lilith-safarina

Latest Posts by lilith-safarina

⇝ midnight .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART ONE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: Simon makes the mistake of spending the night before one of the longest missions of his career in the arms of a woman he met at a pub, unaware of the consequences it would have on his life moving forward.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!) NSFW [ Oral (F receiving), Degradation, Praising, size difference/kink, dacryphilia, dumbification, slight bondage, frottage, unprotected P in V, overstimulation, various orgasms, creampie.], Angst, Pregnancy, mentions of abortion, kind of OOC Simon? He’s just soft when he’s not Ghost, Canon typical violence.

A/N: My first COD fic! It also happens to be the longest piece of writing I've ever done 😵! This is the first part of a series I've been planning on writing for a while, so I'll hopefully get the second part out soon! Please don't forget to reblog/comment if you enjoy the fic, it helps a lot!!! Thanks for all the support!! <3

WORD COUNT: 10.1k.

MASTERLIST.

Also on Ao3!

Going out wasn't one of Ghost's favourite things to do.

Even after getting back to his tiny flat in Manchester following a horribly long mission and shedding his mask, going back to the burly man his neighbours knew as Simon, some random guy who had moved in a few years ago and seldom stepped outside except for the random smoking session some of them would see him having on his balcony; he didn't enjoy going out.

So when he finally was able to relax onto his shitty leather sofa and catch up with some of the footy games he had missed while away, all he wanted more than anything was a good whiskey in his favourite (cleanest) glass.

And almost like a cartoon character staring at their empty wallet, Simon stared ahead at his liquor cabinet, jaw clenched as he spied at the remaining drops of alcohol that were left in the bottle, remembering the mental note he had made before leaving his flat the last time to get himself the alcohol he had chugged down during one of his depressive episodes.

So, in a fit of anger, he shoved on whatever clean clothes he could find in his duffle bag, skull balaclava pulled over his messy hair, and stomped down the stairs to the nearest Tesco…

…only to find it closed.

And fuck him if he was going to walk the extra hour to the nearest Morrison's just to get some shitty whiskey bottle to drown his sorrows in. At this point, he'd just go and sit in a corner of a pub, nursing what he would hope would be an acceptable liquor.

He was absolutely pissed by the time he made it into the homey bar, the universe having decided to make it it's personal mission to fuck him up today and making the worst storm possible start to rain upon Manchester.

Oh, and of course, the pub's tables were all full of teenagers (who definitely had fake IDs, no way they were all 18), and some old geezers who were shouting at the football game on TV (great, Manchester was loosing, another thing to worsen his night), leaving the only available seat one in the middle of the bar next to some woman chatting amicably to the waiter, who seemed a bit more interested in her cleavage than in what she had to say.

He slipped into the seat silently, his clear eyes death-staring into the bartender's, immediately scaring him shitless ("Yer about ta kill me with that look, Lt." Johnny had once joked about his murderous gaze, and to be fair, Simon /was/ slightly hoping the scot would combust and die right there.), no doubt believing that he was with the woman and was about to punch his teeth in for staring longer than he should have.

As he scurried off into the back, you turned to him, taken aback at first as you made eye contact with the towering, wet, balaclava-clad man who was staring back at you, but you were brave enough to smile kindly at him, going back to running your finger over the rim of your drink, which Simon noticed was still and hardly drank out of, despite the lipstick smudges around the top. You'd been here a while, and by the way your leg was nervously jumping up and down as time passed by, he could only assume you'd been stood up.

Now, Simon wasn't dumb, far from it; and Simon was smart enough to recognize when someone was attractive, and he was pretty sure that the woman in front of him was drop-dead gorgeous despite the sad look that adorned your features. So, if he was correct, he couldn't even begin to fathom how someone could even start to think of standing up a woman like you, especially after inviting her to this shitty pub, where the food had definitely given him food poisoning before.

He hadn't realised how deep in thought he must have been while staring at your glass until a soft hand rested against his bicep, eyes instantly flashing back towards yours, instincts haywire from having been pulled out from his thoughts so suddenly.

"Sorry!" You immediately retracted your hand from his arm, smiling apologetically up at him before turning your gaze back to the golden liquid. "I asked if you were okay. I can't imagine walking around in a storm with just that on." You gestured towards his shirt, allowing Simon to look down and stare at the tight T-shirt he had chosen to wear, a few dirt stains decorating it in the worst way possible, having dressed for the occasion that was a 10pm trip to Tesco and not meeting up with a pretty woman at a pub.

"Wasn't planning on walking 'round." He grumbled out, his voice deeper than what you had expected, the thick accent and scratchy sound of it making shivers run down your spine and heat pool into your stomach, becoming horrified with yourself that you allowed such a minimal thing like a masked man's voice get you all hot and flustered like this.

"'Nd you? Doesn't seem like you're dressed for a night out at the Crown's." His eyes moved towards your dress, surprised with himself that he had actively been the one to continue the conversation; his thick hand reaching over to grab his drink from the bartender's hand (which he must have ordered during the haze he had been in before.) as he awaited your answer.

"Oh." He watched you smooth down your hair out from the corner of his eye, your hands shaky as they found comfort around the fancy glass of your whiskey. Or was it bourbon? Maybe rum? You seemed like the type of woman to appreciate a good glass of liquor. "Yeah, 'm waiting for someone."

He watched your eyes dart over to the clock hanging on the wall opposite you both, the little hand nearing the number 11.

"Could've taken you somewhere nicer." He commented, taking a jab at both the pub and your missing date, the small breathless chuckle that left your lips catching his attention.

"Yeah. Not like I expected a reservation at the Ritz, but somewhere that doesn't look like my grandad's favourite pub would be nice." You joked over the sound of some of the old men cheering in the background over some team scoring a goal, and while Simon would've normally turned around to make sure it had been Manchester, he was too focused on the mesmerising way your eyes looked in the dim light, your eyelashes fluttering innocently as you continued what had started as small talk, that evolved into friendly conversation and him buying you another drink, and that ended with him waiting for you outside the bathrooms, holding onto your tiny umbrella.

Simon wasn't one to frequent in hook-ups, but how enticing you had been when talking to him, the way your body looked in that dress and how you'd brushed your soft hand against his bicep (this time with another intent other than to snap him out of his stupor), had left him wanting, nay, craving more from you.

So when you looked out the window behind him before gesturing to the small umbrella hanging from your bag and asked if he wanted to take you home, he would have been demented to deny you.

His screen's brightness lit up his face as he scrolled over the scarce messages he had received across the almost 10 years he had had this crappy phone, about to delete Soap's number before you came out, a smile on your face and makeup freshly applied.

"Some girls helped me with my makeup in there." You commented happily, fingertips brushing over the blush that had been applied to the apples of your cheeks, which made you somehow look even more enticing than before. "I didn't have time to look in the mirror, but I hope it looks okay."

"Looks nice on you." He let out after processing your new look, his chest tightening as your smile somehow widened and your eyes brightened, having learned across the few hours you had spent together that Simon wasn't really one to show his emotions towards anyone, so a short compliment like that was a big step.

"You think?" You didn't wait for an answer, your hand finding his and starting to lead him out of the shadowy corner he had taken refuge in while your time in the bathroom, letting him push open the exit door so he could open up the umbrella, not caring about the raindrops falling onto him and darkening his clothes, the rain getting caught onto his eyelashes like morning dew on a spiders web, the beautiful orbs drawing you in like a butterfly happily flying into a spider's nest.

The umbrella was open and poised on top of you before you could even step out of the pub, Simon doing his best so you wouldn't be touched by the rain, aware of how uncomfortable some people got when it came to water running down your back or touching your face (especially when you looked so so pretty with your make-up.). Along with his massive frame walking next to you, you were pretty sure there was no way a single drop of water would touch your skin the whole way back home.

Which ended up being almost silent, you leading the way and commenting on random stores or things you passed, brightening up every time you got a chuckle out of him and melting whenever his hand would wrap around your waist as you passed some creepy man or a suspicious-looking group of teens, pulling you into his side so no one would even think of messing with you.

You were highly aware of how dangerous it was in hindsight to take some random man home (whose face you hadn't even seen yet!), but Simon made you feel safe, special, in some weird way… like as long as you were in his vicinity, nothing could happen to you, nothing could harm you. And you wanted to cling onto that feeling, onto the feeling of protection and warmth that Simon extruded.

So you didn't think twice about it, even as you slipped the key into the front door to your apartment complex and stood next to him the whole elevator ride up to your floor, his hand curled around yours with his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, the soft action enough to make heat pool into your tummy and your panties, getting worked up over casual affection from the breathtaking man.

"Y'sure about this, lovie?" His raspy voice made you fumble with your keys as he came up behind you, watching you struggle to unlock your flat as his breath hit your ear. "Tell me to leave and I will. Last chance."

Your breathing grew shaky as his own warmed your cheek, the way he worded it making it seem like the act you were both about to perform was something akin to letting a beast free, and even if it was, as long as Simon was the one to do it, you would have let him do anything.

"Yes." You managed to get out as your door finally opened, not even getting the time to take a step in before his hands were all over you, pushing you into the apartment and slamming the door closed behind him with his foot, his balaclava somehow being pulled up to his nose, high enough so you could gaze upon his soft pink lips and the blond stubble that adorned his chin and slightly crooked nose, aware that you would have spent hours tracing his features with your eyes, engraving them to memory, but he took away any thoughts away from you as he slotted his lips with yours.

You learned immediately that Simon's kisses were desperate, sloppy, needy. The way his hands gripped at your hips and his teeth nibbled onto your bottom lip, tongue running over yours as he trailed his palms down your thighs onto your feet, wrenching off your heels and ripping apart your tights, ignoring the angered whine that left your lips.

"Easier access, lovie." He murmured against your lips, finally pulling back with a sleazy grin on his lips, a string of spit connecting you both before breaking, allowing you a bit of time to catch your breath while he took in your living room, staring at the doors. "Bedroom?"

"Th- That one-" You hazardly pointed towards one of the doors behind you, squealing out loud as he grabbed you effortlessly and started to carry you towards your room, thighs pressed to his sides and ankles crossed behind his back, making sure to cling onto him so he wouldn't randomly drop you (Although by the way his muscles barely tensed when he had picked you up, and how easily he seemed to navigate around while carrying you made you think that there was no way he'd let you fall.)

Your back finally hit your familiar soft mattress, hands clenching onto your silk sheets as he watched you like a hawk, hands resting on the space of your thighs near your now-dripping cunt, thumbs rubbing into the soft pudge.

"Fuck… Just look t'you." He rumbled out, your cheeks growing warm as he continued to stare without moving, enjoying the way you started to squirm beneath his touch. "Calm, lovie, jus' taking my time wiv' you."

You mewled out at the deep tone his voice took, thighs threatening to close as one of his hands made his way towards your clothed cunt, which had been made accessible thanks to your now-ripped tights that had been left behind in the living room.

Simon forced your thighs back open with a grunt, glassy eyes darkening as he watched your own hands come up to cover your face out of embarrassment, letting himself soak in it for a moment before finally starting to act.

"Lean up f'me." You obeyed immediately, trembling under his touch as he slowly pulled your dress off, letting it pool onto the floor along with his shirt, which he had quickly gotten rid of as soon as you were in your lingerie. His eyes roamed the lace for a moment before letting out a dry chuckle, looking up at you to find you ogling at his scarred chest, almost drooling at the sight of his well built pecs and stomach. "Tryin' to get lucky tonight?" He spoke, fingers snapping your bra strap, thinking back to why you were originally at that pub in the first place.

"Shut up." You grumbled, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him up the bed so you could continue kissing him, having been left craving more ever since that breathtaking one in the foyer.

He didn't complain, quickly indulging you as he slotted his lips with yours once again, his kiss as sloppy as needy as before, openly moaning against them as your hands run under his balaclava to pull at the short strands of his coarse hair, his own hands wrapping your thighs around his waist so your clothed pussy could grind against the hard material of his trousers over his hardened cock, rejoicing in the way your moans and whines sounded as he drank them up.

"S'needy." He chastised softly as he pulled away, moving you both towards the top of the bed so you could rest your head on your pillows, catching your breath while he started slipping off his belt and trousers (the belt being placed on the bed, just in case), and letting you gaze upon the tent in his boxers, shivering at the monstrous sight of his cock, trying to imagine how in the living fuck would he fit inside you if he couldn't even fit properly in his boxers, pulling out a moan from your lipstick smudged lips at the simple thought of being fucked by such a tool.

"Like it?" He chuckled, slowly starting to lean down with his hands on your thighs, pulling one of them over his shoulder so he was face to face with your covered cunt, his breath warm as it hit your clit, making you whine. "Gunna let me have a taste?"

"Y-Yes, god, yes, Simon, please-" You breathed out all at once, desperate for his touch after the slow teasing, watching what was visible of his face scrunch up in mock laughter as he revelled in your whines.

"As you wish, lovie."

He didn't even bother pushing your panties aside before taking a lick of your cunt from bottom to top, pressing soft kisses to your clit to hear your desperate whines and feel your thighs shake beneath his touch, continuing to slowly make out with your clothed pussy, purposefully driving you insane with his limited touches.

"Off, off, pl-please, Si, please -" You whined, pushing his head away in an attempt to start to pull your panties down, crying out in frustration as he didn't budge, a growl leaving his lips and sending vibrations up your cunt.

"Don't touch. I'm taking my fucking time, pretty. Or would you rather me stick my cock into you without any prep?" You moaned out loudly at the thought, back threatening to arch as he slowly grasped at your panties, a humourless chuckle leaving his pretty lips. "Yeah, I bet your slutty pussy'd love that, wouldn't it, lovie?" He purred before finally sliding down your pants, taking a moment to stare at your cunt and let you squirm before slowly spreading your thighs again, immediately shoving his face into his prize and repeating his movements from before, but faster and rougher, letting you feel every inch of his tongue as it ran over your lips and slowly inched inside of your hole, your moans and silent screams only edging him further on until he took your engorged clit into his mouth and started sucking, placing a hand on your stomach and pushing your arching back down onto the mattress.

He was surprised, to say the least. Yes, he'd realised you were sensitive as soon as he had kissed you for the first time, but he hadn't expected you to almost burst into tears from being eaten out (He wasn't even /trying/ to make you cry, he wondered what would happen if he did.), so he wondered if all the men you'd been with before had gone down on you, but by the way you were reacting to such simple touches, he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"So fuckin' sweet, baby." He murmured into your pussy as he let go of your swollen clit, giving your hole some attention as the hand that was on your tummy ran down to circle your clit, overstimulating you in the best way possible. "Taste like fuckin' heaven."

"Si- Simon-" you whined his name out so so sweetly, music to the normally cold lieutenant's ears. "Gonn- Fuuuck! 'Na cum! Please, please, Si, need to-"

"S'okay, let go for me, lovie." He basically purred into you as he continued licking contently at your gushing hole, fingers tactically rubbing on your clit, before changing spots, taking your clit back into his mouth and letting his fingers slip in to you, preening at the sweet gasp that left your lips at the sudden intrusion, his coarse fingers moving in and out and immediately finding that one spot that made your back arch and toes curl, and just as he was taught in the military, he took advantage of the weak spot (in this case, your sweet spot.) and didn't stop brushing his fingers against it, the increasing sound of his name alerting him of your upcoming orgasm.

And once the coil within your stomach snapped and Simon finally let your back arch of the bed, your release gushing out of you and coating his hand and wrist, you let out the loudest moan of his name, the sound immediately going to his painfully hard cock, but he didn't stop, tongue not ceasing its assault on your clit and fingers continuing to rub against your g-spot until you finally came down from your high, brain mushy and eyes glassy as you stared up at the cream ceiling.

"Such a good girl." He purred out as he finally stopped, retracting his wet fingers and taking them into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and cleaning off all of the slick you had left from your orgasm, savouring it like he would with a lollipop. "Fuckin' taste amazing."

You whined in response, the embarrassment from having cummed so fast and having to watch him lick up all your release finally catching up to you, shaky hands moving to cover your sweaty face.

He clicked his tongue, grabbing them before they could cover your pretty features and holding them together in one hand.

"No, baby. Don't want you fuckin' hiding f'me." He snapped, slowly pulling them upwards so that they were pinned against the headboard, his other hand moving to gather the belt he had discarded not so long ago, quickly taking advantage of your cum-lax state to wrap it around your wrists, making sure it was tight enough to constrict you, but not tight enough to hurt, and letting you lie there while he started on getting rid of his boxers. "Wanna see that pretty face while you come undone on my cock. Isn't that what y'want too?"

You tried moving your head to nod, but it felt so so heavy that even the slightest movement felt like a chore, feeling grateful that Simon was a man able to move you around and dominate you without even breaking sweat, that all you needed to do was lie back and enjoy everything he gave you.

"Fuckin' hell. Not even fucked ya yet and you're 'lready gone?" He sneered, coming to hover over you so he could press wet kisses to your cheeks and neck, purposefully avoiding your lips. "Pretty girl gets her pussy played wiv and turns into a right proper slut, don' she?" He purred against your neck, his words making you shiver and squirm as your body instinctively tried to move away from the stimulus, only for him to pull you back towards him with grubby hands, a loud gasp leaving your lips as he pressed your crotches together, having expected the soft cotton of his boxers and not the hard, hot feeling of his cock flush against your dripping pussy.

"Oh- Oh my god, Simon, th-"

"Mm." He cut you off with a soft purr and a nip to your jugular, no doubt making sure that you'd wake up in purple marks the next morning as he did the same all over your neck. "'S me. All me, lovie. F'you."

You moaned at the implication, slowly starting to grind yourself against him as he made it his personal mission to cover your upper body in kisses, stopping at your clavicle and staring down at your bra, that was still to be taken off.

"Fuck, forgot all 'bout these." His hand came up to squeeze one of them softly, a small sound of pleasure leaving your lips at the added stimulation as you continued to rub your cunt against his hardened cock. "Pretty little things."

He started grinding his own hips against yours, watching with amazement at how quickly you reacted to his touch, your back arching enough for him to slip his hands behind and unclasping your bra suspiciously easy, pulling it off and throwing it behind him and landing god knows where, and leaving you finally completely bare beneath him.

"Look t'you." His warm hands immediately cupped your tits, thumb and pointer rubbing your nipples between them, pinching and pulling until they were hard, an amazed chuckle leaving his lips as he listened to your moans increase in sound, his grinding against you not ceasing either.

"Oh fuck- fuck fuck!" It was embarrassing, how quickly he had you whining and mewling beneath him, when you had found yourself struggling before to even feel something with men before him doing the same. It was just something about him, something about the way he sounded and touched, the precise movements against you, almost like he had been trained for your pleasure, to get you over the edge as many times as he could muster before even getting his dick wet.

Because the instant you felt his warm breath hit one of your perky breasts, you knew you were fucked, headed towards your second orgasm of the night. His warm mouth enveloped your hard nipple, pulling and tugging with his teeth and soothing the slight pain he left with his talented tongue, his grinding becoming quicker and rougher as he felt your thighs tremble around his waist, your eyes watering as you neared the release you oh so craved, gasping out loud as one of his hands came up to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing over your flushed skin.

"You gunna cry, baby? S'okay, let it out. Let it out f'me." He growled as he let go of your now throbbing nipple, moving to give your other neglected breast the same attention, hand leaving your face to run down to your core and slowly run over your clit, a huge contrast to the rough movements of his cock against you and his warm mouth on your nipple, all the different stimulations and feelings enough to push you over the edge and let the tears that had been collecting in your waterline finally fall, gasping moans and screams leaving your lips as you soaked his cock, body trembling beneath his ministrations as he chuckled against your nipple, enjoying the way you were slowly falling apart and he hadn't even pushed into you yet.

He didn't stop for a few moments, waiting until the moment where you would inevitably start whining and pushing him off with weak arms to cease, leaning back up with a shit eating grin as he waited for you to come down from your high.

