fine. You can sleep here.” 

He lifted her up like a child and lay her down gently. Exhaustion was overcoming desire now, and she allowed him to tuck her in and only mumbled a little in displeasure. 

“Go to sleep,” His voice was raspy. 

She sighed impatiently. 

“Not like this, Lucy. Not with you intoxicated. Go to sleep.” 

Lucy wondered if she’d remember this adventure in the morning. It was her last thought before she fell asleep.

[thescholarlystrumpet]

Strumpet’s first Garcy fic - smut, of course ;-)

Moments Stolen from Time Rated Explicit

Lucy needed to get out of her own head. She had a feeling Flynn would be happy to help... 

Thx to @pinchtheprincess for looking this over!

on AO3 HERE

“I just don’t like the way he’s been looking at you, okay?” Wyatt’s voice was low and urgent, leaning in toward her in the bunker’s deserted hallway.

Lucy’s mouth fell open and she immediately clamped it shut before something less than polite could emerge. She exhaled sharply through her nose, hands coming to her hips as she tilted her head up at Wyatt. “And what way is that exactly?”

Wyatt looked pained and a small, vicious part of Lucy took pleasure in having successfully baited him. Another part of her felt petty and ridiculous but the righteous anger she still harbored over Wyatt’s change of heart was just enough to blot that out, for now.

“You know what I mean, Luce.” He extended a hand toward her shoulder then seemed to think better of it, dropping his arm limply to his side. “He’s dangerous.”

At that, all she could do was shake her head, a bitter smile tugging up one corner of her mouth. “At this point, we all are.” Wyatt looked ready to protest but Lucy held both hands out, palms toward him. “Please. Just… just go to bed, Wyatt."

His lips pressed hard together and he moved slightly closer, her hands almost touching his chest. “Lucy…”

“Go.” She spread her hands wider and took a step away from him. Wyatt looked taken aback at the hard edge in her voice and she took a deep breath then deliberately softened it. “Go spend time with your wife. I’m a big girl. I can look after myself in this enclosed, hidden government bunker.” She made a vague gesture around them.

Wyatt conceded her point with a half-hearted laugh, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, okay. Fine. Good night, Lucy.”

Before she could answer in kind, the bathroom door opened and Flynn stepped out with a towel slung around his shoulders. His hair was wet and he wore only a pair of sweatpants sitting low on his hips. He looked between Lucy and Wyatt, taking in the awkward space between them. “Did I miss the fun part?”

Wyatt’s jaw clenched, the line of his shoulders going rigid again. “Good night, Lucy,” he repeated, barely acknowledging the other man’s presence.

Flynn’s eyes narrowed at Wyatt but he said nothing. He leaned against the door frame, overly casual, and addressed Lucy. “Seems early for bed, doesn’t it? I still have that bottle of Glenlivet to open.” He grinned at her, “And I do hate to drink alone.”

Lucy fought the urge to let her gaze travel past Flynn’s face as she licked suddenly dry lips. The invitation was being made more for Wyatt’s sake than her own but it was still tempting. She’d been in Flynn’s room more nights than she’d been in her own in the last few weeks. She didn’t sleep there and they’d never so much as kissed but she was perfectly aware he wanted her. Wyatt was, in fact, rather late to the party in seeing it.

At first she’d ignored it; the lingering heated looks, the way Flynn would make little excuses to touch her - always in politely acceptable ways. He’d place a hand at her back to guide her into a room, offer her his arm on trips when she was disguised as his wife. When she didn’t push him away, he got bolder.

Lucy, bereft of all connection, still grieving the loss of Wyatt (while having to share a tiny space with him and the woman she'd lost him to) found she welcomed the attention. The distraction. She knew she ought to be ashamed of it, the way she leaned into him when he dared to put an arm around her at a play in Edwardian England. Or the way they’d danced closer than necessary at a nightclub in 1940’s Beirut. Sure it felt good being touched by an attractive man, how he sometimes sent a cascade of shivers all the way down her spine with the simplest gesture. He’d stroked a single finger down her neck while complimenting her updo on their last trip and she'd spent the rest of the evening just slightly flushed.

She hadn't been able to decide if she was sending him the wrong signals or exactly the right ones…

Wyatt cleared his throat, breaking her reverie and Lucy realized she had, after all, been unabashedly staring at Flynn’s torso, well shaped and still damp from his shower. Flynn looked highly amused and Wyatt was clearly furious.

Great. Just how she’d wanted her night to go.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Both of you just grow up.” She turned to walk away and heard Wyatt do the same, his heavy footfalls echoing in the hall.

Later, perched on her cot in PJs, she heard a knock at her door. Sighing, she crossed to crack it open.

Flynn. Eyes downcast, holding the aforementioned bottle in front of him. “I… came to make peace.”

She nodded to the bottle. “Is that an offering?”

His mouth flicked up at the corners. “If you’re willing to share?”

Lucy bit the inside of her lip, contemplating the tall man outside her door. He looked back at her, his expression guileless and searching, hooded eyes that hinted at the deeper sadness he always carried. He looked… lonely. It could be an act. But did she even really care?

It was late and she was lonely, too.

She opened her door.

***

An hour later, Lucy was starting to feel pleasantly fuzzy. The previous events of the evening had faded to the back of her mind and Flynn was entertaining her with impressions of his very superstitious grandmother. They sat side by side on her cot, passing the bottle generously between them.

“I’m serious! The house was filthy until after New Years. And guess who was tasked with cleaning it up?”

Lucy laughed. “Hmm, I’d guess a certain young man who was… what was it?” She affected an Eastern European accent, recalling a previous anecdote he'd shared, “Strong as an ox but twice as stubborn as a bull?” She knocked her knee playfully into his.

Flynn’s face split with a glowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You do have a good memory. Of course, I knew that already.” He reached over and twirled a lock of her hair between two fingers, brushing the end of it against her nose. “Brilliant.”

It was such a familiar gesture, so unexpectedly intimate that Lucy froze, her eyes locked on his. Her lips parted but she realized she had no idea what to say. So she said nothing.    

Flynn’s smile faded as he released her hair, looking away into an empty corner of her room. Leaning both elbows on his knees and interlacing his fingers between them, he swallowed audibly.

Just like that, the levity had somehow faded, leached away by all the unspoken things between them.

Lucy thought about why she kept spending time with this man. He was dangerous - Wyatt wasn’t wrong about that. She’d seen Flynn kill, needlessly waste life and recklessly mar the history she so adored.

And some future version of herself had helped him do it.

Five years from now, if he was being truthful, she’d be his accomplice. What were they to one another, then? What were they now?

Lucy screwed her eyes shut, pressing her hand to her spinning head. Too much to think about. It was all too much. Everything she’d seen and done and been. The things she was yet to do. The woman she’d become. She didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not yet.

She didn’t want to think at all.

Taking a deep breath to steady the sudden quaking in her chest, she slid closer to Flynn, their outer thighs pressing together. She placed a hand on his leg, mid thigh, and felt the muscle tense under her palm. His head turned toward her, a question in his dark eyes.

She answered it with a kiss.

He responded immediately, one hand cupping her cheek and the other reaching across to shape her waist and pull her bodily closer. She let him set the pace at first, opening up to him as he sipped from her lips, warm and slow. But it was just too gentle, too tender. Too reminiscent of all the things she was trying to forget.

She nipped at his bottom lip, burying one hand in his hair and giving it a tug. Flynn made a low, feral sound at the back of his throat and deepened the kiss. Lucy tilted her head, their tongues sliding together as his hand at her waist slid to her hip, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. And oh yes, this was good. This was what she wanted from him.

She rewarded him by scratching her nails against his scalp and he groaned his approval, his hand now roaming the length of her body as the other twisted into her hair, keeping her close. He pulled her head back and trailed biting kisses down her throat. Lucy gasped and clawed at his shoulder, her body nearly sideways on the cot in an attempt to get even closer. When he found her mouth again, this time she took the lead, exploring him thoroughly, chasing the smoky taste of scotch through their mingled breath.

Lucy broke the kiss reluctantly, her neck starting to ache from the awkward angle. Flynn made a noise of disappointment, searching her face as she rose from the cot. They were both breathless and no doubt she looked about as wrecked as he did. His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, his hands clutching the rumpled blankets on either side of his lap. His arousal was evident through the sweatpants and Lucy felt an answering pulse at her core.

“Is this… are you… alright?” he managed at last, watching her carefully.

She nodded. “Yeah, great actually.”

He grinned. “Good.” He extended a hand toward her,making a beckoning gesture with two fingers.