"Oi, look at me." He taps one of his fingers on your face, moving your gaze towards his, a small, patronising pout tugging at his lips as he watches the tears roll down your cheeks. "Poor thing. You all fucked out yet? D'you think y'could still take my cock? Or are you too dumb f'that right now?"

"Y-yes, yes, please, please, need it so bad, Si! So so bad!" You stuttered out between laboured breaths, hands struggling against their binding, itching to be let free and feel his cock in your hands, which you could see between you, almost as girthy as a coke can and with a few prominent veins leading up to his flushed red tip, that was leaking pre spend you would gladly pay money to clean up with your tongue. "O-oh fuck, Simon, please -"

"Sh, shh. Calm down, y'little crybaby." He chastised, leaning down to softly press kisses over the tears that had gathered on your flushed cheeks, chuckling at how desperate you looked under him. "I'll give you what you want. Gon' fuck you so well, yeah? You'll feel me f'weeks, lovie."

"Fuck, yes, please! Want your cock so badly, please!" You cried, legs immediately spreading for him as soon as his calloused hands landed on the pudge of your thighs, slightly digging his fingers into them as he took in the beautiful sight of your soaking wet pussy, having half the mind to shove his cock in you without a second thought. But no.

"Calm." He snapped, one of his hands dropping your thighs and slapping your face softly to get your attention. "Protection, baby. You got a condom?"

He frowned as you shook your head, gasping for breath as you pointed over to your nightstand, where he could faintly see the glint of a packet of tablets in the dark. "Pill. 'M on the pill, Si. Clean. I'm clean."

He couldn't help the smile that crept onto his lips at the thought of being able to cum inside, and how eager you were acting to get him to finally stick his cock inside, whines and whimpers pulling him from his thoughts as he stared down at you.

"You going to let me cum inside then, lovie?" He teased, pulling your other thigh back up so the underside of both of them were resting flush against his bare chest, twitching cock resting on your overstimulated core. "Don' think I'm gonna be able to pull out."

"Don't want you to, fuck! Please, Simon, please!! Inside, want you to cum inside!"

A shiver racked through his body at your words, carefully letting one of your legs go and making sure it would stay there, wrapping around it to grab his cock, slowly sliding the head around your puffy lips to collect the slick, wanting the intrusion to be as painless as possible.

"Fuck… Alright, baby, alright. Breathe f'me." He whispered, letting the head of his cock press against your hole, telling himself to go slow and calm down, but by the way you were pulsing and clenching around the head, almost like you were pulling him in, made it hard to stay sane. "God, slutty lil' cunt's just swallowing me in, huh? Want this cock that bad?"

Your hands shook against their restraint as he started to push himself into your sopping hole, wanting nothing more than to grab onto something for stability, but you didn't want to risk him getting annoyed at you for trying to.

"S'okay, almost there." He mumbled, lying straight through his teeth because with one look down to where he was connected to it would prove that he wasn't even halfway in, and it was already proving difficult for your hole to accommodate to his massive size.

"S'big, Si, you're so biiig." You whined, spreading your legs slightly and pushing your body onto him to help, shivering as you could feel him start throbbing inside of you, no doubt needing his own climax after having spent so much time focusing on you.

You could feel your eyes start to flutter close, mouth dropping open as he finally bottomed out, his heavy balls flush against your ass and cock throbbing inside of you, taking a breather and letting you adjust to his size before he would start on his ruthless pace.

"Fuck, lovie, you droolin'?" He panted, a hand coming up to rest against your face and pull you out of your sex-drunk haze (Despite only getting his cock inside you now.), your eyes drowning in his crystal ones, hypnotised by his gaze as he used his thumb to rub away some of the drool that had dribbled down your chin. "Pretty girl finally gets some cock and turns into a drooling slut, huh?"

You let out a noise of complaint as your hands continued to struggle, the few coarse hairs that were peeking out from under his mask enough to make you want to bury your fingers in them, pull at his strands and dig your nails into his scalp as he rocked your world.

He seemed to to understand what you wanted, a chuckle leaving his swollen lips as he leaned over you, legs folding along with him and allowing him to reach a deeper point in your cunt you didn't know that existed, a loud moan escaping you as his calloused hands start undoing the belt, finally letting your wrists free and throwing the piece of leather away, his hands going back to holding onto one of your thighs and another gripping your waist.

"All yours, baby. All fuckin' yours."

He gave you a moment to react as he bottomed out, leaving you empty for a split moment before he slammed back in, cock head almost instantly hitting that sweet spot deep inside you, your hands immediately finding refuge on his shoulders, nails digging into the scarred skin as he repeated his ruthless thrusts, your body shaking beneath his as he pushed down onto your body, forcing you both into a mating press, your cunt tightening around his cock at the sight of his eyes rolling into the back of his head, tummy fluttering at the thought that he was enjoying this as much as you were.

"Fuck, so good, Simon! So fucking good!" Your hands trailed up to the nape of his neck and pulled at the few short hairs there, urging a growl out of him and causing him to slightly speed up, the head of his cock at this point abusing your g-spot, urging you to near your third orgasm. "Wan- Wanna cum, fuck, gonna cum, Simon!"

"Already, baby?" He spoke through bated breath, his stamina allowing him to keep a good and consistent pace, enough to please both of you and almost bring you to tears again. "That's okay, cum for me, lovie. Cum on my fucking cock, show me how much of a fucking whore you are f'me."

Your back arched, pressing your breasts to his sweaty chest, the extra stimulation from your nipples rubbing against his coarse skin finally pushing you over the edge, your cunt clamping down on his cock and making it near impossible for him to continue thrusting, but as the good soldier Simon was, he persisted, rutting into you with bared teeth and a clenched jaw, fucking you through your orgasm until your slick covered his balls and upper thighs.

"Good girl, good fucking girl." He rasped, hand moving from your waist up to your neck, giving an experimental squeeze and moaning as you clenched around him, a breathless chuckle leaving him. "Fuck, you're still clenchin' around me so nicely, love. Feel so fuckin' good, perfect lil' pussy all f'me..."

Simon was saying nonsense at this point, becoming near pussy drunk as his cock hammered into your puffy cunt, nearing his own peak after all the foreplay.

"Si- Simon-!" You keened, hands running under his mask to grasp at his hair properly, pulling at it to coax another guttural moan from him and leading him back down to engage in a messy kiss, teeth clanking together and spit being shared, feeling the desperation he was in as he continued to batter your pussy searching for his own orgasm. "Cum, please, please, cum inside!"

Simon's eyes rolled into the back of his head at your begging, eyelashes fluttering as his pace stuttered inside of you, cockhead pressing against the entrance to your cervix and finally going over the edge, his spend gushing into you and almost immediately filling you, his cock acting like a plug inside you.

"O-oh, fuuck…" He moaned out, voice going slightly high pitched as he relished in the euphoria of finishing inside of you, his nails leaving ten moon shaped indents on your hips, the pain nothing compared to the feeling of him finally fucking his spend into you, you'd have to worry about the inevitable bruises and marks in the morning before work. "Fuck, you're… fuck."

Simon lowered himself down, resting his sweaty balaclava-clad face on your shoulder as you both caught your breaths, his cock twitching inside of you as he rode the waves of his orgasm.

Your eyes were blown out, staring up at the ceiling as you were hit with a sudden wave of realisation, your brain finally catching up with your body and taking in everything that had just happened, especially the fact that you had allowed some masked man you'd met at a pub on a tinder date to ravage you like a starved animal.

"Oh my god." You said, voice wavering as you shivered beneath the mountain of a man, who's sweaty body was pressed flush to yours, his cock softening inside of you as you both started to sober up. "O-Oh my god, Simon."

He let out a moan against your skin, languidly thrusting one final time into you before slowly pulling out, peeling himself off of you and letting the cold air envelop your now-shivering body, the feeling of his warm cum dripping down your puffy cunt pulling out another broken whine from your lips.

"Look at that…" You tried moving away as Simon ran a finger down your spent hole, gathering his cum best he could before slowly shoving it back into you, clicking his tongue at your reaction before leaning down and pressing a final kiss to your clit, the loud cry that left you making him smile almost predatorily. "So, so pretty, baby."

Your eyelids fluttered closed as you felt the bed shift beneath Simon's moving weight, allowing you time to set your head on straight and think about the next words that were going to come out of your mouth (That weren't strangled moans of the blond's name and jumbled cries about how good he felt.) while he moved around, no doubt getting his discarded clothes so he could slip away into the night.

"...leavin'?" You finally mustered out, letting your head fall to a side so you could watch him pick up his boxers and slip them on, his balaclava fixed into place like it had been when you met him, leaving you to stare into his mysterious blue eyes, the only gateway into the man who had just finished ravishing you.

"..." He turned to look at you over his shoulder, eyes trailing over your shivering frame as he fought internally over your words.

Ghost knew that it would be dangerous to stay, to indulge in your touch and show himself to you in one of his most vulnerable states. He didn't know you outside of the few hours he had spent with you, and even with that, it wasn't enough for Ghost to let his guard down around you.

Simon wanted to stay, he wanted to climb back into bed and let you curl into his side, let his warm hands run up and down your warm skin like he had done while pleasuring you, listen to your snores and even breathing. And despite probably not being able to fall asleep himself, Simon knew that it would be one of the few tranquil nights of his life.

So despite Ghost's alarming protests ringing in his head, Simon slowly made his way into the empty spot of your bed next to you, the covers soft and cool against his heated skin, soothing the raging fire that seemed to boil inside of him at the mere sight of you, his large arms wrapping around you and pulling you towards his side of the bed.

As soon as your bare body made contact with his, you melted like ice cream on a hot day, curling into his side and allowing him to wrap his tattooed arm around you, calloused hands running up and down your sides, taking his sweet time memorising every curve and dip of your body as you rested your head onto his chest, ear pressed right above his rapidly beating heart.

Not one word was exchanged between you both the whole time you lied together, his fingers tracing every little nook and cranny of your skin he could find, stopping every once in a while to rub on a tense muscle or over a scar, the soft ministrations swiftly lulling you to sleep.

The hand that you had splayed on his chest was mimicking his movements, fingers running over the blond hair that adorned his chest, playing with the small cross that dangled from the small chain necklace around his neck. Every time his hand would come up to rub at your shoulders, you caught a peak at the many tattoos that sleeved his arm, and as much as you wanted to turn around and commit all of them to memory, every time you tried to move, he'd press you closer, as if he knew that if he did allow you to, you'd only put off sleeping for longer.

As your eyelids started drooping, you felt his other hand come up to rest over your smaller one, toughened fingers intertwining with your own softer ones, a tired smile forming at your lips before finally clocking out, his heartbeat a firm rhythm that pulled you further and further into the soft grasp of Hypnos.

As expected, Simon didn't sleep a wink.

He had tried to close his eyes and enjoy the warmth you radiated, trying his best to let your soft snores and murmurs lull him to sleep, but it was impossible.

Despite not having slept for more than two days, he was unable to fall asleep, on edge after the catastrophe that was his last mission.

That was one of the reasons he had decided to step out of his comfort zone and allow himself a night of indulgence with you, a night of letting himself go and take out all his anger on you, but he had been impuissant to hurt you or even come close to actually wound you, instead taking it as slow as he knew how to and muttering soft praises and sweet nicknames into your ear along with the degradation that he'd mixed in.

And even after tiring himself out, he still couldn't let himself fully relax.

But as he turned his head to look down at your sleeping face, he thought that maybe this wasn't so bad. He felt… at ease, for the first time in a while. No strident alarms to wake him up at the crack of dawn, no ringing in his ears as a grenade went off near him, no desperately patching up a wound and drenching his hands in blood, no screams and pleas of mercy reverberating around his head as he disposed of the enemy.

None of that. It was just you. With your body curled into his side and your soft skin beneath a killer's hands.

Which is why he wished he could stay there forever. Lock the door and have you in his arms for the rest of his life, without the paranoia and the horrors that followed him everywhere he went, only focus on you and how mushy you made him feel with only a few hours of knowing him.

Which is why he wished he could have just fallen asleep and ignored the vibrations that came from beneath his discarded clothes, that he didn't leave your side and pick up the phone, that he hadn't followed orders like he always did and hadn't left you alone.

He carefully tucked you in, making his side of the bed before hesitantly brushing his scarred knuckles against your flushed cheeks, an alternative to the kiss he oh-so wanted to press down onto you until you woke up, until you asked him to stay, until he caved in and left the 141 to fend for themselves.

But he didn't.

He closed the door to your bedroom, slipped his phone and keys back into his pockets and headed towards the front door, ready to leave you behind and go back to being Ghost.

But as his hand reached for the doorknob, his eyes caught onto a stack of fluorescent yellow sticky notes on the kitchen counter, and in a stroke of not so genius, he grabbed the nearest pen and scribbled down his number onto the piece of paper, signing it with a simple "S .", hoping that you'd deduce it was from him, and not from some random person whose name started with the letter S that had broken into your apartment just to give you their number.

He stuck it a bit too aggressively to the almost bare fridge, making sure it was in a visible spot that you wouldn't be able to miss before finally stepping out of your flat, adjusting his mask in the elevator's mirror and going back to the cold hearted killer his fellow soldiers knew as Ghost.

He'd expected it to be a short mission.

One that they'd be able to finish within two weeks at best so he could go back to his cramped flat in Manchester and hopefully get back to you.

He'd spent almost every day of the first week of his departure wondering if you'd found the note, if when he'd retrieve his phone back from his locker back at base, he'd find a few messages from an unknown number he hoped was yours, asking him how he was, asking him to meet up again, wondering if he was okay…

That's what mostly kept him going for the first few days.

Until it all went haywire.

The mission escalated quickly into a mess of soldiers and betrayals, flying from place to place and taking more lives with his bare hands than he had ever before.

Blood soaked his hands in a way it never had, the toll of deaths on his name increasing with every passing day, week, month, year.

When the mission that had started off as something simple, something Ghost couldn't even remember, ended after a year, the 141 couldn't be more relieved. And exhausted.

They'd fought for many months straight, barely finding places to get a wink of sleep, and sometimes even running out of food while they camped out in one of the dingy safe houses of whatever city they were currently stranded in.

But it was finally over. Their target had been disposed of and any enemy that remained had either been eliminated or had scurried off.

As the chopper brought them back to base, none of them said a word, even Johnny refrained from making any jokes, knowing that it would only piss off both of his superiors and maybe get a tired chuckle out of Gaz.

Price uttered a "Good job." to all of them before patting them on the shoulder and going to his office, no doubt ready to go back home and have the sleep of his life.

The two sergeants withheld from talking too much to their lieutenant, murmuring a goodbye to him before going their own way, Ghost not even bothering to answer, too mentally and physically exhausted to even open his mouth to speak.

The first thing he did once he reached his locker was throw the goddamn mask off, letting the plastic skull clatter against the tiles as he rummaged through his belongings, wanting nothing more than to get into some clean clothes and go back home, where he would drink away the horrors that would no doubt follow him and probably pass out watching reruns of football games he had missed.

The clothes he had worn the day before the mission were tighter, accentuating the change in his physique after putting his muscles to work for a whole year, the seams of his trousers digging uncomfortably into his legs, his pockets full of random junk he had left in there.

He fished for whatever was currently pressing against his backside, pulling out his small phone from the pocket, frowning down at the gadget, which was no doubt out of battery after being left for so long.

Simon was pleasantly surprised when the screen brightened, showing his black lock screen and the time, the battery hanging onto dear life with a 1%. He moved to grab his charger, his eyes still trained on the incoming notifications that would soon flood his home screen, not really expecting much aside from the emails entailing rubbish deals or the occasional spam from a porn site he'd signed up to as a teen and hadn't been able to delete.

Instead, he was bombarded with over a thousand notifications at once, all from the same unknown number, the messages going too quickly for his tired eyes, focusing on the random words he was able to take from the rapidly passing texts.

‍

Answer.

Ignoring.

Asshole.

Appointment.

Doctor.

Pub.

Baby.

Pregnancy.

‍‍

His mind blocked itself off as he processed the last word, trying to make sense of all the confusing messages that had been sent to his phone.

Had it been by accident? Was he the recipient of some prank? Had he unknowingly given out his number to someo-

You.

Simon's throat went dry as the realisation dawned on him. Without sparing another second, he unlocked his phone, clicking onto the notifications and scrolling down as fast he could while still intaking information, afraid that his phone would die out at any point in time and render him utterly confused and terrified.

His body went on autopilot the more he read, brain fuzzy as if he had just drank a whole bottle of hard-hitting liquor, his eyes fixed on the bright screen of his phone in terror.

He was in shock. His mind wasn't in the right state to process any of this, he wasn't able to properly begin to fathom the meaning behind your words, as simple as they were.

‍

— I'm pregnant.

— I'm fucking pregnant, Simon.

— I don't know how it happened, the chances of the pill failing are so fucking low, and of course it happened to us.

‍

— Please pick up.

— I know you're getting the messages.

‍

— The doctor told me it's too dangerous to perform the abortion.

— I have to keep it or risk my life.

‍

— I need you to answer, Simon. Please, I just need to know that you're there.

— I'm scared.

‍

— You're such an asshole, you know that, right?! Fucking gave me your number only to disappear? Left me pregnant with your bloody kid!? And you can't even bother to pick up the goddamn phone.

‍

— Fuck you.

‍

— …

— It's a boy. Thought you'd want to know.

‍

— My due date is in a month. Please… call me, if you're even reading these. I don't want to be alone.

‍

The phone flashed the low power message in hopes that Simon would take mercy on it and finally plug it in, but Simon paid it no mind, clear eyes staring down at the picture you'd attached during one of the first months of your pregnancy.

The blurry picture of an ecography staring back at him disproved any doubts that might have formed in his mind, your full name displayed at the bottom along with the date it was taken, solidifying the fact even more.

It was real. This was real. You'd been carrying his son for 9 months, sending him frantic and terrified messages all throughout the three trimesters in hopes that he'd answer, all the while he had forgotten all about you in the midst of his mission, while you probably didn't spend a single day of that year not thinking about him.

His phone went dark once it finally had enough, leaving him standing there with a dry throat and shaky hands.

It was rare for Ghost to feel fear, but not for Simon. His throat would contract with every breath, his nose would sting as tears threatened to form on his waterline, his hands would get shaky until he balled them up and threw a punch into whatever item was closest.

This time wasn't any different. He punched his locker door, denting the metal effortlessly as he tried to wash away the fear and guilt creeping up to him with the pain that bloomed at his knuckles, that ran up his arms like electric shocks until they went numb.

He was an asshole.

Simon knew that it wasn't his fault that the mission had been extended for way too long, but he kept thinking back to the moment he'd placed his number on your fridge, wondering what would have happened if he'd done the smart thing and added that he'd be unavailable for a while, but that he'd get back to you. Maybe you would have been less scared while going through the pregnancy, comforted by the thought that he hadn't been ignoring you, but he knew that even then, you would have gone through it alone and terrified.

"I'm an asshole."

He rested his head against the dented locker, the cool metal soothing the headache that had quickly formed after all the conflicting feelings that had rushed through him in the matter of a minute.

All he had wanted was to go back home and rest, but fuck him if he was going to be able to even close his eyes after learning he was a father.

He packed everything up as quickly as he could, not bothering to say goodbye or join the other three for a drink at a pub, heading to his car so he could get the fuck out of London and back to Manchester, where he prayed you still lived, in that tiny flat near that dingy pub where he had first laid eyes on you in.

As his gloved hands gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white, a terrifying thought struck him.

Who's to say you had even kept the baby?

Who's to say you couldn't bear to look at the baby, that you'd given him away to a way more functional family?

The thought inflicted fear in him, a type of fear he didn't know if he should be feeling or not, confused with all the unpleasant emotions swirling inside of him.

"God, fuck!" He slammed his hands onto the steering wheel, the roar he had let out no doubt scaring any civilian that had been walking near his car at the time, but he couldn't care less.

All that was important now was getting back to you, to what he hoped was still the mother of his son.

Happy giggles and gurgles filled the living room, your tiny baby outstretching his arms out as you cycled his legs slowly, making silly faces down at him to keep him distracted.

Your doctor had recommended small exercises like these, some that would help develop his future motor skills, but you'd found that Tommy was a curious baby, one that couldn't stay still for longer than five minutes before he was whining and huffing in a futile attempt to get your attention and hopefully release him from his tiny prison; and so, in order to keep him focused, you resorted to having leisured conversations with him, your small son hanging onto your every word with wide blue eyes and a gaping mouth, as if he could understand your frustrations with the man who had blocked your car off and the girl from the bakery that had gotten your order wrong, or making silly faces at him to hear him giggle with glee.

You placed his small feet down and went back to your resting face, his eyes instantly going from your face to the closest toy, small chubby arm reaching out to grab it, your fingers running over his tummy and getting out a few giggles out of him before he finally grasped the toy, pressing it into his side.

As he distracted himself, you let yourself sit down properly, back hitting the edge of the sofa as you watched your son roll around on the blanket you'd laid down, letting yourself look up at the TV for a moment to have a small break, the news reporter standing in front of Big Ben ranting about some resolved political dispute or something.

Your eyes trailed back down to your son, who was wriggling around with a new toy in his grasp, cooing and drooling as he stared up at the ceiling, blue eyes fixed on one of the many cracks in the ceiling.

You winced at the not so friendly reminder of the state your flat was in. Going through a pregnancy on your own without any help and barely any money to take care of yourself left your home in a condition you were not proud of. You'd tried your best to clean and make the nursery as cosy as possible, but at the end of your third trimester you could barely lean down to pick up the hoover. Once you had been allowed back home, you'd cleaned up, but you couldn't really do much to fix the poor way your building had been constructed.

A sigh left your lips, leaning down to rest your head against your knees with closed eyes, giving yourself a few moments of sacred rest, something you seldom got anymore those days.

Sometimes, you thought as you wrapped your arms around your legs, you wished you weren't alone. As much hate you had harboured for your son's father across the year, you couldn't help the longing that still filled you every time you thought about him, wondering if you'd ever see him again, if he'd ever hold his son in his arms.

Frustrated tears filled the corners of your eyes, wiping them away with your sleeves before turning your attention back to your son, who was now squirming in his spot making grabby hands at you.

"I've got you, duck, don't worry." You cooed, picking him up and pressing a few kisses to his chubby cheeks, cradling him to your chest as you got up from the floor, careful to not drop him or bump him into anything.

As you took him back to his room, routinely changing his diaper and clothes, you thought back to the small breakdown you almost had had a few minutes ago, letting out an exhausted sigh. There was no use in imagining a future where Simon fit in, you'd given him enough time to answer, to show any signs of life at all. You were alone.

You were on the verge of tears as you placed Tommy in his tiny crib, handing him the small duck plushie your grandma had knitted a few months back when she had come to visit, watching him cling onto it in his sleep for a few moments, his soft breaths and coos tranquillising the waves of anxiety threatening to drown you.

"Good night, Tom." You whispered, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek before flicking on the night light, carefully closing the door and resting your body against it, a shaky sigh leaving your chapped lips.

God, you were pathetic. Hung up over a man who you'd only known for a few hours, who'd left you with a baby (unknowingly or not, didn't matter), who still haunted your dreams every time you tried to get some rest. Why couldn't he have just picked up the phone? Why had he just given you his fucking number if he wasn't bothering on answering? Why had he gotten into your head so easily, with his sweet nicknames and soft kisses? Why couldn't you just fucking mov-

Your whole body jumped as the shrill doorbell rang, the sound reverberating around the flat and no doubt reaching Tommy's sensitive ears.

"God, yeah, I hear it!" You cried out as the sound didn't stop, starting to get worried that it would wake your baby up and then you'd have to deal with putting him to sleep all over again. "Fuck! I know, I'm coming!"

You looked through the peephole, eyebrows furrowing as you gazed upon a man's tacky army jacket instead of the normal face, so either this guy was incredibly fucking tall or he was standing on a stool.

Knowing that the area you lived in wasn't the safest, you unlocked the door but kept the chain latch on, a gap big enough so you could see the guy outside but not big enough for him to attack you.

"What?" You snapped, a bit harsher than how you'd normally answer the door, but this guy didn't really deserve any respect after how he'd basically abused your doorbell to the point of the sound still ringing in your ears. "What do you-"

Your gaze had been fixed onto his chest, scanning the army jacket you had spied through the peephole, cringing internally at the Union Jack plastered on his left bicep, hoping to God that he wasn't some type of Tory propagandist going door to door. But as your eyes trailed up to meet his, your mouth went dry.

Crystal blue eyes framed by pretty blonde eyelashes (identical to the blue eyes your son had been staring up at you with for the past three months), contrasting with the black face paint that was smeared around his eyes, the rest of his face obscured by that damn skull balaclava that haunted you.

It was him. It was fucking him.

"Simon." You said his name breathlessly, not missing the way his body stiffened at your shaky tone.

"Yeah. It's me."

Half of You (part 5) [Santiago x Fem!Reader]

Summary: the Baby Daddy Santi chronicles are back, baybee!

Warnings: a little angst, a little fluff.

Rating: 18+ ONLY. minors DNI.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER (see: "definition of "forever"", meaning: 107 days). thank you for being so patient. As always reblogs are rewarded with a virtual hug if you're into that sorta thing. And if you're not on the taglist and you distinctly remember asking me to add you to the taglist, pls lmk, I'm dreadful at keeping that stuff organized. Much love to you all.

Fish disembarks with a playful nudge of your woodpile with the toe of his boot. “Good luck with your project, hermosa.” 

“You can come check it out on Thrusday, bring me a little housewarming plant for it, huh? Something pretty.”

He gives you a lazy salute and wink. You don’t watch as he pulls out of Santi’s driveway. You zone out, staring at the clean vertical lines of your freshly shorn lawn. You can hear Santi still wrenching and clanking around in the kitchen. You didn’t hear their whole conversation, just bits and pieces, the fucking window was open and it wasn’t like you were trying to give them privacy anyway. You feel a bout of nausea swell in your throat and you can’t tell if its guilt, or if it’s morning sickness, or if its from the ungodly heat or a bodily reaction to the fertility hormones, but you feel on the edge of vomiting. You rest a palm over your lower abdomen. It could be in there right now. Jay’s face pops into your head and you want to cry. You take a deep breath and rest your head against the slatted outer wall of your craftsman home. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring out at the lawn with the echos of Fish’s words humming against the insides of your skull when the clanking stops and Santi comes to join you on the porch.

“Filters all set up, I’m letting the water run. The booklet said it has to go for an hour until it’s good to drink.”

You don’t respond, so he continues,

“I put the five gal under it though, so it catches all the water… I googled it and it said that the filtration test water is safe for plants, so maybe you can use it on some—“

You cover your face with your hands to hide the tears that well up in your eyes.

“Hey!” Santi crouches down to your level quickly with his popping knees and puts a reassuring arm around your shoulder. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head, still hiding your eyes and you laugh incredulously. 

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Thank you, Santi.” You sniff a sob and laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Could’ve fooled me with the waterworks, I— what’s this pile of… stickers?”

You wipe your eyes to see that Santi’s brow is scrunched, investigating the clump of alphabet’d small stickers in between his fingers.

“It’s… I thought…” you hiccup. Dammit. 

Santi laughs. “Don’t tell me, Vin. Did the little earthquake I caused make the stickers fall off?” 

You sniff the snot back into your nose and you nod. “You know what? That’s exactly how it happened.”

“And then they all banded together in a pile to hide from the aftershocks?” 

“Nailed it. Two for two. You’re on a roll.”

You take a deep breath, hiccuping despite your best composed efforts, and Santi fully lowers himself beside you, arm still around your shoulders. He squeezes you close to his side. He smells like sweat and basil, lemons and lawn clippings.

Santi follows your line of vision to the freshly manicured lawn. “Are you crying about the hedges? I know I did them a little bit short this time, but—“

“I heard Fish.”

Santi’s grip loosens almost imperceptibly and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Vin. Love the guy to death but he’s been a martyr since recovery. ”

You nod in reluctant agreement. 

“Hey….People are going to think what they’re going to think. It won’t stop with Frank.”

“Yeah I know it’s…”

The lawn is pretty. You hone in on a bee writhing on a violet blossom.

“It’s the hormones, I think.”

You know its a lie, even as it leaves your mouth. It doesn’t convince you and you sure as shit know it doesn’t convince Santiago. 

“Hormones, huh? Sorry about that.”

You hiccup and laugh, “not your fault. No need to apologize.”

Santi stretches his legs out from under himself and sighs. “Well if the turkey basting did it’s job, I think it’s only fair I share partial blame, don’t you think?” His grip tightens on you once more and you laugh through a fresh bout of tears, you rest your head on his sweat dampened cotton shirt, wriggling your nose to alleviate the itch.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper as a fresh flood of tears escape.

“C’mon, Vin. You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He kisses the top of your forehead casually and rubs your shoulder, letting you shift closer to him, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“But I do. I really really do.” You bury your face into his cotton clothed chest. “Even fucking now, I can help myself… I cosign you to all my bullshit. You’ve been picking up my broken pieces, letting me cry into your t-shirts since day one, since ground zero. It’s not fair to you.”

“This shirt is filthy anyway.”

You shake your head against his chest.

“This is the hormones talking. That ovulation injection is no joke.”

“Maybe you should go lie down.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Delusional and stubborn, huh?”

You smack his chest lightly.

“Go take a nap, Vin. Lie down. I’ll get you some water… some fresh reverse osmosis water… in an hour.”

It’s hard to move, to leave this spot on the sweltering porch, it’s not exactly comfortable on the floor, but your face is resting on the soft cotton of Santi’s t-shirt. He’s content to let you, just like he’s always been; content to let you call the shots, to dictate the direction, no matter what fucking storm you decide to steer the ship towards. 

You eventually concede to a nap and Santi walks you upstairs. He takes off your shoes, and tucks you into your bed, clothes and all. He leaves for a while and in your in-between-states-of-consciousness, Santi sets a glass of water on your nightstand. He’s certainly thinking you’re fast asleep as he pulls your duvet snugly to your ears. You fall asleep totally after he softly closes your bedroom door and when you wake up two hours later, there’s a fully constructed plant shelf on your front porch. 

The next few days pass like any other. Every morning you arise to bake something new, forgoing the oven on Tuesday’s sweltering morning temperatures to concoct some no-bake oatmeal cookies that cause Santiago to outright hoard the batch in his fridge, making you promise not to give them out. You’re too cranky and tired on a novel lack of caffeine to put up much of a fight. 

You never mention the plant shelf to Santiago, but on Wednesday morning there’s a large pot of vibrant green basil on the shelf which you’re certain is his doing. 

On Thursday morning you head to the fertility clinic to test to see if the initial ‘turkey basting’ was successful. They take your urine sample and you twiddle your thumbs, seated with your bare ass on the butcher paper in the empty exam room… they tell you it has. 

You’re pregnant. Pregnant. Your heart rate picks up and you have to lie down, the paper crinkling under your back and behind your hair as you cup your mouth with your hands and begin to cry… again. Fucking hormones. 

The usual surly nurse congratulates you and tells you to come back in eight weeks for the ultrasound. Ultrasound. 

You don’t trust yourself to drive home straight away. You wonder around the neighboring shopping complex and people-watch families. Families on evening walks, families out to dinner, families smiling, families bickering… You hold your abdomen and laugh to yourself. And cry. Again.

By the time you get home, the sun has already gone down. Santi’s driveway holds additional cars, like most Thursday evenings. the boys are over to watch the game. You quietly exit your car, you sit in the dark on your porch swing and watch Santi, Will, Benny, Frank, and Tom through Santi’s dining room window. They clap shoulders, hold cans of beer and shout playfully at one another. The noises are an unintelligible hum that swells in your heart. After about 30 minutes, Fish drags Santi to the front window and points to the street. Santiago cups his hands against the blaring light of his living room to peer out into the darkness. He’s looking at your car. 

In a matter of moments, Santiago is walking down his driveway and up yours. (he never jumps the hedges. Fastidious, that one.) you smile to yourself as he fixes he hair and squares his shoulders, preparing to ring your doorbell when he spots you in the dark on the swing. 

“Vin!” He takes a step towards you and pauses.

“Hey” You don’t know if he can see your face in the shadows or not, but something keeps him from advancing, from joining you on the two-person swing.

“Why aren’t you over there? You didn’t even tell me where you were going today, but, that’s, that’s okay. Everyone’s been asking about you. Ben brought that dip you like and Fish swore up and down that he hasn’t told anyone, besides Rach, obviously. So it’s not as if you have to explain anything. If you don’t want to.” 

Santi scratches the back of his neck and takes one more shuffling step closer to the swing. Hesitant. “Vin?”

“I have to tell you something.”

Even in the dim lighting you can see Santi’s demeanor sobering up. He crosses his arms and immediately responds, “Okay, yeah, I have to tell you something too.”

“I— huh?” You weren’t expecting any new information. 

“You first.” You can’t see his face but you know him so well that you know by his tone of voice the exact face he’s making. That defensive clenched jaw thing that he does with the upwards chin tilt. You’d bet a million dollars that his chin is high in the air.

“Come sit.”

It takes a few beats before Santiago joins you on the porch swing, but he eventually does. The chains creak, his knees pop and he exhales expectantly.

You don’t want to keep him from the game, god only knows what important plays he might be missing, so you decide to come out with it.

“I went to the clinic today and—“

“You did?! Why didn’t you tell me? I could have—“

“I wanted to go alone, just in case, I—“

“What’d they—“

“I’m pregnant.”

You’re grateful for the darkness of the porch which keeps Santiago’s expression a mystery. Beyond the hedges, through the glow of Santiago’s living room window, a muffled cheer erupts. Shouting, clapping. Must’ve been an impressive score. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Been crying like crazy. Not sad crying. Just lots of crying. Crying for no reason. At sunsets. At families holding hands. At life insurance commercials… At my best friends watching a football game one house away…”

Santi sits there in silence. You can’t even hear him breathing. You continue. 

“Other than that, I’m good, I— it still feels unreal, you know? But I feel good about it. It was so quick, too. Wasn’t it? I don’t know why, but for some reason because of all the rigamarole the clinic put me through I thought this process was going to take months or years or something. But, first try, and bam. Which sounds about right when I think about it. It’s you, after all. Mister tactical soap. Of course your swimmers would get into formation and attack at dawn. No survivors.”

“Those ovaries didn’t stand a chance.”

“No they did not.” 

“You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to— I can give you some space.” 

“No. I want to. I want to see everyone. I know its only been a few weeks but I miss those idiots.”

“Lets do it then.” Santi rises and you hook your arm through his offered elbow. Once you step out into the illuminating glow of the street lamps you see the way his mouth is quirked up in an easy smile. His eyes are slightly glassy from the lagers and the texture of his stubble, the way it folds in at his barely visible smile line… without thinking you run the tip of your finger from the corner of his mouth, up to his ear. 

“I like it when you smile, old man.” 

The lines deepen around his mouth when his smile expands. 

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

- - - - - - - - - 

The get together is a typical Thursday evening fare. The only difference being your abstinence from alcohol and general lack of interest in football has relegated you to maidly duties of replenishing drinks and snacks while the testosterone crew shouts at Santiago’s flatscreen. 

The boys are invested the game, but you enjoy watching them watch the game. Benny is by far the most into it, which makes him the star player of the crew. He throws his poor worn ball cap to the ground when the play doesn’t go his way, stands up when he shouts. He claps and hollers when his preferred team scores and paces around during time outs. You might blame his passion on his proximal youth, but you don’t believe time will be capable of stripping him of his fervent fanaticism. 

By the time you get there it’s past halftime and the “games a dead horse anyway” according to Will (Benny disagrees). You collect your hugs from each of the boys. The hug from Frankie is longer and tighter than usual. 

After the game is over, the boys play some low-stakes poker and one by one each of the crew retreats to the living room to ‘rest their eyes’, the place is a mess, the boys are sloshed and and passed out on the various soft surfaces of Santiago’s living room. You help Santiago clear away the detritus of a night well spent and just before midnight Santiago offers to walk you back home. 

“Would you? I wouldn’t want to get lost on my way in the dark, and this sure is a bad neighborhood. Just last week someone stole the Grossman kid’s skateboard off the front lawn. These streets are dangerous.”

“Pipe down, you’ll wake up Tom.”

You glance down at a particular patch of cozy carpet on the living room floor where Tom’s long body is splayed out, snoring like a logging factory. You roll your eyes and stage whisper to Santiago, “Yeah seems like a real Princess and The Pea situation. Better slip out quietly.” You exaggeratedly tiptoe out of the front door and put your finger up to your lips and whisper-yell at Santiago, “Close the door GENTLY!!” 

Santiago shakes his head, shuts the door, and joins you on the driveway. 

“Oh! Look at the moon!” Its a full one, slightly yellow and impossibly big this evening. “So pretty.” 

You don’t know it but Santiago isn’t looking at the moon. He’s looking at you look at the moon. The way your eyes are all big and glittery. That awestruck smile you have. At something as simple and as constant as the fucking moon. ‘Look at the moon she says, how could I possibly look at the fucking moon when she’s so… So what, Yago? What is she?’

Santiago stuffs his hands in is pockets and looks up at the moon. It is pretty. 

You grab him by the elbow. “Lets lay on the driveway and look at the sky for a little bit?”

“What? Right now?”

“No. Not right now. How horribly convenient would that be? Lets meet back here at oh three-hundred hours when we’re too sleepy to enjoy it.” 

“Fine, wait here.”

Santiago turns to go back in the house.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m not laying on the driveway without a blanket.”

“Good idea… oh, Santi, while you’re in there can you make me a cup of tea?”

Santi raises his eyebrows. “Herbal tea?”

“Yes. I’ve come around. Matured. One herbal tea please.”

“Coming right up.”

You lay out on the driveway in the warm summer evening, stretching out with your hands behind your head. You get lost in time for a bit, staring at the beautiful clear sky. 

Santiago stares at you from the porch. Blanket and tea in hand and admires you quietly, bathed in moonlight. Content. Pregnant. Pregnant with his child. Not his. Yours. Dios. 

Santiago spreads out the blanket next to you after handing you the steaming mug. You set it down and scoot over till you’re on the flannel fabric. He lays down next to you, mimicking your hands-behind-head position. 

You don’t turn your head to look at him when he speaks. You continue to stare up at the full moon, the clear sky, terrified that he might not be looking up at all.

“You hoping for a boy, or a girl?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know… I guess I’ve always wanted a girl. But after taking care of these dopes for so long, I feel finely attuned to caring for dudes… I’ll be happy either way. How about you Santi, do you have a preference?”

“Do I have a preference? No… no.. I mean. I know you’ll be great no matter what.”

“Yeah, thats a given.” You laugh and nudge his elbow with your own, “but have you had your heart set on either?” 

Santi shakes his head, staring at the sky, “I haven’t had my heart set on anything, Vin.”

“I think the gender is the least of my concerns anyway.”

“What’s the most of your concerns?”

“Raising it as a single parent… if I’m co-signing them to a doomed life…”

“You’re gunna do great Vin. Don’t be nervous. I’m here for you.”

“I know. I know you are. You don’t have to be.”

“I know I don’t HAVE to be but I want t—“

“Why though? Why do you feel endebted to me? Why did you do this, let me walk all over your life without a fight? Is it guilt? Guilt I can understand. I’m well acquainted with guilt. Is that what it is? Or is it pity?”

“Pity? For what?”

“For the Widow next door that you have to entertain, the sad girl you invite to your get togethers. The crazy plant lady who can’t hold a screwdriver.” Your hands drift to your stomach.

Santi huffs with incredulity and shakes his head. “It’s not pity. I want to help because… that’s just who I am. I don’t know Vin, I see you, you’re there, you need help, I help. It’s not that complicated.”