Lucy stepped closer, straddling his knees, her hands coming to his shoulders. “Just…” He met her gaze steadily, his hands framing her hips. She licked her lips and continued. “You know I’m trusting you, right?"

A somber nod. “I do.”

“Okay, then.”

And with that she was in his lap, his hardness throbbing against her center, sending delicious sparks through her body as she ground against him with abandon. Their mouths met messily, raw need overcoming finesse. His hands found her ass, squeezing and kneading as their lower bodies rocked together, the cot beneath them squeaking in protest at nearly every movement.

Flynn’s mouth traveled to her neck again, planting hot, open mouthed kisses, licking and sucking at her pulse point and seeking out all those little sensitive spots with eager determination. Lucy writhed in his lap, clutching his forearms and gasping as he discovered one secret after another. Her mind was blissfully blank, nothing but Flynn’s mouth and hands and the building heat between them.

Without warning, he scooped her up and rose from the cot, swallowing her yelp of surprise as it escaped her lips. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his hips.

“What are you doing?”

“That little cot can’t handle the things I want to do to you,” he rumbled in her ear.

Shivers of anticipation licked up the length of her spine as he set her on the desk in the opposite corner of the small room. Once she was seated, Flynn leaned away just enough to pull his shirt over his head. This time, Lucy made no pretense over drinking him in, tracing the hard lines and planes of his body first with her eyes and then her fingers. She could feel his quick shallow breaths, the way his stomach trembled as her hands ventured lower. When she met his eyes again, at last, the fire there could have consumed her in an instant.

His mouth crashed down on hers, his hands sliding under the tank top she wore, thumbs just brushing the undersides of her breasts. He tugged lightly at the fabric. Asking permission, she realized a moment later.

“Yes,” she breathed against his lips and they pulled apart again long enough for him to strip her of the unnecessary garment. She was braless beneath it and his hands were big enough that each of her breasts fit perfectly into his palms. He cupped them as he kissed her again, first her mouth then the hollow of her throat, bending to tease one nipple and then the other with his tongue and teeth. Lucy leaned back on her hands, back arching to present herself to him. Flynn sunk to his knees between her legs as his hands continued to play at her breasts. He flicked his tongue against her bellybutton, nipping at the skin just below it. Lucy squirmed and panted her encouragement.

Flynn smoothed one hand up her thigh and pressed his thumb against her center, rubbing her through her pajama pants and panties. Lucy’s head lolled back as her hips shunted toward him, her lips half forming his name in a desperate plea for more. More pressure, more skin, just more, more, more.

With a chuckle, he plucked at the waistband of her pajama pants and she lifted her hips as he helped her shimmy out of them, her underwear going with them. Before she could even register that she was completely bare before him, Flynn was propping her legs over his shoulders, kissing and biting his way up the inside of one thigh. She placed one hand behind her to brace herself as she rolled her hips toward him, the other hand stroking his hair. He glanced up at her, his expression hungry. She nodded again though she wasn’t sure why he was even asking at this point. That seemed to be all the answer he needed, though, because the next thing she knew was his tongue between her folds, lapping and sucking, eating her voraciously as she struggled to bite back her moans.

She rode his face to climax, clutching his hair for dear life. As she came down from the shuddering aftershocks, he pet her gently with two fingers, tracing her entrance, teasing with little additional flicks of his tongue until she pushed him away.

He rested his head against her thigh, grinning like the cat who caught the canary, his face still shiny with her juices. “Still alright?”

Lucy blinked down at him and thought about how that was possibly the most unanswerable question she’d ever been asked. And then she began to laugh. Because just in this moment, in a post orgasmic glow, in the dark with the deadliest man she’d ever known, she felt oddly free. Untouchable. She’d crossed a line and there was no going back. It was a deal with some kind of devil, she was sure, but at least now she knew just how good a fall from grace could feel.

Amidst her giddy realization, Flynn rose to his feet, wiping his mouth on his forearm, and raising a quizzical eyebrow at her. She reached for him wordlessly, pulling him close to rest her head against his chest, his heartbeat racing in her ear as her manic bout of amusement fizzled out. Flynn wrapped both arms around her, stroking her hair with that uncomfortable kind of tenderness that she wished he wouldn’t show. She needed him to be different. She needed him to be dark and twisted and complex and unknowable. Otherwise the world would stop making sense and there was a chance that what they just did - what they were about to do - would have much more meaning than she was ready for.