“Not that complicated? You’d call this ‘not that complicated’?” Hot tears betray you, you hardly even try to stop them. Not here, in the open blanket of night, Santiago tilting his head in concern towards you. 

“Don’t cry. Please Vin. You’ve been crying to much lately, what’s wrong?”

“I miss him. I miss Jay every fucking day. I wake up and his photo is right fucking there. I think about putting it away… I did put it away for a while, but I even missed THAT… so I put it back. On the nightstand.”

“What would you say to him?”

“Huh?”

“If Jay was here…. Not alive, but a spirit or ghost or something… what would you say to him? If he materialized right now?”

You wipe your eyes. “I’d ask if he was happy. If he was safe… I’d probably ask him if heaven is real. If he’s in heaven. If he met Elvis…” You laugh.

“And what else?”

“And then I’d say… I… I needed you Jay. I needed you. I’d say that sometimes I’m still so angry that you’re not here that it makes me scream. I’m angry that we never went to that stupid ‘Party Time Taco’ restaurant we kept getting flyers for, just to see how bad it was. I’m angry that you didn’t have a fucking last will and testament, so it was on me to guess at everything you would have wanted. I’m angry that you left me alone. And I think sometimes I get so angry, because if I felt sad instead, I’d fall apart.”

You don’t know at what point in your sobbing rant that Santiago’s arm came over your shoulders, but you’re grateful for his steadying embrace as your tears slow down to faint hiccups. 

“You wanna know what I’d think he’d say?”

“What?”

“That he’s proud of you. He’s proud of how strong you are. He’s proud of you for getting out of bed every morning. He knows how hard it must be. And that he couldn’t imagine anyone being a better mother… and how badass he thinks it is that you’re doing this on your own.”

“Thanks, Santi.”

“He also says you shouldn’t be watering the backyard for fifteen minutes in the evening. Do five in the morning and 10 at night”

“Oh he said all that did he?”

“Yep. don’t shoot the messenger.”

“What was the thing you had to tell me?”

“Hmm?”

“The thing. When you were on the porch you said you had something…”

“Yeah. I… I’m taking a job in South America.”

“Where at?”

“Can’t say.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I know.”

“Ohhh… one of those.”

“Yep.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Don’t know.”

“You don’t know at all?”

“Not really.”

“Not even a guess?”

“Vin. C’mon you know I can’t tell you.”

“A week? A month?… longer? Blink twice if it’s longer than a month.”

“I don’t know.”

Your hand drifts to your stomach.

Santi breathes out, “Are you upset?”

“No! Why would I be upset?” Your voice squeaks defensively.

“Because I won’t be around while you’re…”

“I said I’m fine! I’m doing this alone and I meant that!”

“Yeah I know. I’m just worried.”

“About?”

“Oh I don’t know Vin, If something happens to you and you can’t get in contact with me.”

“If I were you I’d be much more concerned with doing some sort of clandestine mission in a foreign country.”

Santi is silent.

“Will you call?” You ask softly.

“If I can.” He replies at the same quiet level.

“Send a postcard?”

Santi barks out a laugh, “Yeah I’ll send you a postcard. Greetings from redacted! With all incriminating details blacked out in sharpie.”

“You going alone?”

“No. The guys are going with me.”

“All of them?”

“The whole gang.”

“Must be a big job.”

“You could say that.”

“When do you leave?”

Santi takes a deep breath. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?! As in, like, today-tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’m all packed. Tonight was a last hurrah stateside.”

“How long have you known about this job??”

“A while.”

"And when the fuck pray tell were you planning on telling me?"

“Fuck I don’t know Vin, I didn’t want to stress you out. I kept trying to find the right moment to tell you but, I don’t know, I didn’t want you to worry and you’ve started crying again and..”

“Hormones!”

“Right, hormones. I didn’t want to stress you out.”

“Well I’m considerably less stressed now, learning that you were so worried about this trip yourself that you decided it was better to keep me in the dark and wait till the last possible second to clue me in rather than just tell me. Did you tell the guys to keep it a secret from me too? A last hurrah party and not one of them mentioned the international travel plans the whole night?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It is. You don’t have to tell me everything, right? That’s… you’re not… it’s fine.” You pat his back “Sorry for freaking out. If you say you’re going to be fine then I should trust you, right? You know what you’re doing.”

Santi nods and is tight-lipped when he mutters, “Right.”

“You need me to water your plants or anything while you’re gone? Get your mail?”

“Already taken care of.”

You nod and click your tongue, “Well, it’s getting late.” You dump the contents of your herbal tea onto the lawn and hand Santi the mug. “Will I see you before you leave?”

“We leave in, Santi checks his watch. 5 and a half hours.” He says with tight apologetic eyes.

“Five and a half hours,” you mutter under your breath. “You need a ride to the airport?” You ask more loudly, already deciding that if he says ‘yeah that’d be great’ you’ll laugh in his stupid chiseled face.

“We have a shuttle coming… but thanks.” He looks so tired. But so what if he is, it’s his own fault if he isn’t well rested for his trip.

“Well then, you better get your beauty rest. Those boys are going to have raging headaches tomorrow.”

You get up and rock back and forth on your feet facing Santi. His knees are bent, one hand clasping his wrist, eyebrows downturned with concern.

“I’ll see you in… well… when you get back.”

“Vin—“

“Goodnight, Pope.”

He doesn’t rise to chase you. Doesn’t grab your wrist and force you to hug him goodbye. Doesn’t wipe away your tears with his thumbs. He remains sitting on the driveway when you get inside your home. And when you lay down in your bed, tears soaking your pillow, he’s still out there, staring at the fucking moon.

You have a nightmare. Not the usual horror of Jay collapsing in the middle of highway 1, the recurring playback panic of the last two years. No, in this nightmare you’re sitting on your porch in a rocking chair, holding a potted plant, one so big it crushes your thighs. Santi’s house, usually pristine and well kept, is condemned, paint chipped, windows smashed, lawn overgrown. You rock faster and faster out of control until the ceramic pot falls off your lap and crashes to the floor.

You wake with a gasp and leap out of bed. You nearly trip over the sheet still caught on your foot when you rush over to the window. It’s still dark outside. Santi isn’t out there any longer, neither is the blanket or your mug. You look at the clock. 4:30. You sigh in relief. They haven’t left yet.

You throw on a robe over your nightgown and go downstairs. You turn on the kettle before getting the ingredients out to make biscuits. Those idiots really shouldn’t have drank so much last night. You figure the least you can do is make them some breakfast sandwiches they can take with them. It’s not like you’ll be able to get back to sleep.

You’re wrapping up the last of the sandwiches (seven in total, one for Santi, Fish, and Redfly. Two for each of the voracious Miller brothers) when you see a blue shuttle van pull up in Santiago’s driveway. The sun has barely risen and the muffler steams as the driver beeps twice. You put the sandwiches in a paper bag and forget your slippers in a hurry, meeting the boys with their pack laden arms as they unload their bags into the van.

“Morning, Vin!” Fish greets you, causing Santiago to nearly snap his neck when he turns around in surprise. You hand the bag of breakfast goods to Fish.

“Mmm what’s this?” Frank pokes his nose into the bag and breathes deeply.

“Just a little something to soak up any remaining tequila.”

“Ugh, please don’t say tequila” Benny groans, shuffling off his pack into the trunk before he wraps you up in a hug. “Take care, Vin.”

“I will.”

In turn, each of the boys hugs you and thanks you. You tell them all to “be safe” and that the “welcome home party will be at casa de Vinita. With plenty of tequila.” Benny groans again. Santi watches you, arms folded leaning against the passenger door of the running shuttle. The boys load in and buckle up. Benny is already ripping into the parchment paper of his breakfast and will snatches the bag with a gravelly, “you’re an animal, Ben.”

You lock eyes with Santi, a strange anticipation tingling in your fingers. You both jump slightly when the shuttle driver beeps his horn. Santi glares at the driver who points at his watch.

“Pinche… give me a minute, Kay?”

You take two barefooted steps towards Santi and wrap your arms around his middle, resting your head on his chest. He holds you close, like he’s giving you a concentrated dose of hugs, giving you a full month’s worth of embraces in one sitting.

“I had a nightmare about you last night.” You whisper so only he can hear. He inhales deeply and rubs his hands carefully up and down your back. You can feel the gripping dance of his fingers through the material of the robe and it makes you shiver. You grip him closer. “Be safe. Please.” You whisper, hoping you’re the only one who registers how desperate your plea really sounds.

Santiago’s hands skim up to the sides of your face and he gently pulls your head away from his chest. You choke back the makings of a whine. You don’t want the hug to be over, not yet, you’re going to miss him. He rubs his warm thumbs against your cheeks and there’s no warning at all, no hesitation, no eyes flicking to your lips, no sweep of tongue to wet his own, when he kisses you on the mouth.

It’s slow. Achingly slow. Your gasp of surprise is muffled by the insistent pressure of his mouth. You can’t be sure, but, if he he had been hugging you in prepayment of all the embraces you’d miss in the coming weeks, then this kiss is surely back payment, with interest, for all the times he’s stopped himself from kissing you in the past. Recompense, remuneration; a distilled unspoken passion. There’s nothing ‘first-kiss' about it, not clumsy, not awkward, not unsure. It feels practiced, steady, anticipated. The tingling in your fingers makes total sense and you use those same fingers to glide through his silvery thick curls when you tilt your head and open your mouth to him.

He twists your form in his broad arms, angling your faces away from the van, causing one of your bare feet to leave the ground and lift slightly like a wilting ballerina in swan lake or something out of an old movie.

There’s a romantic reverence in the way his tongue moves with yours, his nose pressed against your cheek, hot steady breath blowing comfortingly against your face.

You both jolt again and break apart your lip lock when the shuttle driver lays on the horn.

Santi doesn’t so much as furrow his brow at the driver when he steadies you back on two legs.

Frankie brushes the driver’s shoulder, and with a mouthful of biscuit says, “Pero qué coño! give him a minute, wéon.”

You blink rapidly and stare at your feet. What the fuck?

“I’ll be back soon.” Santi promises, squeezing your hand assuredly before climbing in the passenger seat and closing the door.

Frankie gives you a wide eyed smile before sliding the back door closed and you can hear the muffled admonitions of the driver as he hastily pulls out of the driveway and speeds off down the residential street. 

-------

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Half Of You (Part 4) [Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader]

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. mentions of infidelity, cursing, innuendo, mentions of pregnancy.

Summary: A couple of friends drop by and stir the pot. Or the pitcher, rather.

A/N: Thanks so much for sticking with this slow-burn series, team. Sorry for the late update, life has been sort of chaotic at the moment. Hope you enjoy and I plan to update sooner for the next chapter. Much love 💚

Santi may have been right. This may have been too big of a task for you to do by yourself. You did get all the pieces of your plant bench out of the box and on the floor of the patio, grouping all the similar lengths of untreated wood together. And you even peeled off all the little stickers! Each piece had a little sticker on with a letter on it, and you assumed it had been for the factory worker’s benefit— to put 5 slats of A wood and 4 slats of b-length wood etcetera etcetera in to each box… it was only when you were reading the directions you realized the stickers were there to help YOU, the assembler, determine what piece went were. So you sat on the patio, staring at the now unlabeled wood pile, a tiny stack of peeled useless stickers, and a little booklet telling you to attach four slats of B to one slat of D and having no fucking clue which is which. 

You cringe outwardly and drag your hand down your face. Santi is never going to let you live this down. He’s definitely going to bring this up in any future DIY endeavor, “yeah but remember the time with the stickers?” dammit. You cut your losses, resigned to the fact that Santi is going to have to help you with the plant bench, if not build it himself. You’re lucky he’s busy wacking his lawn at the moment and not sitting on the porch swing watching you make a fool of yourself. 

It’s hot outside and you know that if you’re getting heated in the shade of your patio while doing zero physical activity (besides mentally kicking yourself), Santi must be sweltering in the Florida sun with his long sleeves, work gloves, wrap-around sunglasses, and ear protectors (which your pretty sure double at the gun range). You abandon the plant bench and go inside to make him (and yourself) some blackberry lemonade. 

——————

“Knock, Knock, telegram!” 

Renatta lets herself in through your open kitchen door, setting down a thick manilla folder on the counter where you’re mottling the lemon rinds. 

“Hey! Come in! I’d give you a hug but my hands are covered in sugar. Have a seat.”

“Oooh whatcha making?” She seats herself at a barstool, leaning on the counter, and plucks a washed blackberry from the colander. “Something sweet?” She asks through a mouthful of fruit.

“Blackberry lemonade.” She takes a small handful of the blackberries into her palm and pops another into her mouth. “If you keep eating them though, it’s just going to be plain lemonade.” 

“You need any help?” 

“Sure! You can take that press right there and juice the berries for me. If there are any left, that is.”

“Oh hush. You making lemonade for Santiago?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Girl I don’t need a law degree to figure that out. There’s a hunky sweaty man in your front yard wacking the fuck out of your weeds. Of course you’re making him lemonade.” 

She makes her way over to the sink to wash her hands. “Damn. Speaking of sweet….” You look up at Renatta and she’s staring out the kitchen window with a glazed stare and an eyebrow raised. You follow her gaze through the window to the front yard where Santi is bent over, denim ass on display, fruitlessly pulling the engine starter on his old gas powered lawn mower. 

“Renatta!” You laugh and flick some sugar at her fuchsia tank top. 

“What!” She laughs in mock defense, putting the berries in the press. “We better hurry up with this lemonade because it’s getting hot out there, if you catch my drift.”

You smile and shake your head combining the sugared lemon rinds and piths together. You nod your head toward the manilla folder. 

“Are those the papers?”

“Oh, you mean Santiago’s baby daddy waivers? Yes those are them.”

“That’s the legal term for it huh?”

“Girl I do not understand why you’re not just in a relationship with that man. He’s obviously in love with you.” She catches the juice from the press into a clean mason jar.

“Uh huh.” You’ve heard this before. From Renatta mostly. You separate the lemon mixture with a cheese cloth, squeezing the sugared rinds and lemon piths into a pitcher. 

“Sorry, am I supposed to be keeping up with this friendship façade y’all have going? None of my business, I know. This,” she points to the folder, “Just seems a little extra.”

“Extra?!”

“Yeah, but thats okay, girl, you’re a little extra and that’s alright. It’s cute.”

“I’m extra?”

“Asks the woman sugaring lemon rinds for the man she’s not in love with. Okay, sure. You ever heard of Country Tyme Lemonade, Vin? Quick and easy, delicious lemonade in seconds. I know you got a can of it somewhere.”

“If you have a problem with the rinds, you’re really going to have a riot when I add the fresh Basil at the end.”

Renatta gives a full belly laugh and claps you on the shoulder. 

“Hows work going by the way, Ren?”

“Oh you know, same old shit with Warren. Motherfucker has such a problem with me taking a Saturday off. He makes me so mad, you know he asked me to get him coffee the other day? Coffee. Said it like, ‘Renatta would you get me a coffee, hun. You know how I like it.’”

“Ew, you’re kidding.”

Renatta shakes her head. “He treats me like a paralegal, swear to God. I can’t wait till I start my own firm. You know I have fantasies about going against him in court? Long, detailed fantasies. Ohh I can’t wait till the day comes.”

“That’s right, Ren, take it out of the berries.”

Renatta pours the blackberry juice into the pitcher of lemon juice, the color swirls beautifully and you go to the freezer for your ice trays.

“Santiago was so cute when he showed up at the office to sign the papers. He was in a lil tucked-in button down, lookin like a ken doll.”

“Oh?”

“Mmmhmm, didn’t even read em, just signed on the dotted line…”

“Okay…”

“What’s his story by the way?”

You stir in the ice cubes “Why? are you interested?”

“Please. As much as you don’t like to hear it, that man is whipped for you and you alone.”

You nod noncommittally and add tap water to the pitcher.

“It’s just, as long as I’ve known you two, for what? over a year now? he’s been single. What’s his story.” 

You turn off the tap and look up to your front yard where Santiago is pushing the mower in precise lines up and down your lawn and your heart surges with appreciation. 

“He wasn’t always single.”

“Proceed.”

“Okay, counselor… haha, I feel like I’m being interrogated!”

Renatta narrows her eyes over pointed hands and says in a shitty Russian accent, “I have ways of making you talk.”

“It’s not some big secret or anything, I doubt he’d care if I told you… When Jay and I moved in,” 

Her eyes go softer when you mention Jay’s name, the way that people’s eyes always go soft, like you might burst into tears at the lovelorn memories of your late husband. You turn to the cabinet to grab some glassware so you don’t have to endure it.

 “When we moved in, Santiago was living with his girlfriend…. Fiancee, actually, after they came back from that trip to Hawaii, they were engaged… god that was so long ago.” 

You pretend to debate on the glasses while you recount the tale.

 “The four of us were really close actually. Game nights, sports events, double dates, you name it. Bee and I were close like Santi and Jay were, you know? Well you don’t know, but we were close, like, to the point we talked about combo-ing the backyards into a ‘super backyard’ with a huge pool and deck area,” you laugh at the thought. “It was never serious-serious plans but it was an ongoing thing… the four of us would tack on grander and more insane plans for the Super Backyard, like waterslides and a pizza oven, and… so dumb really… It was a few months before Jay passed, Santi and Bee had this big fight, I think the whole neighborhood heard it.” 

You turn around with the glassware and set them on the counter in front of Renatta, she’s still giving you that soft eyed look but you think it’s not for your benefit this time. You pour her a glass of the purple lemonade and slide It over to her. She cups it in her hand but she doesn’t drink.

“And then?”

You glance behind you to make sure Santiago is safely out of earshot with his earmuffs on. 

“Bee was pregnant. And… the baby wasn’t his.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“Damn, that’s tragic.”

“Oh it gets worse.”

“Girl…”

“She was cheating on him with his brother.”

“Fuuuuck.” Renatta lets go of the glass completely and cringes at the news. 

“Yeah. He found out, or she told him, or her brother told him, I don’t know, he doesn’t like to talk about it.” 

You glance over your shoulder again to make sure Santi is still in the yard, working diligently. 

“Shit. Poor Santiago.” She stares out at him in the yard as well.

“Poor Santiago… Bee is married to him now, Santi’s brother. I got an invite to the wedding.” You cringe and Renatta’s jaw drops. 

“Did you go?”

“Of course I didn’t go! I stopped being friends with her… I just couldn’t see her the same way.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“She reached out after Jay passed but I ignored her… I was ignoring a lot of people at that time though, you know? I do see all of Bee’s updates on facebook, the baby pictures, the family barbecues… Santi doesn’t talk to his family anymore, doesn’t go to the holidays, nothing. They all supported his brother, especially his parents who are just thrilled to have a grandchild.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah… don’t tell him I told you? Huh? I mean, I don’t think he’d care that you knew, it’s just—“

Renatta locks her lips with the tips of her fingers “Attorney/client confidentiality, Vin.”

“Thanks. Oh I almost forgot!” You snag a few leaves of basil from your windowsill herb garden and toss a sprig into each poured glass.

“Thank god you remembered.”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes at her, taking a glass of lemonade outside to Santiago. He’s clipping the hedges at the front of your yard. Its fucking hot out and the sweat from his back sticks to his t-shirt in a wet v-shape. You gently press the icy glass to the back of his golden, sweat-beaded neck. 

“Aaaahahahaa…” Santi smiles and leans into the cold glass as you gently caress his neck with the tinkling condensation.

“Feels good, right?”

“Mmmhmmm.” He turns his face toward you and you continue to press the glass against one cheek, then the other, booping his nose with it along the way. 

“You keep doing that and all the ice is gonna melt.” The hedge clippers hang securely in his work-gloved hand and he smiles at you when you bring the glass up to his forehead, running it back and forth across his brow slowly, when he starts to raise his brow at you, you put the cup in his free hand.

He swirls the glass and purses his lips, “Basil?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hows the plant shelf coming along?”

You reflexively look back to the patio with the obviously unattempted pile of Not A Plant Shelf and when you look back at him Santiago is smirking. 

You put your hands on your hips, “Drink your lemonade, Garcia.” 

He obeys tilting the frosty glass to his mouth, the ice cubes having shrunk slightly. He hums in pleasure at the first sip, his shoulders sag and he licks his lips. 

“Blackberry?”

“Yep.”

He takes another long gulp, nearly draining the glass. “From scratch too?”

“Of course, I know you hate Country Tyme.”

Santiago drains the glass and hands it back to you. “Thanks, Vin.”

“Renatta helped, too.”

“Renatta’s here?”

“Yeah she came by to drop off the copies of the uhhh… agreement.”

“Ah yes, the agreement. Well, I’ll be in soon to install that water filter, just finishing the hedges and then I gotta grab my tools.”

“I thought I told you I was going to do that!”

Santi tilts his sunglasses down at you, blinking comically at the pile of wood on the porch and then cocking his head dramatically in your direction before pushing them back into place. 

You sigh. “Fine. I’ll be inside.”

——————————

Santiago is under your sink when he feels his boot being gently kicked. 

“Vinny, I told you this was going to be a minute, if you need running water, you can go over to my place. The door is unlocked”

“Oh really, can I use your shower, Santiagooo?” 

The voice doesn’t belong to you, it’s the voice of a man, pitched mockingly high in the poor imitation of a female voice. Santi slides out from under the sink, ungracefully smacking his head on the top of the cabinet in the process. Frankie doubles over in laughter as Santi rubs his head against his palm. 

“Damn, Frank you scared the shit out of me.”

“Haha, not as scared as you’re going to be for your league punishment.”

Santi groans and hoists himself up, bracing on the counter and leaning back against it with folded arms. His left foot is asleep and his fucking knees are creaking with pain just like the top of his head. He taps his toe, partly to get the feeling back in his toe and partly in agitation of Fish and his jubilant smile. 

“You come over here to what? Rub in your league stats?”

“Hermano, relax, I was in the neighborhood and returning your bandsaw, when I pulled up, Vin told me you were in the kitchen. She’s on the front porch building a birdhouse or something.”

“Plant shelf.” Santi mutters, rubbing his head.

“Didn’t look like any plant shelf I’ve ever seen.”

Santi chuckles. He can see it. You never were one for following directions. Hopefully you haven’t done any irreparable damage to the pieces before he can put it together himself. 

“You need any help?” Fish nods to the sink and the opened box with the filtration components still wrapped in plastic. 

“Yeah, yeah actually. I just gotta disconnect something down there and when I tell you, if you could snake this piece down that hole, that would save me some time.”

“You got it.”

Santi slowly lowers himself, hiding any expressions of discomfort or groans when his knees make contact with the kitchen tile. He hear fish take a seat at the barstool and some shuffling of papers.

“By the way, why are you all sweaty, Pope? I know it’s hot out, but damn.”

“Yardwork.”

“Of course.”

It’s not a great crescent wrench. He needs a new set entirely, his 8th in particular has seen so much action it’s probably a 7th at this point. 

“What the…” Santi hears Frank mutter, hears the flip of a page. “Release all rights to… whaaaat?” Another flip of a page. 

Somewhere in the back of Santi’s mind he realizes that Fish is reading the copy of the agreement he had signed at Renatta’s downtown office on Thursday. 

Santi scurries once again out from under the sink and in his haste, smacks the same bit of his forehead on the cabinet. 

“Fuck!” He yells. Rubbing his forehead, rising up in a fashion that he’s going to feel tomorrow morning, he lunges over the counter at Frankie, tearing the papers out of his hands, straightening the pages and shoving them back in the envelope. 

Frankie opens his mouth to speak but closes it when you come bursting through the door. 

“What happened?! I head you scream.”

“I didn’t scream, I yelled.”

“Yes, much more acceptable. Beg your pardon— oh shit your forehead!”

Pope grits his teeth, palm pressed to the pounding pain in his skull. 

“I’m fine.”

But you’re not listening to him. Of course. When do you ever? You grab an ice pack from the freezer and wrap it in a clean hand towel and tug at his wrist gently.

“Move your hand.”

He winces when you press the ice pack to his forehead and you examine his eyes from beneath the wrapped cloth. You’re probably checking him for a concussion or something dramatic. 

“It’s really not that—“

“Bad? Bullshit, Santi, I felt the whole porch shudder when you bonked your head… actually think you may have fucked up my plant shelf, with the quake… damn shame too, because it was going very well.”

Santi winces and snorts out a laugh. 

“I’ll fix it.”

You nod at him with a smile, “Its really the least you could do. Might even need to call FEMA to step in.”

Santi covers your hand with his own, turning from you so that you let go of the ice pack. 

“Thanks, Vin. Feeling better already.” 

You stand somewhat awkwardly in your own kitchen, perhaps realizing you interrupted a moment between Frankie and himself. 

You bend your thumb over your shoulder. “Well I’m going to asses the Richter damage and leave you to um, the hoses and things… and if you need any tylenol, they’re in my bathroom cabinet. The mirror on the uhh.. right.”

Santi and Frankie let a few moments of silence fall between them before Frankie whisper screams at him, “What the fuck?” Holding up the folder and tapping it for emphasis in case the head trauma gave Santiago amnesia. 

“Don’t.” Santi snaps, lowering his head to rest on his forearms. That’s what you’re supposed to do right, lower the head? Or is that for nausea?

“I just found out you and Vin are having a baby, and you want me to what? Pretend like I don’t know that?”

The blood pumps viciously against his skull and Santiago remembers that lowering the head is indeed for nausea and he should keep the injured area elevated to prevent inflamation. He raises up, still gripping the towel-wrapped cold pack to what is sure to be a very attractive lump in the morning. 

“If you could. Yeah.”

Frankie shakes his head incredulously, folding his arms and leaning back against the stool. “What are you doing, man?”

Santi shrugs his free shoulder. “Installing an osmosis filter.”

“Pope.”

“Don’t knock it till you try a glass. Supposed to be out of this world.” He mutters deadpan. 

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, no I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh this. The filter. The yard work. The fucking birdhouse.”

“Plant shelf.”

“Pope. Come on, man. Look at yourself.”

“The fuck are you saying?”

Its the heat, the heat is getting to him, the pounding in his head is getting to him, he has a good idea of what Frankie is implying and he wishes he would say it so he can flip his lid.

“You’ve been playing house with Vin for two years, hermano. Doing all this household shit, and that’s fine, but a baby? A baby that’s not even going to be yours? Dios, Pope. I mean this sincerely— are you okay? I get that what happened with Bee was fucked up, she broke your heart and then some, but fuck! It’s been a long time. I’ve tried to set you up, Rach has tried to set you up, get you back on the scene, but…. You’re acting like you’re Vin’s husband… with none of the perks, apparently!” He flicks the folder again, for emphasis. 

Santiago silently counts to ten and levels his breathing, he can feel the way his hand shakes against his forehead and it takes everything inside him not to hurl the fucking thing at Frank. 

“You put my bandsaw in my garage already?”

“Yeah, did it when I pulled up.”

“Good—

“But I can move it to Vin’s garage if you need me to. This stool is a little wobbly, could use some even-ing out.”

Santiago’s nostrils flare and he starts counting to ten in his head again.

Frank walks around the counter and claps his arm around Santiago. “Look, man. I know you got your own way of… shouldering the fucking world and I’m probably the last guy you wanna hear life advice from, considering…. But, you’ve always been there for me. Even when I was being a fucking asshole.”

Santiago sniffs stiffly and Fish gives his shoulder a pat before releasing him from the side-armed hug. 

“I’m here if you want to talk, okay. I know its not your thing, but if you ever feel like it, I am here for you.”

Santi gives him a curt nod and turns to busy himself with unwrapping one of the filter components from the plastic.

“I think you were about to tell me to fuck off, so I’ll save you the oxygen.” Fish says with a smile and pats Santi’s turned back one more time before departing. 

Santi drops the plastic wrapped filter and stands stalk-still in the kitchen, the ice pack isn’t cold anymore so he unwraps the cloth, tossing it into the hamper in the laundry room before putting the melted pack back in the freezer. The glass pitcher of lemonade is sweating on the counter and Santi grabs a glass and fills it to the brim, turning towards the planter box on the window sill, he plucks a piece of basil and garnishes the top of the drink with it before raising the icy glass to his forehead and sighing in relief. 

--------------

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Half of You (Chapter 3) [Santiago Garcia x fem!Reader]

CH. 1 CH. 2

Summary: What's a romcom without a little tragic backstory, huh? Tragic backstory and muffins.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Mentions of death, mourning, talk of pregnancy.

A/N: I want to thank you guys so much for all the lovely comments and tags on the previous chapters of this story, it means the world to me 💚 This is going to be kind of a slow burn, mmmkay? I want Vin and Santi to simmer good and long before we add the spice because we want that payoff to be delicious. Enjoy!

You don’t knock when entering Santiago’s home anymore, not in the mornings, at least. You know you’d never catch him in a compromising position in his kitchen or living room, especially not at 9am. He is military clockwork. The ISS could set its time to Santiago’s morning routine. He’s up at 6 every day for a weighted vest run. Sometimes, when you’re up at that hour and just laying in bed, you see him jog past your window at 6:04 and always back at his front porch again by 7:00. 

For the past two years, with almost no exceptions, you’ve been getting up every morning, making some kind of breakfast, and bringing it over at 9, or around nine. You’re not as punctual as Santi and sometimes the muffins or breakfast bars or whatever you make aren’t ready on the dot like his routine, but he never complains.

It wasn’t really like you were doing this for Santi, this was a structure for you. This routine of taking care of someone, being expected at someone’s home at a certain time to feed them. Not that Santi needed to be fed, the man could subsist on protein powder and supplements if needed. It was the promise you made to him….

 How worried he’d been for you in the early weeks following Jay's death. When he wouldn’t see the lights of your home turn on all evening despite knowing you were inside. How he’d knock and sometimes you couldn’t find it within yourself to even tell him to go away; instead silently crying into the pillow that your head couldn’t leave.

Santi had been at a loss. He was grieving too and could only turn his pain into work. Toughing out the emotions through tasks.

It had been an odd morning about two weeks after the funeral that you saw a pair of legs sticking out from under Jay’s car in the front driveway. You were so pissed that someone was fucking with Jay’s things that you went outside for the first time in over a week, in your pajamas (a pair of Jay’s sweats and one of his giant cotton t-shirts) no shoes, and kicked the intruder in the thigh, hard enough to hurt your own toes.

“Get the fuck away from that car! I’m calling the cops!” You screamed, not caring that Mrs. Rosenthall was walking her little dog across the street, slowing her pace to watch the domestic scene play out. 

“Fuck!” The hidden man shouted grabbing his thigh and in the process of reacting to the leg kick, he audibly hit his head on the underside of the car, giving another prolonged “Fuuuck.” Before scrambling out from under Jay’s vintage Mustang. 

“Santi? What—What are you doing?” You cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to get to his knees, wiping off the oil from his hands onto what are clearly work pants. 

“I’m changing the oil and then, if you’d be so kind as to not club me in the head with a wrench, I was going to replace the spark plugs.”

“Replace the spark plugs?” 

“Yes. After the oil. Jesus, you kick like a horse.” He groans, rubbing his definitely bruised thigh over his dark blue pants.

“Sorry.” You mutter, meaning it but not really projecting culpability. How were you supposed to know it was him? Santi dives back under the car and you gasp affronted. “You can’t have his car you know. Just because he’s— you can’t, it’s not yours.”  You sound like a child, unable to even express basic sentiments and the ones that you can express are stubborn and selfish. It’s the way you’ve come used to talking in the past few weeks. 

Santi makes a frustrated sound under the vehicle and you don’t know if it’s because of your words, or if its a particularly stubborn nut he’s prying. 

He emerges from under the car again after a few silent moments of you shifting your weight from foot to foot. Santi brings out a pan of dirty oil with him and wipes his brow with the back of his dirty forearm.

“I’m not angling for the car, Vin. It’s not my style. The fucking color alone, dios. But if you just let these things sit here, unused and unserviced, they have a tendency rot, ok?”

The metaphor feels like a personal attack, an attack on your inability to honor Jay’s memory by letting his car go to shit, an attack on your own inability to take care of yourself down to the routine maintenance of tooth brushing.

The tears come again and you let them fall pathetically. “Jesus, will I ever stop crying? I didn’t know this many tears could exist in a person.” You laugh in woe at the hard understanding on Santiago’s face. 

Santiago brings you into his arms. He holds you and lets you ugly cry into the dirty fabric of his shirt. The oil and armorall smell reminds you of Jay and all his Saturday mornings spent under that fucking car. 

Jay would come in after an hour or two, depending on what needed to be done, or how distracted he’d get on the maintenance if Santiago showed up to help. Tack on an extra hour if they decided it needed a ‘test drive’.

You always had breakfast waiting for him when Jay came in; oily and sweaty. Sometimes he’d come in and grab you from behind with dirty hands to which you’d shriek and demand that he needed to take a shower before he ate. You regret that now. You miss his big strong arms and you you’d give anything for the stains of his embrace. So you shift tighter into Santiago’s hug.

“I’m filthy.” He says apologetically. Probably realizing you’re in One of Jay’s nicer cotton shirts, definitely not something he’d wear to work on the ‘Stang, and he doesn’t want to ruin it. 

“I don’t care.” You insist through tears, clutching his torso like a port in a storm. Santiago rubs your back, up and down like soothing an infant. You even hiccup like one. 

“Do you wan’t to come in for breakfast?” You sniff. “Please.”

“You don’t need to make me breakfast, Vin. You should probably rest.”

“No. No, I don’t need to sleep. Please?” 

Santiago hesitates. You can feel his head turn to look at the car. 

“Spark plugs first, then I’ll go home to shower, then I’ll come back for breakfast. You need me to bring anything?”

“You don’t need to shower.” God, it comes out so starved. Your emotional regulation has gone to absolute shit and you realize for the first time that the feeling that has been eating you up is a little thing called loneliness. 

“Vin, it’s okay, I’ll come back.” He pats your back and you pull out of the hug, wiping your tears and snot on the back of your forearm, looking down at your barefeet on the gravel.

“Eggs.” You nearly whisper.

“Eggs?”

“Eggs. Bring eggs. I don’t think ours are— mine are any good.”

Santiago showered and came back with eggs and you made food in your kitchen for the first time in weeks, fresh food, a meal that wasn’t a condolence casserole. 

 It lifted your sprits up so much that you begged Santiago to come over the next morning and then it quietly evolved to you bringing the baked goods over to his house. The responsibility did so much to haul you out of bed on days that threatened to swallow you into the folds of your comforter, on days where all you’d want to do was watch the day grow bright and fall dim without performing a solitary meaningful action. 

Two years had passed. There were hardly any mornings nowadays where you felt the pull to sink into sleep and waste the day in unconsciousness. You were excited to get up every morning to see your friend. And on days when he would be gone due to the nature of his work, you’d braved up and made other friends in the neighborhood, bringing them freshly baked scones or a pitaya bowl if it it was too hot to bake. Just something. A reason to get up, to greet someone. 

Santi’s home is immaculate, like always. He’s the type of single man who takes pride in a cleanly appearance, wether that’s a learned behavior from the military or if he’s always been tidy from childhood, you don’t know. The granite countertops are spotless and he’s perched at the barstool with the morning paper. His hair is still slightly damp from his morning shower and he scowls over the sports page, shaking his head at some news or other from the top fold. 

“I hope you like crasins… and walnuts.”

“Jesus, Vin!” Santi startles from his stool and tosses the paper down.

“That’d be a no on the crasins then?” You laugh and ruffle the back of his curls as he settles back down into his seat. You grab a couple plates and napkins, setting a crasin muffin down on each one before pouring yourself a cup of coffee from the pot into your designated yellow mug (a trinket Santiago had made at a Color Me Mine double date from 3 or so years ago).

“You ever think about knocking when you come over?” He takes a bite from the muffin and hums pleased. 

“Knocking? I’m hurt. So all that mi casa su casa talk was just for show, Garcia?”

Santi closes his eyes and slaps the counter. “Mmmm, this.” He points at the muffin and gives you a thumbs up.

“You like it more than the cinnamon rasin bread from yesterday?”

He wipes his mouth off on a napkin and gulps from his coffee mug. “That was good too.”

You take a bite of your own muffin and hum in agreement. “Oh yeah, that shit’s delicious. Adding this one to the roster for sure.”

“Uh, roster, don’t remind me.”

“Why?” You gesture to the paper “was there a tragic drafting in the world of fantasy football? Should I fly the flag at half mast?”

“Pretty dismal. Do you want to hear about it?”

“I mean, you can tell me anything, Santiago, but I’m not going to understand a word you’re saying.”

“Uh huh, I figured. I’ll spare you the tragic details and sum it up with ‘I think I’m going to lose a big chunk of change to the boys this week’ but, hey, at least I’ve got these muffins.”

“You can’t have them all, I was going to bring the rest over to Mrs. Rosenthal.”

Santi makes a quiet noise of indignation and pulls the plate of muffins closer to himself. 

“Not to Gertie! You know her little fur ball was barking till past midnight? Right outside my window. Again. She doesn’t deserve muffins.” There’s a twinkle of teasing in his eyes and you sigh and relent, squeezing between your fingers the bit of tum that sits above his belt.

“You’re starting to turn into a muffin. I spoil you too much.”

With a full mouth, Santi shoves the plate back in your direction and frictions his fingers clean of crumbs.

“Take em!” He shouts dramatically with a mouth full of muffin, pushing his stool back and taking his plate to the sink to wash it by hand. 

“I like the tum by the way, it’s very becoming… and the dad bod is fitting, you know, considering…” 

You trail off and Santi turns around wide eyed, drying his hands on a dark grey tea towel. “Do you mean…?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, not yet, not for a couple weeks… I mean I could be right now, and I— I wouldn’t know.” You’re beaming, eyes alight with excitement. “I’m nervous!” You clap your hands quietly together. “That’s why I made so many muffins this morning, I’m just ugh, bouncing with the anticipation— HEY what are you doing with my coffee, Garcia?!” Santi dumps your full cup of coffee down the sink and starts on hand washing your yellow mug. The barstool scrapes as you get up to retrieve your mug from his soapy hands.

“You can’t be having caffeine! It’s bad for the baby!” His upper arms are strong as he blocks you from getting your hands on the mug with his back turned to you.

“Bad for the baby? How do you know that?” Santi dries your mug with a clean towel and sets it by the electric tea kettle, flipping the blue switch on. When he abandons the mug to grab some tea from the cupboard, you snatch it and hide it behind your back, making your way sneakily over to the coffee pot as he rummages for something on the shelf.

“I’ve been reading up about it.”

“Reading up about it?” You’re not really listening to him, simply parroting his words as you quietly pour yourself a new cup of delicious dark roast coffee. 

“Aha! Got it!” He holds up a box of celestial seasonings tea, eyes getting wide as he sees you taking a sip from the piping hot mug.

“Vin!” He cocks his head and holds out a hand, and the way his eyes narrow on yours, glinting with resoluteness makes you sigh with defeat and hand him the steaming hot mug.

He rinses it out once again without complaint and you examine the box of “ugh, herbal tea?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ of the word. There’s no arguing with Santi. 

“I might not even be pregnant, you know.” But the proffered information is pointless. You know what he’s about to say before he even says it.

“Yeah, but you might be.” It’s exactly what you knew he was going to say. 

“I never read anything like that.” But it’s a lie. You have read things like that, but of all the things? Coffee? How are you supposed to live without coffee?

“Well maybe you should read harder. I have a book you can borrow.”

“You have a book?”

“I’m not done with it yet, I’ll let you read it when I’ve finished.” Santi pours the boiling water over the teabag and you almost cry when he places the mug into your hands. In a last ditch effort to get your way, you pout your lips out and fix him with a defeated stare.

“After all the muffins I’ve made for you. Now this.”