She pushed his arms away and reached toward his sweatpants, his hardness tenting the fabric, a damp stain having formed at the tip.  

He caught her hands. “We, ah, we don’t have to do anything else tonight.” A soft smile. “There’s no rush.”

Lucy shook her head. “No time like the present, though, right?” She giggled again at her own half pun.

Flynn looked troubled. “I don’t… There shouldn’t be any regrets about tonight.”

“Do you have any?”

“No,” he answered instantly, almost before the words had left her mouth.

She palmed him through his pants, tracing his length and feeling her excitement return full force. He pulsed against her hand, hot and thick and so very hard.

“Good.”

She pushed his sweatpants to the floor and wrapped her hand around him. Flynn closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath as she began to stroke, gathering moisture from the tip to ease her way. His eyes opened again and he brought one hand to her cheek, fingers grazing her jawline as his thumb brushed against her lips. She parted them to flick her tongue against his thumb and he pressed it into her mouth. She suckled the digit as her hand increased its pace.

Flynn groaned and removed his hand from her mouth, kissing her hard as he leaned her back onto the desk. It was cold on her bare back but Flynn was burning up against her, warming her quickly as he replaced her hand on his cock with his own. Aligning himself with her entrance, he slowly pushed in. Lucy clawed at his back, her legs lifting to take him further, deeper inside her, until he was fully seated. He swore quietly in what she assumed was Croatian and pressed his forehead against hers.

She tilted her head to catch his mouth, rolling her hips into his and he took the hint, pulling halfway out of her to slam home again. It was her turn to swear and he nibbled her neck as his hips began to move in earnest. Lucy met him thrust for thrust, panting against his shoulder and feeling herself spiral up up up. He snaked a hand between them to rub at her sensitive little nub and Lucy dug her heels into his lower back. She was so close and he felt so good and if she could just live in this mindless moment, animal and raw in all the ways she'd never been allowed.... maybe she would be a different Lucy, the one who could take on time itself....  Flynn's teeth sunk into her neck and that was it, she was gone. She was breaking apart, the world dropping away to nothing but the white hot pleasure uncoiling inside her. Flynn pistoned his hips, muttering in at least two different languages as he planted reckless kisses anywhere his mouth could find skin. It was almost too much, her legs were shaking and her heart was ready to burst in her chest when she felt him go rigid, her name a breathless whisper on his lips.

They stayed there for a minute, both regaining their breath, before Flynn pushed himself up, slipping out of her. He helped her down from the table and made to pull her into his arms again but Lucy dodged away, grabbing her clothes from the floor. Her cheeks hot with sudden, unexpected shame.

“I should, um. You know, I should get some sleep.” She pulled her top over her head and ducked to pull on her bottoms, purposely avoiding his eyes. She needed him gone now. So tonight could just be what it was and not anything else. Not a beginning or an ending. Just a moment in time where she felt something different. Something new and terrifying and bold. She couldn't live in that place, be that woman. Not yet. Not now.  

Flynn ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Right.” he stared at her briefly, expression unreadable. “Right,” he repeated and began to pull on his own clothes.

Feeling more awkward than she could remember, Lucy lingered by the door until he made his way over. He hesitated before dropping a light kiss to her forehead. Then he was turning to the door.

“Wait!”

He turned back quickly. “Yes?”

“The Glenlivet. There’s still plenty left.” She inclined her head to the forgotten bottle on the floor by her cot.

Flynn’s face fell and Lucy felt it like a blow to the gut. He recovered quickly, shrugging one shoulder. “Keep it. I’m sure I can get more on another trip.”

Lucy shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wrapping her arms around herself.  “That doesn’t seem fair. I know how much that must have cost.”

A roguish smile that didn't meet his eyes, something of the old Flynn - back when she thought he was just the bad guy. “I didn’t pay for it.”

“Oh.” She should have known that. Just as she should have known how seriously he'd take her dismissal. How quickly he'd retreat. “Well, either way…” she considered her next words carefully. “Perhaps you’d like to… come back and finish it with me. Sometime?” She met his gaze at last.

He blinked at her, something shifting below the surface as his mouth pursed. “Hmm. I could be persuaded.”

She closed the distance between them and pushed onto her tiptoes to kiss him, just a quick peck goodnight, her own little peace offering. “Until next time.”