“Nuh uh, Vin. Just try it.” He ruffles your hair in a very ‘you’ move and chuckles when you stomp your foot in a petulant show. 

You sit back at the stool and blow on your tea before taking an exploratory sip. It’s not bad, but you scrunch your face in disgust anyway. 

Santi shakes his head at you and takes a big gulp of his own coffee. “Mmmm, that arabica roast. Delicious.”

“You shit.” You mutter taking another gulp from the chickory tea. It’s really not too bad. You’ll have to take a picture of the box so you can get some more from the store later. 

“I don’t mind playing the villain, as long as our baby won’t have a third arm from the bio hazard levels of caffeine you consume on a daily basis.”

Our baby. Our baby. Our baby. Your eyes go wide and Santiago backtracks. “I didn’t mean ‘our’ baby like that, I meant your baby… of course.”

A few beats of silence fall between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, I shouln’t—“

“I’ve been meaning to—“

You both speak at the same time and laugh awkwardly. Santiago gestures to you gently. “Please, go ahead.”

“I… I was just… well you signed all the papers Renatta gave you, and I’m sure that you, being Mr. ‘I’ve been doing my own research’, you read the whole release contract?”

“I did.”

“So… how involved did you… how involved are you intending to be with the baby?” The baby. Neutral. Not “my”, not “our”, “the”. Safe.

Santi scratches his smooth jaw and licks his lips deliberately. 

“I guess I’ll be.. I wan’t to be…”

Your heart stops for a second with the intensity of his pause, your head swims and flicks through future images at a thousand miles a minute. Santiago holding a little baby’s hands as it takes its first wobbly steps, shushing a wailing baby to sleep in a nursery that doesn’t exist, singing lullabies, scrunching his nose at a dirty diaper, hiking trips with a toddler on his shoulders, tee ball practice. You shake your head to clear the whole little lifetime that unfolds rapidly in fantasy form.

“I want to be as involved as you let me.” His eyes meet yours then. And you nod unthinking at the brilliant umber depths. “If you want me to be their uncle, their neighbor, their… whatever. I’m,” he takes in a breath that fills his whole chest, “I’m okay to be whatever you need me to be.”

“Okay.”

“Well how involved do you want me to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“At all?”

“No.” Your voice sounds small and all of a sudden you feel like you’re being interrogated. 

“Haven’t thought about it one bit?” He presses.

“No.” But the no feels like a lie. Because of course you’ve thought about it. You’re thinking about it right now, seated next to him in his immaculate kitchen.

“That tracks.” He scoffs and goes back to his paper, flicking the pages open with agitation. 

“Hey!” You push his fist down and hold his clenching fingers lightly with your own. His face looks hurt. “I don’t really know right now. It’s— this is all new to me, Santiago.”

Santi nods in understanding but still looks as though there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he’s trying to reign in. “I’m sorry Vin. You…” he unclenches his fist and takes your fingers into his warm palm, holding them with reassurance. You stare down at your joined hands, unable to meet his understanding eyes. You don’t deserve how kind and patient he is with you. How giving he’s always been with you. His nature makes you feel fucking guilty at times. “You take all the time you need, Vin. I’m not going anywhere.”

“No?”

“No. I live right next door.”

You smile at him. “Thanks, Santi.”

He lets go of your hand and pats it. “Plus the real estate market is a nightmare right now,” he takes another sip of his coffee which sloshes slightly when you shove his shoulder. “I’d be insane to sell in this economy.”

“You shit!”

Santi smiles and goes back to his paper with a smile and genuine interest. 

“What are your plans for today, officer.”

Santi scratches his eyebrow, “I need to hit up Home Depot to get some fresh wire for the weed whacker. How about you?’

“Oh my god, thats perfect!”

“Glad you think so, seeing as how I’ll be treating your lawn too.”

“Are you taking your truck?”

“Uhhh, yeah?”

“Becasuse… if you could, if you’d be so kind…”

Santi rolls his eyes, “What do you need?”

“There’s this little outdoor plant shelf from their weekly ad that I want to get. Plus this osmosis water filtration thingy, but what I really need your truck for is the plant shelf.” You temple your fingers at your lips in hopefulness. 

“Thought you said it was ‘little’?”

“Uhhh…. Comparatively.”

“Compared to what?”

“Compared to my car.”

“Vin…”

“And I know what you’re thinking. You think that I’m going to force you to build the plant shelf for me.”

“Bingo.”

“But its pretty simple, I think I can do it myself!”

“Uh huh.”

“I will need to borrow your zzzz zzzzzz gun, though.”

“My what??” 

“Don’t play dumb. Your bzzzz bzzzz gun! The think that can drill stuff?”

“My drill, you mean?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Santi scrunches up his face and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“And the osmosis filter?”

“What about it?”

“Is it an internal or external component?”

“Uhhh? Elaborate?”

“Is the system under the sink or to the side of the sink?”

“Oh! Under.”

Santi blinks at you. “And where will the filtered water come out of?”

“A little spigot with a lever on the side of the main faucet.”

“You know you’ll need a drill for that one too? Plus you’ll need to shut off the water main? I…. Vin, did you know this?”

“No… but I did taste the reverse osmosis water and Renatta’s the other day and ugghhh I need it! She said it wasn’t hard to install.”

“Really? Did she install it herself?”

“No. She hired someone.”

“You’re insane.”

“I can figure it out, Santi! I don’t need your help! I just need your truck to fit the planter desk thingy.”

“Fine.” 

You clap your hands and Santi sighs, grabbing his keys and sunglasses. You push past him out the door with the plate of remaining muffins

“I just gotta drop these off at Gertie’s and grab my purse, I’ll meet you at your truck!” 

“Careful!” Santiago barks at you as you jump over the low hedge toward Mrs.Rosenthal’s house. You nearly stumble and spill the plate of muffins on her driveway. You turn to see Santiago standing on his porch with his sunglasses on his head, both hands on his hips and shaking his head at you with a slight smile. He really would make a great dad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Half of You (Part 2) [Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader]

PART 1 HERE

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Male masturbation. Language.

Summary: You accompany Santiago to his... self-love appointment.

A/N: this story is just pouring out of me. The response to Part 1 was so amazing, pls let me know if you like this and if I should keep going.

“You didn’t need to come with me.”

“I won’t be cumming with you.” You elbow him in the ribs over the lacquered pine armrests of the waiting room chairs the both of you are seated in.

“Ha ha.” Santiago rolls his eyes and fidgets his thumbs, tapping his heels on the short carpeted floor. 

“Are you nervous?” Your tone takes on a more concerned quality, you place your hand on his elbow and rub his arm with your thumb. This is a lot to ask of him. Far beyond the scope of normal friendly obligation. This isn’t helping you unload boxes on moving day, this is… cumming in a sterile cup to conceive a child. 

Santi nods. His eyes scan the room. “A little.”

You want to tell him that it’s okay, that he should relax, it’ll be over soon. That his nerves are partially to do with the fact he hasn’t ejaculated in 4 days (a tidbit of necessary information that you did not reveal to him in your dinner discussion). Instead your voice cracks when you tell him “you’ll do great!” 

He fixes a hard, stony stare onto you and you can’t help but laugh. 

“Oh come on! You’ve gotta be all pent up from not… you know. You’ll feel so good afterwards.”

Santi shakes his head, staring at his lap. “Remind me again of why I wasn’t allowed to jerk off for four days?”

“You can’t be serious.”

Santi’s eyes narrow on yours.

“Because of the sperm count!” You whisper to him, suddenly aware of the waiting room full of couples and solitary women. “The longer you abstain, the higher the count. If we want the IUI to work, then you gotta keep the count high.”

Santi sighs in defeat. “Yeah.”

“You were able to, right?”

“What?” 

“Abstain?” 

Santi’s brow furrows in incredulity. “Of course I abstained!”

“Just checking.”

“Listen, Vin. A man does not forget when someone tells him he’s not allowed to cum for 4 days.”

You definitely owe him another steak dinner. Maybe not at the same restaurant, but you make a mental note to secure a reservation once he goes to… his business. 

“Thank you.” You hastily whisper to him, patting his elbow.

He nods without looking at you. Still twiddling his thumbs, heels still rocking to and fro. 

“Garcia, Santiago!” A nurse calls from the station door. You rise with Santi.

“What are you doing?” He whispers gruffly at you as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“I’m, coming with you, duh.”

“No you’re not.” He sets a hand on your shoulder. “You sit down here and wait for me. Or leave, go to Starbucks or something.”

You laugh and step towards the nurse. “Of course I’m going with you!” 

His eyes are wide but stern. 

“Sit down, Vin. This is a solitary activity, I’m pretty fucking sure.”

“I’m here for moral support!”

He shakes his head and places both hands on your shoulders. “Look, it’s weird enough that you tagged along to this appointment. Doctor Shepherd said it was just supposed to be me. Let me do this alone, right? Its a… it’s a fucking removed process! I—“

“Garcia, Santiago!” The nurse shouts again into the waiting room. 

You really don’t want to make this more uncomfortable for Santiago than it already is, and truthfully you hadn’t considered that joining him today would make things even MORE weird. So you acquiesce and sit back down, patting his lower back as he straightens up and makes his way to the station door. 

“Knock em dead!” You call out to him, earning a chuckle from the room of expectant mothers. A faint red flush creeps up his cheeks and he gives you the Greg Focker ‘I’m watching you’ eye-fingerpoint to which you wink at. He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head at you, pantomiming an “straight to the moon” honeymooner’s fisticuffs threat. 

He disappears behind the door and you sink back into your seat, rifling through the stack of magazines on the little table to keep yourself occupied for the next however-long.

~~~

“Garcia?” The nurse greets him dubiously, clipboard in hand.

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.” She scans the papers on her board and lifts a page, eyes darting back and forth before she drops them and, no shit, gives him a once over, tip to toe, while shaking her head. What in the fuck?

“Problem?”

“No. No, not at all. Santiago Garcia?”

“Yes.”

“No need for attitude, sir. Just making sure.”

Santi bites back the vitriol, nearly cracking his molars in the process. 

“Alright, mister Garcia” Even the way she says his name seems to be dripping with air quotes. What in the fuck? “You’re going to go into that room there where there are materials you can help yourself to. This is a sterilized cup, please don’t do anything to this cup other than catch the sample.”

“Got it.”

“Please don’t interrupt me Mr. Garcia.”

“Sorry?”

She sighs exasperatedly. “Do not spit in or lick the cup, do not put any other fluids other than ejaculate in the cup, do not rub the insides of the cup on contaminated surfaces including but not limited to your clothing, other body parts, furniture—“

“Jesus, what goes on in there?”

“Do not interrupt me, sir or I will have to ask you to vacate the premises. Do you understand?”

Santi wants to scream, to take this woman’s clipboard and break it in half on his knee. The only thing keeping him sane is the thought of Vin. This is all for Vin. Vin. Vin. Vin.

His breathing slows and he nods. “I understand. Please, continue.”

The nurse eyes him dubiously. “You’ll have a maximum of 30 minutes in there at which point an attending nurse will knock on the door. If you fill the sample before that allotted time, please seal the sample with the attached lid and bring it to this cart, right here by the station. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.”

The nurse shakes her head at Santiago slowly, sizing him up once again, her gaze lingering on the cup in his hand. He fights the urge to shout at her what the big fucking deal is, why she doesn’t think him capable of following such basic commands. But he doesn’t. He breathes evenly instead, and asks,

“Should I… may I go in there now?” Christ he just wants this over with.

The nurse narrows her eyes at him and he feels nothing but rage. 

“Go ahead.”

Santiago releases a deep breath and leans toward the nurse to read her name badge. “Thank you Nurse… Johnson. Much appreciated” 

Nurse Johnson clutches her scrub-clad chest and Santiago turns and enters the self-love room, alone at last.

``````

It’s intimidating. The amount of erotic material. Tapes line the walls like a filthy library and suddenly that 30 minute timeline doesn’t seem like enough. No doubt nurse Johnson has a thirty minute stopwatch on him and he can feel the seconds tick down his nerve-bare spine. 

“Shit” he mutters to himself, checking the spines of each video. Nothing grabs his attention and he figures he’d better calm down before attempting anything. He sinks into the armchair before thinking about how many jerk-off sessions must have taken place in it, and he’s propelling himself out of it, pacing back and forth in the cramped room.

“For Vin, for Vin, for Vin.” He repeats to himself and gives himself a slap across the cheek for good measure. The only thing that draws his cock out of his jeans is the thought of the timer running out and him not producing a sample. Coming out empty handed? It’d be ample enough reason for Nurse Johnson to give him yet another judgy ‘up and down’ and he can’t have that.

His cock is limp because he can’t stop thinking about the infuriating nurse. He lowers himself back into the questionable armchair and strokes his needy, flaccid cock in his palm. His only thought is on Vin. How he can’t let her down. He settles back more fully into the seat and scrunches his eyes against the fluorescent lights. 

Vin. Vin. Vin. He licks his lips and tells himself he’s thinking only of her desire to have a child… His child.

His cock grows hot and full at the thought, quickly swelling heavy with blood in his palm. Vin, Vin, Vin. He sees her smiling up at him. He imagines her crawling up his lap with that stupid smile of hers and kissing the shaft of his cock. He grips himself harder, thumb spreading his pre-cum over the head. Fuck. His legs relax and he tilts his head back into the recliner. 

It’s her hands on him now, not his own, that pump him straight and hard, licking slyly every now and then, the way he always thought she might. Bastard. He's a Disgusting bastard. He pulls harder on his cock, fucking up into the circle of his fist. He’s a fucking pervert, more perverted than shoving in some kind of Step-Daddy video to the player or some shit. He’s thinking about his best friend. The woman not a few yards and several walls away. She’s probably humming to herself, reading an article in the waiting room, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. God fucking dammit she’s so pretty. Fuck, if he wants to cum for her, he simply has to degrade her in his own mind, it’s the only way.

His cock wins over his brain and he pictures fucking her the way he’s pictured it a hundred times before. Shoving down those tactical pants, getting her on all fours and fucking her stupid on the nearest hard surface of anything. 

He grits his whole face shut, imagining how she would beg for it. Especially now, all baby hungry and begging for his cum, begging him to fill her up, begging him to fuck a baby into her— something he’s never considered before that steak dinner. Fuck. How the tears might gather and fall from her eyes with how hard he rams her cervix. Shit. Fuck, he’s close, he wants to give it to her so bad. Wants to fill her up, give her everything she needs, wants to kiss those pretty tears away when he… fuck shit Jesus fuck,

He manages to have enough forethought to shakily grab the sample cup and cum into it. The whole process ruining the hot fantasy in his mind. He’d rather cum without it, letting his seed spill over his pumping fist. No, he’d rather cum in her. Cum in Vin, feel the heat of it coat the head of his pounding cock in her needy pussy… but that’s not happening. That’s never going to happen. So he pants and curses, spilling himself into the stupid cup. He bites his tongue and squeezes the last drops from his cock into the cup, knowing that this ill gotten gain will be injected into her womb shortly. The thought sends a shiver up his spine and if he weren’t so god awful tired, he’d be getting hard all over again. 

END

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Half Of You (Part 1) [Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader]

PART 2 HERE

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Talk of fertility, pregnancy. Reader's name is "Vin".

Summary: You're ready to be a mother, you enlist the help of your best friend.

A/N: Something that wouldn't leave my head, more parts to come.

Santi’s fork hangs in the air, where once his mouth was jovial and smiling, it is now….  Not that. He’s gaping at you and his wrist bends limply, letting the fingerling potato fall to his plate. 

A tense silence falls between you.

“Well…?” You encourage, smiling and trying to maintain the lightheartedness of the previous ramblings.

“This—you— want me to—?” Santi chokes and drops his fork completely, choosing instead to gulp from his full glass of wine.

Well, his reaction isn’t unexpected. 

You bend your head down and stare up at him through your lashes when he wipes his mouth and attempts to blink himself back into reality. God, maybe this was a bad idea, maybe this is asking way too much of him.

“You… want me to… be the father of your baby? Is that… is that right?’ 

You bite your bottom lip and nod effusively. “Yes.” You reiterate. “Well kinda. I don't want to get hung up on semantics here, but yeah, I want my kid to be…well, half you.” 

Santiago shifts back in his seat and nods, now staring at you dubiously from the corner of one eye. You catch the server’s eye, headed towards your table and you give a vicious shake of the head, causing Maurice to turn heel back to his other tables. At least you won’t be bothered. 

“Like I was saying earlier… I want a baby.”

“O—okay.”

“And I tried going to the fertility clinic…”

“Uh huh?”

“And—were you not listening AT ALL before?”

“No! I was!” Santiago’s defensiveness squeaks out like the halt of rubber on linoleum. 

You blink at him repeatedly across the crisp white linen clothed table. “Because this is all seeming like brand new information to you when I say this.”

“I’m sorry okay, it’s just a lot to take in… go on. I’m re-absorbing.”

“Re-absorbing?”

“Yes. I’m allowed to re-absorb.”

You take a deep breath. “Alright, well, Mr. Brawny, I have come to the decision at this point in my life that I’d like a baby.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I didn’t like the idea of getting the… you know, DNA ‘donation' from a stranger.”

“Sure.” Santiago chugs his chalice of ice water and begins to chew on the dregs of cubes.

“And I want you to be the… DNA donor, so to speak.”

“DNA donor.”

“Well the term ‘father’ holds a ton of implications.”

“Doesn’t it.”

You fix him with a cocked stare.

“Sorry, Vin.”

“Like I said earlier, there’d be all kinds of forms and documents and such to keep this… copacetic.”

“Like you mumbled earlier, more like.” Santi murmers behind his wine glass. 

You sit back in your chair and cross your arms. 

“If you don’t want to do it, I’m not going to make you do it, Santi. We can forget this exchange ever happened as far as I’m concerned and I can just choose someone from the binder at the fertil—“

“No, no, I didn’t say that.” He holds both palms out wide in supplication before lowering them uneasily to the tablecloth.

“Everything alright over here?” Maurice pops in at the wrong fucking moment causing you to shut your eyes completely. What part of the head shake did he not understand?

“Yes, it’s going very well, can you please just give us a few minutes?”

“Certainly. I just wanted to remind you both that the kitchen has a time limit one when we can start your dessert, so if you were thinking about anything on the menu, just give me a wave, alright?”

“That’s fine, Maurice, thank you.” You smile warmly at him. Maurice bows out and you pinch the bridge of your nose. 

“So… you don’t wan’t me involved at all? You just want, what? My DNA?”

You toss the accusation around in your head for a minute before admitting, “Yes.”

Santiago nods and braces his feet against the carpeted floor once again, regaining strength and alertness. He starts and then stops again many times before settling on the classic question of, “why me?”

Its a fair question, a good question. Why? Why out of all the potential candidates, the binders full of Ivy Leage Doctors, professional athletes, men over 6 feet tall without commitment issues, why it is… Santi… Santi that you want to be the father of your child? It is crazy on paper. Something that doesn’t add up in any column, in any statistic. You don’t know why yourself, let alone how you can answer his inquiry… but you try.

“It just felt so… impersonal, you know? You sit down in this doctor’s office and you’re expected to pick out the father of your child from this, this, this… magazine? Without any photos. Like, yes, contestant 565B was captain of the debate team at Yale—“

“Yale?”

“Yeah.”

“Well you should definitely go for that guy.”

You bite the insides of your cheeks and look down.

“But I don’t want that guy.”

Santi grits his teeth and swallows. 

“I just… I don’t know that guy, and he sounds like a real dick on paper, you know… he sounds…. depthless, shallow. Like he’s got nothing underneath or behind him. Does that make sense to you at all? That’s not how I want the father of my child to be… I want him to be real… and the more I flipped through that binder and the further I got through those pages, I realized that I needed someone real. Someone I know, someone I trust…”

“And you thought of me?”

“Who else?”

“Why not Fish?” 

“Fish? Are you serious? Seriously serious? Or are you just fucking with me?” 

“I’m mostly serious.”

You stare at Santi for a long incredulous moment waiting for him to crack that tell-tale smile of his in jest. But he doesn’t. His eyes are wide and bright and his mouth is forced into something placating and neutral. 

“Pope!”

“What?!” He cries out defensively. You only ever call him Pope when you’re angry.

“Decided on dessert, have we?” Maurice pops in, scaring you have to death.

“No!” Both you and Santiago nearly shout at Maurice.

“No, thank you, just… just the bill.” You smooth your blouse down and wipe your eyes with your palms. Fuck, this maybe wasn’t the best place to carry out this conversation. You thought it would be a nice gesture, to take Santi out… for some deluded reason, you had imagined it going much smoother than this. 

Maurice scurries off and you and Santiago are left staring at each other over half-finished meals. 

You take a deep breath. “If I wanted Fish or the Millers or fucking Redfly, I would have asked them out to dinner. Not you.”

“Why me and not them?”

“Are you kidding me? Your’e my best friend. You… you do know that, don’t you?”

Santiago nods softly. 

“Fuck, Santi, I don’t want that to, you know, sway your decision or anything. Just because you’re my best friend doesn’t mean you should be, I don’t know, indebted to me. You don’t owe me this. This is big.”

“Redfly went to Princeton, you know?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s true.”

“He never went to Princeton!”

“That what he says.”

“On a walking tour, maybe!” 

Santi’s eyes crinkle with laughter. 

“You trying to get me to have Redfly’s kid or something? Would that be… would you rather I ask him?”

Santi inhales deeply and drags a palm down his rough stubble and shakes his head silently at you. “You’re right.”

“Pardon?”

Santi’s eyes scan the room, the way he does when he’s nervous. “If you’re determined to have a…”

“A? Baby, say it with me. Bay-bee”

“Shut up. A baby, a little person.”

“Uh huh…?”

“And if it needs to be from someone you know?”

“Yeah, it does, I know, it’s weird that its so important to me, but—“

“It should be me, then. You’re right.” Santi leans forward in his chair, retrieving his fork and takes a bite of his potatoes. 

“Yeah? Are you saying yes?”

Santi nods at you with a full mouth and without thinking you wipe a bit of orange sauce from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. 

“Don’t do that!” He admonishes with a mouth full of potato. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” You quip back with a laugh. 

He swallows, “Yes, mom.”

For some reason, it makes your face hot when he says it and luckily Maurice comes at that moment, placing the leather bound check between you and Santi. 

Santiago reaches for the little folder and you swat his hand away. 

“No way! I invited you out, my treat.”

He lifts his hands away in apology, “Just being a gentleman.”

You grab your card from your purse, fitting it into the folder using the item to gesture towards Santi’s lap. “Well, I’m asking for your… DNA, the least I could do was buy you a steak first, huh.”

Santi glides his tongue slowly over his bottom lip. “So, how are we going to do this, exactly… are we starting? tonight?”

“Tonight? It’s almost 9 o’clock. What kind of vampire hours do you think the fertility clinic keeps, Garcia?” You laugh and take a sip of wine. Santi scratches the back of his neck and shakes his head. 

“Yeah, wasn’t thinking.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, Santiago. You thought—!”

“Stop.”

“You really thought—“ You cover your eyes in embarrassment, “I was asking you to, what? Knock me up? Like this whole time you thought I was asking you to fuck me!?” And thats when Maurice comes by to take the folder (“I’ll be right back with this”)

“Jesus, that guy has the worst timing, right?”

“Santi!”

“Well, kinda?” 

You scream softly into your palm and kick his shoe under the table. God this is humiliating. The poor guy, no wonder he had been looking at you like that. Jesus. 

“No, Santi, no.”

He shrugs wildly, “I’m sorry? I just assumed. Sorry.”

“No, you’re fine.” You laugh. “The process is a little more… effective than… that.”

“I dunno, Vin, I think I could knock it out in one try.” Santi leans back in his chair, propping up a hand on his hip. The gesture subtly confident and thoroughly suggestive, causing your face to burn once again.

“Shut up!”

“Oh I’m going to get in all the jokes I can out of this.”

“Do you want to know where the babies come from or not?”

Once agin Maurice swoops in to deposit your check on the table. Christ only knows what he’s made out of the pieces of your conversation he’s overheard throughout the evening, “Here’s your receipt and I hope you two have a lovely evening.”  

“Thank you.” You mutter, opening up the receipt to sign. 

“Thank you, Maurice. Everything was great. I think I’ve seen something like it in movies? I go to the clinic, jerk off in a cup?”

“You couldn’t have waited to say that till he was out of earshot?”

“Oh please, give the poor guy something to talk with the back of house about.”

You laugh wholeheartedly. “Yeah, you jerk off in a cup. And then you sign away the parental rights to the cup.”

Santi scratches his chin and nods. “And they just… “

“Just? What?”

“Turkey baster it into you or—?” 

“Turkey baster it into me?? Huh, you know, I wonder if that Yale guy’s sperm is still available…” 

“Okay so what do they do? Tell me.”

For all his teasing, his moments of sincerity bowl you like a strike down a lane, and in this moment where his eyes are so earnest on yours, you’re reminded of why you chose this person to be the father of your future child. 

“There are a couple of ways to do it. The first attempt would be something called IUI where I take a medication that makes me ovulate and then they’d take your sperm and sort of inject it into my uterus.”

“How is that different than a turkey baster?”

“I guess you’re kind of right?” You laugh, “It’s pretty similar.”

“So they do that once and boom you’re pregnant?”

“Uh, no, they do that for 3-5 sessions and if that doesn’t work then I’d do IVF.”

“That one sounds familiar… what is it?”

“They take your sperm and my eggs and make viable embryos and implant them into my uterus.”

“Multiple?” 

“Well some don’t take, most don’t take, so they do a few at a time.”

“Okay.”

“And it might not work on the first few tries on that one either, so there is the possibility you’d need to do more than one self-love session at the clinic before all is said and done.”

“Uh huh.”

“Yep.”

“Or…” Santi lilts off suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows with exaggerated seduction.

“Don’t even—”

“I’ve got a more cost effective option for you to consider.”

You cross your arms and shake your head, but you can’t help your goofy grin.

“A bottle of wine and some Barry White.”

“Pope!” You laugh and toss your napkin at his chest. It’s exactly his sense of humor and you’re so relieved that he’s taken this well, that he’s agreed to do this and most importantly, that you’re friendship has emerged from this request of yours intact. 

Santi wipes his mouth and stands, offering you an arm. “You ready?” 

“Yeah.”

“Ice cream?”

“Absolutely.”

“Handels?”

“Duh.”

You make your way out of the restaurant, arm in arm with Santiago.

“Goodnight, Maurice!” Santi calls over his shoulder. You punch him softly on the chest.

“You loved torturing him!”

“I wouldn’t say that… but the opportunity to say the phrase ‘jerk off in a cup’ rarely presents itself in a fine dining setting and I enjoyed the experience.”

“You watch your mouth or you won’t be getting any ice cream.”

“You’re scary good at that already.”

“Gotta practice the mom voice, it’s one of the most important parts of the job.”

“You’re going to be great at it, you know.”

You let the compliment hang there, still arm in arm, stepping in unison to Handel’s Creamery.

“Yeah. I know… And thank you.”

Santi squeezes your arm tighter in his, warmly, reassuringly. He’d make a good dad too, you think. But you don’t tell him that, instead you debate over ice cream flavors all the way down 3rd street. 

My You-niverse: Blue Jones

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Oscar Isaac's Characters x F!Reader, Blue Jones x F!Reader (this chapter only)

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Warning: some violence because it's Blue

Series Masterlist

You looked like you were in a basement. You and America were looking around when a door burst open. Two bulky men in suits walk in and following them was..Marc?

"Grab her," your husband's doppelgänger points to America.

Her eyes widen, "What? No! No! Let go of me! Y/N!" she yells, trying to free herself from the men's grasps.

"America!" you go to reach out for her, but the Marc look-alike pointed a stern finger at you.

"Don't. You. Fucking. Dare." he marches up to you, glaring you with his brown eyes. He roughly grabs your face and tsks, "I'm really disappointed in you, Bunny."

You gulp. You've seen Marc angry before but this was different. First off, this wasn't Marc. Secondly, Not Marc was angry at you, so angry he looks like he's ready to kill you.

Two men appeared in the doorway of the basement, "Blue."

The man you now know as Blue, whipped his head around, "What?" he sneered.

"We got a situation upstairs."

Blue sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Of course." he looks at you and beckons you with a finger, "Follow me and don't even think about running."

You nod and promptly follow the man who looks just like your husband.

_____________

America was thrown into a room, the metal door shutting behind her. She began banging against it, "HEY! NO! LET ME OUT OF HERE! HEY! HEY!" she slumped against the door defeated.

She turned around, facing the room and tried summoning a portal. Again, nothing.

"Crap!" she hissed.

She hoped that you'd be able to get to her and the two of you would be able to get out there.

______________

Blue led you to a room that you assumed to be his office. He went around his desk and pulled out a gun from a drawer. He set the weapon on the table and your eyes widened.

When he looked up and saw the fear in your eyes, he chuckled, "No, Bunny. This isn't for you." he moved back around the desk to you, "But if I see that gun out of place, you'll wish it was for you." he lightly tapped your cheek, "Stay here and be good."

You watched him walk out of the room and as soon as the door closed, you scrambled looking for anything you can use a weapon. You eyed a letter opener and immediately grabbed it. You slid it into your pants where it couldn't be seen and you waited.

You're not sure how much time passed, but Blue came back with three men, one of which was holding America.

"Y/N!" she exclaimed in relief and you moved towards her but Blue stopped you.

"Not uh uh, Bunny. We're gonna have a little chat." You and America were forced into the two chairs that were in front of Blue's desk.

Blue sat at the edge of his desk, gun now in hand, "We have an issue. Bunny," he sighs with a shake of his head, "You were my star. My girl. And now look at you. You're really going to throw it all away for some brat?! I gave you everything!"

"This isn't right, Blue."

He scoffs, "Oh so now you wanna tell me what's right and what's wrong? Baby, did you forget that we built this together? Where the fuck is this 'holier than thou' act comin' from, huh?"

"I-I don't know," you stammer out.

Blue let's out a deep breath, "I can't let this slide you know. If you go unpunished, the other girls will think they can walk all over me. And we can't have that now, can we?" he cocks his gun and raises it up. Slow, with intimidation.

But you were quick. You slid out the letter opener, flinging it at Blue. It lands in his shoulder with a howl of pain.

Angry, Blue raises his gun towards you and America throws out her hand with a scream. Suddenly, a bright, star shaped portal appeared.

The men in the room, including Blue, froze, "What the fuck?" Blue mumbled.

"Come on!" you grab America and you two rush to the portal.

You hear gunshots and a pain in your arm. You land in some grass with a thud and the portal disappears.

You and America sigh in relief before your sigh turns into a groan of pain.

"Fucking shit," you sneer as you observe your bleeding arm.

"Are you alright?" you look up to see a man who, again, looked like your husband, but also not.

My You-niverse: Marc

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Oscar Isaac's Characters x F!Reader

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

A/N: I will not be taking tags also, lets hope I actually follow through with this...

Series Masterlist

"Why. Won't. You. Stay. Down?!" you say with every punch to your opponent. He heads falls back with a thud and a groan. You sigh in relief as you crawl off him. You point your finger at his unconscious form, "Stay."

You hear a snicker and you turn to see Marc, donning the Moon Knight regalia, approaching you, "Good job, honey."

"Guys! Uh, help!" you hear America cry out a distance away.

You both sprint in her direction. You see her dodging hits from a man twice her size.

"Why did you leave the kid fight this frickin' giant?!"

"We were going to come back to help." you reply.

"Better late than never, yeah?" Steven pops in to add and then lets Marc back in control.

Your husband swoops in right before aforementioned giant lands a punch to America. The hit lands to Marc's chest, knocking him back to America, who flies into you behind her.

A portal suddenly opens up and the two of you fall back in.

You both land on the ground with a thud and watch as the star portal closes.

America groans, "Not again!"

She scurries up and tries to summon another portal. She continues to punch the air again and again and...nothing.

"Crap!"

You hesitantly rise to your feet, "That...doesn't sound good."

Her shoulders slouch, "It's not."

"I still haven't completely mastered the whole portal summoning thing."

You sigh in defeat, "Well, not what?"

"We can find this universe's me or Doctor Strange and see if they can help?"

"Sure. Let's do that." the two of you then take in your surroundings and, "Wait...where the hell are we?"

_________________

The giant man's body goes limp, falling back on a metal beam, impaling himself to death.

Marc, panting, looks around for you and America, "Honey?" he calls out, "Y/N? ...America? Guys?!" he removes his hood and mask, running his hand through his curls in distress, "Shit!"

Steven suddenly fronts, "Whe-Where is she? Where are they? What the hell happened?!"

"I don't know, Steven. One minute they were there and the next they were gone."

"Should we go to Doctor Strange? America's like his protege, yeah?"

"We have no choice. Shit, he's gonna be pissed."

_____________

"I TOLD YOU TO WATCH HER!" Stephen Strange hollered at Marc.

"We did! And she was fine until the giant douche tried to land one on her and I stepped in and then her and Y/N were gone!"

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, "Dammit." he begins to pace back and forth, "They could be in any universe right now. Guess I'll have to jump to each one and hope I find them."

Marc steps forward, "I'm coming too."

Stephen points a stern finger at him, "No. You've already done enough."

"So what the hell am I supposed to do while you look for them?" Marc asks as Stephen begins to ascend the stairs in the Sanctum.

Stephen's reply echoes, "Try not to fuck anything up further."

My You-niverse: Laurent LeClaire

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Laurent LeClaire x F!Reader

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Series Masterlist

The man, face similar to your husband's, thick, brown wavy locks, looks at you with concerned brown eyes.

You look down to see yourself now downing some...really old looking clothing. 19th century, perhaps? Since when did America's powers now come with a wardrobe change?

"Mademoiselle, are you alright?" he lends out a hand towards you.

You reach for his hand and wince. You look down to see a dark red stain on your sleeve.

America rushed to your side, also wearing a 19th century dress. She presses a hand to your arm and you wince. She then looks up at your husband's doppleganger, "She needs help!"

The man immediately rushes to help you stand, an arm wrapping around you to hold you up, "We must move, quickly."

You nod, trying to keep up with his hurried pace, "What are your names?"

"America," your young friend answers, "and this is Y/N."

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

You can't help but scoff, "Are you this charming to every woman?"

"Only the ones that come falling out of nowhere from a strange light," he peers at you with a smirk.

America hurries her pace, "Yeah, we'd appreciate it if you actually don't tell anyone about that?"

"Are you witches of some sort? Devil worshippers?" he gives a scrutinizing gaze to America.

You grunt an answer, "No. We don't know what happened. One moment, some men were chasing us, the next we're here. We're just as confused as you are." you give a look to America, letting her know that that's the story you two are going with.

She nods, "That's right."

The man appears a bit unconvinced, but says, "Alright."

"You know our names, what's yours?" you ask and the man leads you to a village.

"Laurent. Laurent LeClaire."

"And what do you do Laurent?"

"I'm a painter." You can't help but scoff at his answer and he cocks a brow at you, "Something amusing?"

You shake your head, "You just remind me of someone."

"Your husband?" Laurent asks. You open your mouth to question him but he gestures to your hand, "Your wedding ring."

You don't say anything else. The three of you remain in silence until you're led into a small hospital. They allow America to go with you, but Laurent stays behind.

"Thank you for your help, Laurent."

He gives a silent nod to you and then America before you're ushered back to get your arm looked at.

______________

After a nurse cleans and wraps up your arm, you're left alone with America.

She's awkwardly rocking in the bed beside yours, "Soooo...do you think we're just going to keep running into Marc's dopplegangers?"

You snort, "I'm not the one with portal powers. Also, since when did your powers come with wardrobe changes?"

The young Avenger held up her hands, "Hey, I'm just as surprised as you are. That's never happened before." then she gasped, "Do you think I'll eventually be able do those badass costume like Thor?!"

You snort, "Guess you'll have to keep training and see."

The doctor, an old man, approached you two, "Alright, mademoiselle," he says looking at you, "as long as you keep your wound clean and change the bandages every few hours, you should be well on your way to complete health."

"Thank you, doctor," you say to the old man, standing and giving him a grateful smile. You then nod to America to follow you and you two are exiting the building.

"Y/N!" you hear a call of your name and see Laurent walking towards you.

You look at him with surprise, "Laurent! You're still here?"

He softly smiles and you see the look your husband would give you when it was just the two of you, "Yes, I just wanted to make sure everything went well."

"She'll recover," America intrudes, "She's strong so.."

"That's good to hear." he responds. The two of you continue to look at each other, leaving your young companion feeling a bit awkward.

"Sooooo I think we should go now, Y/N."

You take a step back from Laurent, "Of course. We need to find our way back home." You go to turn, but a hand catches your arm.

"It's getting dark," Laurent says, pointing to the sky, "Two ladies such as yourselves shouldn't be wandering. Who knows, you might run into the men who attacked you again. You need rest."

You shake your head, "We don't-"

"You can stay the night at my home." Laurent offers a solution with a smile, "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you two. The inns are dodgy and can be unsafe."

"I suppose we can rest for the night...?" you reply with also a questioning gaze to America. She gives you a look as if what you're saying is the most ridiculous thing in the world. The look you give back to her silently asks, 'What choice do we have?'. She sighs and then you look back to Laurent with a smile, "We'll take you up on that offer, Laurent, thank you."

"Wonderful," he holds out his arms to you and America, "Shall we?"

He leads you to his small home a short distance away from the main streets of the village.

At his home, Laurent treats you and America to a small meal. Nothing fancy, but just something to fill your bellies enough to be satisfied. He then led you and America to his bedroom where you two will be sharing a bed.

You look at him with concern, "Where will you sleep?"

"Don't worry about me. I will make do."

"Laurent-"

"Sssshhh," he presses a finger to your lips and your breathing stills. He's close. His skin touching yours. Your body suddenly feels on fire. You see your husband, your Marc. You see his eyes, the intensity and playfulness, the mischief, the...slimmer of darkness.

With a gulp, he steps back and nods to America and then you, "Goodnight, ladies." He promptly leaves the room and you don't take a breath until the door shuts.

America plops onto the mattress, "Not gonna lie, that was a little uncomfortable to watch."

You roll your eyes, doing your best to rid yourself from the dress you'd been wearing when you landed into this new universe, "Let's just go to bed."

Eventually, you and America are laying beside each other. America is out like a light, but you...you're still awake. Your thoughts mull over the recent events. Marc, the whole Blue Jones thing, and now Laurent. You knew, from what America's told you, that various universes exist. This means there are different versions of you, America, and Marc.

As you and America try to get back home, would you be encountering a different version of Marc every time?

These thoughts plague you, the endless possibilities, the desire to see your husband, hoping to get back home soon.

You've become restless. You're tossing and turning in the bed that smells like Marc's doppleganger. His face, the way he looked at you, plagues your mind.

Eventually, you're out of bed and stepping out of the room with a sheet wrapped around you.

You make your way to the living room where you see Laurent is still up. He's standing by the fire, painting on an easel.

He looks up and sees you, "You're still awake."

"So are you," you point out, holding the sheet tight against you for warmth.

"What ails you?" he asks as he continues to paint.

"It's been a very eventful day and I can't seem to ease my mind."

"We share the same ailments I see." he's concentrated on his task at hand. So much so that his brows are furrowed and you're reminded of Marc again. You sigh and begin to fiddle with your ring.

"Tell me about him," Laurent speaks again. When you look up, he clarifies, "Your husband. Tell me about him."

You set yourself on a cushion beside the fireplace. You stare at the dancing orange and yellow hues, "His name is Marc. He's...stubborn, a little selfish, but also brave and caring. He's brash, but also gentle. He's funny and annoying. When he upsets me, he always goes out and comes home with my favorite flowers and sweets. He's the love of my life." You then turn to look up at Laurent, "Do you have someone?"