His mouth quirked upward and Lucy felt her own mouth curve in reply. In the next breath, he took her by surprise, wrapping one long arm around her waist and bending her slightly backward as he kissed her soundly. “Until next time,” he murmured, righting her back onto her feet.

And then he was gone.

Lucy slumped against the wall, feeling depleted. The effects of the liquor were gone but the effects of Garcia Flynn …. Those might linger for some time. His scent was on her skin and she could still taste him, feel how he’d moved inside her. It had been good. Really fucking good.

Some part of her had wanted him to stay, Spend the night curled around her on that cot. The better part of her knew it would have been too much - would have made a statement. A promise she didn't know how to keep. That was why he had to leave. But she couldn’t stay cold, couldn’t just turn it off the way she wanted. So there was the suggestion of next time.  Just short of a promise and definitely not a lie. Next time  was just nebulous enough.

It didn’t have to mean anything. It wasn’t the beginning of something.

It just wasn’t an ending either.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

If you're still taking prompts from that AMAZING list, could I ask for 21 and/or 40 for Garcy?

It was a hard decision to make, but I ended up going with 40: “In the night, to be feral is to be a possibility./Even when outlined in lace.”

This isn’t usually how it goes.

Usually they stumble into the room, clothes flying, high on adrenaline or angry and needing to do something about it or desperate after nearly losing each other. Or else it’s stolen moments in the shower, his mouth at her breasts with her back to the wall, her legs locked around him. Sometimes, rarely, if they wake up early enough, it’s kisses between her thighs to go with her coffee, his teeth around her neck as she strokes him until he spills, trying to start the day out right.

Tonight, though, she wakes in the dark.

His body is a mass beneath hers, a giant, unexplored territory. It could be the surface of the moon, for all that she knows of it in this hushed darkness.

Lucy reaches out, her fingertips exploring. The slope of a shoulder, the width of a chest, the puckered skin of a scar.

Flynn’s hand seizes her wrist, and she freezes. Waits.

She can’t see in this darkness, but she knows when his eyes are on her. She moves forward, feels a cold, snapping hunger, more wolf than woman in these two suspended seconds, and her mouth finds his fingers, her teeth seizing his knuckles, the pads of her fingers pressing against the pulse of his inner wrist.

He rolls her over, rucks up the lace of her nightgown, and she wraps her leg around him, sinks her claws into the meat of his back. He is huge in the darkness, a looming monster, unyielding and unbound, except for in her hands. She finds the soft places and digs in just as he does with hers, his teeth and fingers clasping her, holding her in place like caught prey.

It’s nothing but breath, no words, gasps and choked snarls like predators in the night, and she feels less than human, more than human, she thinks she can taste blood on her tongue. She kisses him with spit-slick lips, opens her mouth wide and lets him inside, until her jaw is aching and she feels plundered, his stubble rubbing her raw.

He isn’t gentle. She doesn’t want him to be.

He’s entering her and it could be called claiming except he’s the one shuddering and she feels triumphant, like she should be spread out on top of a red, red cloak, like there should be nothing but wild woods all around them. She tugs on his hair and makes a tiger of him with stripes down his back, makes a mount of him just as he makes a sweet meal of her, and there are legends that say women ran with wolves and she is sprinting.

Perhaps she woke up from a dream of lovemaking, or perhaps it’s something more, but she already feels halfway there by the time they kiss, and by the time he’s moving inside of her deep and harsh like the ocean in winter, she’s right on the edge. He bites her, right where her pulse flutters, and only the moon hears her howl.

All riders have reins and her hands are in his hair--one sharp tug, and she can feel the heat of him like a covenant.

He rolls to the side and she follows, keeps them entangled, nips at his throat, wolves at play.

The next kiss is messy, loud, playful, the kind that goes on and on and on until she can’t even move anymore.

The world is dark, and endless, and empty, and full. There exists nothing but the two of them. Their legs are entangled, his hand at her hip, large enough to hold a kingdom, his forehead against hers, an age of possibilities in the empty space between her chest and his.

She falls asleep with her lips to his jaw, her teeth temporarily sheathed.

[desperate-entwives]

Because I can't help myself... Smut Prompts: "I didn't know you were so sensitive. "

Sorry it took me so long to get to this! I posted my short fic for this prompt on ao3 just now. (@fandom please don’t read or reblog this if you’re under 18! It just makes me very uncomfortable! Thanks!)