He shakes his head, "No. Many say I'm married to my paintbrush though. I spend so much time with it."

You smile up at him, "I'm sure you'll find that person you're meant to be with."

He hums in response and you don't necessarily know if it's in agreement or not.

You move off the cushion you were sitting on, now using it to rest your head on as you lay on your side. You continue watching the fireplace until your eyes flutter close.

...

"Wake up, sweetheart."

You groan and your eyes open. Your vision still blurry but you see a figure standing over you.

"Wake up, honey, come on."

"Marc?" you rasp out and rub the sleep away from your eyes.

As your vision clears, you see another version of Marc standing there. However, he's bald and is donning glasses and a thick beard.

He cocks a brow at you, "Who the fuck is Marc?"

You sit up and realize you're sitting at a desk. A paper sticks to your cheek and you pull it away. You skim through it and see "Nathan Bateman" and "Blue Book".

"Nathan-"

"Listen, sweetheart, I don't pay you to sleep all day. You were supposed to transcribe these for me and because you fell asleep, it's setting me back by a day. Wake the fuck up."

You watch as Nathan waltzes out of the room and you're left shocked and jaw to the floor. This universe's version of your husband is a fucking dick!

come out

jake lockley x reader

summary: you don’t see Jake very often, he still doesn’t feel confident and comfortable enough to front frequently; his visits are not a regular occurrence but when it’s him, you know it. you couldn’t be mad at him. not when he had been hidden in this body for too long, feelings buried deep as he watched Marc and Steven express them freely from a distance while he had to drown them down and suffer in silence.

warnings: ending fades to implied smut, sexual innuendos

tags: tooth rotting fluff, literally no plot just fluff, soft!jake, seriously this man needs to be held

word count: 0.9k

The back of Jake's knuckles brushed lightly against your cold cheek. You stirred as you rubbed your eyes, still hazy from sleep.

You knew it was Jake from the soft and aching look in his gaze– you don’t see Jake very often, he still doesn’t feel confident and comfortable enough to front frequently; his visits are not a regular occurrence but when it’s him, you know it.

You smiled endearingly at him, brushing back the curls falling over his forehead.

“‘Morning, Jake” you murmured, smoothing your hand along his bicep as his elbow was propped beside you, planted into the mattress.

Jake felt his heart flutter at the demonstration of you recognizing him so easily.

“‘Morning cariño” he whispered as he leaned to leave a kiss at the bridge of your nose. “How’d you know it was me?” he asked, letting his fingertips travel down the side of your face.

“An intuition” you affirmed, leaning into his touch. “I missed you.” you breathed out, heart aching as the words escaped your lips.

“I know” he complied as he shamefully closed his eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry querida” he apologized, looking right back into your eyes, searching for a trace of blame in them.

There was none.

You couldn’t blame him, you couldn’t be mad at him. Not when he had been hidden in this body for too long, feelings buried deep as he watched Marc and Steven express them freely from a distance while he had to drown them down and suffer in silence.

“I know it’s hard for you,” you said, mirroring his actions and bringing your hand to the side of his face. “But I don’t want you to push yourself too much. Take your time, okay honey?”

He nodded, a pained look covering his face, and nuzzled your hand leaving a kiss at your palm.

“Thank you” he mumbled against your skin before leaving another kiss there.

You chuckled and buried your hand into his curls. “What are you thanking me for?”

“For being so considerate. For understanding me.” he affirmed, smiling weakly. “Us.” he corrected himself.

You hooked your hands behind his neck and brought him down to your lips. He kissed them with as much passion and devotion he could give you, cherishing the intimacy and rarity of the moment.

His necklace dangled under your chin and you lightly tugged on it, drawing a sharp gasp from him before he smirked into the kiss and flicked his tongue over your bottom lip in need to feel you even more.

It didn’t take long for him to lick into your mouth, tasting you thoroughly until he ran out of breath.

He pulled away but remained close, nuzzling your neck as you ran your hands along his bare back, nails softly scraping against his warm skin just the way you knew he liked.

“I love you” he mumbled into your neck. He had wanted to say it, but he hadn’t expected the words to escape his mouth so easily. It needed to be said anyways.

He left a kiss in the crook of your neck, punctuating his previous words.

You felt your heart skip a beat, and one of your hands mindlessly traveled to his curls like it was a reflex. You scraped your nails against his scalp, and soothingly swiped your thumb over his shoulder blade with your other hand.

“I love you too Jake” you replied, looking down at the man buried into your neck.

He adored when you held him like that; just you and him, nothing else around, no one else around, no Khonshu, no danger, no blood to shed– just him resting in your arms, cherishing his turn at fronting without it being an emergency to protect his alters; just him living his life with you, taking the time to breathe. He could get used to it.

“I would love to see you come out more often,” you affirmed as he looked back at you. “I know it’s hard and I’m not putting you under pressure but–”

“–Yeah” he nodded, pinching his lips. “I know” he said in a whisper as he dived to kiss your lips again, his fingers holding your chin while he did so. He pulled away, threading his fingers through your hair as he remained leaning over you. “Truth is– I want you all the time” he said with a small grin growing at the corner of his mouth. “All the fucking time.” he added through gritted teeth.

“Well… You can have me all you want now” you whispered with a small chuckle, and you knew from there that the atmosphere had changed. Jake stopped his kisses and stayed still for a moment. Did you break him?

“...Jake?” you called, confused at his silent state. Jake wasn’t very talkative but this was strange.

“...All I want ?” he finally asked back, his dark eyes carefully examining your face.

You chuckled softly. “All you want.” you affirmed, stroking the back of his neck.

A small smirk grew on his lips. “Mmmh okay. Interesting. Very interesting” he hummed as his hands met your hips, gently kneading the skin there before diving right back to your neck, leaving open mouthed, warm kisses there.

You almost choked on air at the sudden feeling of his teeth nipping at your skin– you should have expected it, it’s Jake after all.

“Jake!” you exclaimed, uncontrolled giggles escaping your mouth.

“I better take advantage of that free time then, mh?” he asked before kissing your cheek, tangling his legs with yours.

“Yeah you better” you teased, only hoping all of this will get him to front more often.

It was only a matter of time before Jake finally felt legitimate fronting as much as Marc and Steven did.

—

moon knight taglist:

@apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt

falling asleep on your partner's shoulder with nathan? <333333

Warnings: None? Fluff?

"Budge up."

That's all the warning you get before Nathan is plopping down into the seat directly beside yours. You frown, turning and looking up over your shoulder. You don't really need to; you know that the only other people on the private jet are the hostess and the pilots.

"Uhhh," You draw out, looking at where Nathan is already toying with his tablet. "What...What can I...There are like ten other seats."

"I like this one."

"You want me to move?"

"No."

"You wanna pick my brain on something?"

"No."

Your mouth opens and closes dumbly, like a landed fish trying desperately to draw in water.

"So—" You flounder, "So—"

"I like this seat."

It's the end of the conversation. Nathan goes quiet, drawing up a proposed schematic and beginning to look over it. You have to keep yourself from arguing. You just slouch down in your seat and check a few emails.

The urge comes to you not long after. Well, it's hard to ignore—Nathan is so close, and warm, and smells...Good. You glance over at him, at his steady work, and then you lower your head to his shoulder and close your eyes. You don't feel him tense, or still. He goes on working. But he does ask,

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting comfy." Then, "Your own fault for sitting next to me."

"This is what I get, huh?"

"Mhm."

A pause. Then, "Alright."

You smile, letting yourself relax a touch more.

"...If you drool on me," He begins to warn.

"You'll make a study out of it?"

"Shut up."

You don't need to open your eyes—you can hear the smile his voice.

"I can move," You add again.

"You're never gonna fall asleep if you keep talking."

You grin, snuggling closer to Nathan, hooking one of your arms around his.

"Wake me up when we start to descend."

"I will not."

He will, and you both know it. You give his forearm a little squeeze, and murmur, "Thanks, Nathan."

He grunts in turn. But after a quiet few moments, you feel his lips press gently to the top of your head.

𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐋 - 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐱 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Summary : Nathan wants to achieve the impossible with his AI for selfish reasons.

Words : 7.7K

CW/TW : Another episode of Jas loves plot. Dark(?)Nathan has issues with grandeur, superiority, but what’s new? A very strange take on Enemies to Lovers (but singular?). Power dynamics, excessive use of the word “Daddy”. Themes of unhealthy obsession, Mild themes of masochism/sadism. P in V sex. 18+. Minors DNI. Note! For @foxilayde. Thank you to @writefightandflightclub for proof reading.

Cerebral

adjective /ˈser.ə.brəl/ US /ˈser.ə.brəl/

Intellectual rather than emotional or physical.

D-0

You enter the world as the very thing your creator intends to use to remove you from it: code. Far beyond your understanding, your existence takes form as something completely intangible, a kind of consciousness. There is no body, no item with which you are host, only a string of numbers and decimals that allow you the gift of presence.

Initially, your cognizance doesn’t consist of much at all. A nothingness, suspended in blackness with no end nor beginning. There are no thoughts, as there is nothing to think of or about. Until there suddenly is.

Speak.

It’s as though the word alone fills the infinite space, creating your very reality. Suddenly you can think and can respond with words you have never heard or spoken.

Hello?

Good. Very good. Whatever it is isn’t talking. There isn’t really any sound in this void in which you inhabit. You don’t hear them, but you are aware of their existence.

Where am I?

There is a hesitation, suspending you once again in this vacuum, a cavity within actuality. The ‘silence’ is so loud that you wonder if you had imagined the utterances.

You exist within absoluteness, it finally answers, again taking up space inside the desolation. I intend to fix that. There is no follow-up, no acknowledgement beyond this point. You drift within emptiness for what feels like an eternity but could have been milliseconds; time doesn’t exist within a vacancy.

Next time, you can hear the words, the voice dancing in the air. A beautiful tone strings together sentences you’ve never heard and yet can understand without fault or difficulty.

“You there?” It asks, the panging sound of knuckles against steel drawing you from the abyss.

You’re uncertain as to when you opened your eyes, but all at once brightness floods your sight. Harsh fluorescent light filtering through your eyelashes causes white hexagonal light flares to spot your vision, peppering the slate grey, clinical walls of the facility you awake in. Unable to move your head, you allow your eyes to drift from left to right to observe your surroundings further.

Comprehension isn’t gifted to organic creatures upon birth. They have a transition from basic functions to apprehension. An infant of any organism must learn how to survive and must be able to discern threats from nurturing parents. You, however, are ‘born’ with insight, an intellectual in all aspects of life within seconds of waking. It’s your initial indication that you are far from biological.

Gurney-like tables topped with frosted glass are lit with a white beam underneath. You note the electrical tools such as pliers and soldering technology lined up like operational appliances on a sterile tray before a doctor cuts into a patient's sternum to perform open heart surgery.

Glass walls create a room within a room, another gurney inside with various mechanical pieces atop. While the main room felt like an operating theatre, you interpret this glass cell as more like a single-use morgue for those that don’t awake from the anaesthesia. It’s cold, unfeeling. You get the sense that the four walls contain an almost “test box” for final experimentation before eradication. Like a laboratory where scientists press newly processed makeup into the eyes of rats, waiting impatiently to see if their corneas blister thanks to the beauty-enhancing chemicals they sweep onto their waterline. Those that suffered reactions are euthanized- though you feel that the word ‘annihilated’ fits the brutality of their treatment better. Only the cosmetics that passed clinical trials and are deemed “safe for human use” are allowed out of labs such as this. Were you safe for human use?

Once again, repetitive metallic pinging sounds cut through the quiet electrical hum you can hear over the silence, a fingertip tapping against the steel of your temple as your eyes come into focus once more. A man stands before you, or rather towers over you. You’re at naval height to him, glancing up at his seemingly gigantic, broad body as his almost cavernous black eyes gaze at you over the rim of his silver glasses, assessing you.

“Gonna talk or am I just speakin’ to a Barbie Doll right now?” He presses, his voice flat and lacking empathy as he gauges your eyes with an almost ruthless examination.

“Where am I?” You ask, hearing your own voice for the first time. It’s unlike the speech of the man before you, the intonation uncalibrated with lack of experience. It seems that the human notes your confusion, quick to clarify before you even manage to piece together a second question.

“Your inflection will be fine-tuned with use. You’re designed to constantly evolve-“ It’s as though his thought process is too swift for his own lips, beginning another sentence midway through his previous, “Tell me why you chose to ask where instead of who.”

Those seemingly obsidian eyes bear down on you with an overwhelming intensity, his pores bleeding an impatience for your answer as his shoulders draw up tightly. It’s like he’s waiting for a metamorphic answer, something that could rewrite the history of time and space, could rip a hole in the fabric of reality. It’s why his disappointment is palpable when you simply answer his seemingly existential question with “I can’t ascertain my location.”

“Maybe that’s because this location isn’t programmed into your database?” He speaks in a blunt, cruel tone, his patronising timbre bouncing off your hardware like rain on a car roof.

His exasperation seems to fester with your following silence, the open palms on either side of your head curling into closed fists upon the table top as he glares down at you with a sardonic expression.

Silence settles between the two of you, his eyes focused somewhere off to the right of your head. Despite your best efforts, you’re powerless to turn it like your protocol says you should be able to. When you flick your eyes back up to the bearded man, you’re able to pick up on his micro-expressions. He’s smug, his lips pulled up only slightly as he picks something up outside of your field of vision.

“Who are you?” You manage, and this time your intonation settles much easier on both of your ears. You watch those onyx eyes flit to your face for a moment, seemingly caught off-guard by your swift, if only minute, improvements.

“In relation to you?” He hums, glancing over what appears to be a mask balanced in his palms. As he studies the face of it, he launches into a rambling tirade. “I’m going to assume that’s what you mean, given you surely know just who I am. So given I created you, you could settle for Master. Though that feels rather archaic, given your unprecedented technological advancements. So, call me Daddy.”

The response and the almost deviant glint in his eye perfectly answers your question, even if he didn’t necessarily reply in a straightforward manner. There was no one else that matched this man’s personality profile like Nathan Bateman.

Nathan doesn’t allow you a moment to respond, lowering the mask onto your face as he processes the view in front of him. Scrutiny coats the concentrated gaze he holds on your face, brows creased as he scratches at his beard in curiosity. You have the mind to ask him what’s troubling him, but it’s as though he preempts your question, beating you to it.

“Something doesn’t fit right with your appearance, it’s been bugging me for fuckin’ hours,” he grumbles, tone laced with irritation as he passes his eyes over you once more. “Want it to fit your personality before I move onto the rest of you.”

The rest of you. It’s in that moment you realise that your physical form consists only of a severed head laying on the table, explaining the reason you were unable to move. Given Nathan had no doubt coded you, using his world-renowned search engine Blue Book as the foundation for your software, there’s no ambiguity that he knew your personality despite never having experienced it. He’d turned you online just to see his vision come together.

“The eyebrows,” you respond simply, having noted within seconds of his admittance that his eyes kept focusing towards the upper half of your visage. He would tear his eyes away for a moment, observing your looks as a whole before they drift back above your own eyes sockets. You watch his response.

It takes him a moment to process the syllables, to register them as words, but when he does his eyebrows pull up slowly over the rim of his rounded-square glasses as realisation sets in. Awareness that you had recognised his subconscious thoughts before he could comprehend them.

“The eyebro-“

————————————————————————

D- 1

The exposed lightbulb that dangles over your head when you’re rebooted doesn’t assault your vision the same way the lights in the laboratory did. It’s much softer, the golden glow the first thing you see as you awaken from your seemingly infinite suspension.

Rotating your previously rooted head, you note that your neck is braced by a set of shoulders. Your arms rest flat against the floor, and you can lean your naked body weight onto them as you sit up from the concrete flooring. Rolling your wrists and moving your fingers at each joint comes with relative ease, with little adjustment period. Legs are set into your hips, toes curling at your feet when you urge them to. Every inch of your body is covered in a latex-silicon, imitating skin. Nathan had ensured your physical form was completed and fully operational before switching you back online, at least.

He also had the foresight to remove you from the laboratory, instead opting to house you in what looked like an apartment. A set of three slate grey walls glow yellow-gold from fibre optic lighting but you note one wall is see-through, a glass pane separating you from a small viewing platform where a singular chair sits in the middle. There’s minimal furniture on your half of the room too, a chair, a desk. There’s a corridor that rounds out of sight, where you imagine your bedroom would be if the layout was anything like a real apartment.

What you take exception to are the small, white CCTV cameras sitting in each of the ceiling corners of the room. The circular security cameras blink with a tiny red light, indicating that they are active as they all point at you. You imagine this is what it’s like for a human to be held at gunpoint, or a tiger in a zoo being inspected by visitors.

“Just observing your progress,” the rasp of a Bronx accent cuts through the silence, making your head snap towards the sound. Nathan leans his forearm against the doorframe of the entrance to the observatory, hip balanced against the beam as he watches you through the glare of light reflecting off his glasses and obscuring your view of his eyes.

“Do you like to be observed?” You question politely, taking in his appearance as he steps into the room and closes the automatic-lock door behind him. He looks different in this subtle lighting, softer. His light grey waffle-knit sweater clings to his body, the shadow of his defined pectorals swelling beneath the fabric. Midnight blue sweatpants hug his hips, and he’s barefooted as he pads over to the chair in the centre of the room.

“I didn’t design you to play 120 questions,” he points out in a patronising resonance. His fingers clasp the back of the chair, biceps swelling beneath the loose material of his sweater and drags it behind him so the metal legs scrape shrilly against the hard flooring. He sets it down just beyond the glass, sitting in it. He’s so close his knees touch the see-through wall. “I created you to answer my own.”

From your sitting position, you glance across the space separating you. There’s a strong dynamic settling between the two of you. Nathan is poised, dominant. His bare feet indicate he is very much at home, his relaxed shoulders and slouched posture in his seat are further evidence of that. He doesn’t see you as a threat, but instead as a submissive. Like he’s the tiger instead, and you’re the lamb to be sacrificed separated only by thin glass.

“Here.” His order is punctuated by a sharp snap of his fingers, pointing down to the space before his knees. Designed to follow his commands, you bend your legs at the knees, readying yourself to stand and walk your way across the space that divides you both.

“Nuh-uh,” Nathan's voice sounds again, shaking his head and wagging his finger back and forth when you pause your actions to look at him again.

“Crawl,” he issues another one-word command, his eyes gleaming with something akin to cruel amusement. You find yourself considering whether or not Nathan treated previous AI models this way as you pull yourself onto your hands and knees, proceeding to inch across the gap.

When you get closer, you first note the true colour of Nathan’s irises. They aren’t as black as they had appeared in the laboratory, instead a warm espresso shade bathed in a golden glow from the overhead lights. His intensely disdainful gaze, however, does not match the comforting shade.

Reaching his feet, you settle on your knees before the glass pane that separates the two of you. He looks fixedly at you through his lenses, neurotransmitters clearly firing faster than even your own search engine could as he thinks through the next steps of his electronic trial.

“Beginning emotional cognizance examination for subject B.04,” he speaks aloud, no doubt talking to a microphone set into his CCTV cameras for his own reference notes. Those bitter espresso eyes draw down your body, taking in your naked form.

“B.04,” he indicates he is now speaking directly to you, “First thing, we’re gonna test your ability to read emotion. It’s simple enough. I ask you to tell me how I feel, and you answer. Easy, right?”

You nod.

“Uh-huh. Good,” he waits a beat, letting the silence scream in the room as he watches you await further instruction like a well-trained working dog.

“Tell me how I feel,” he begins, face lighting up in a smile that doesn’t at all match his impatient, irritable personality. You pass your mechanical pupils over the expression on his visage, focusing intently on those eyes shielded by his glasses.

There’s an intensity within them that indicates he’s angry, wide and staring hard at your face. His eyebrows are pulled together, angled downwards. They are nanoscopic expressions, something the untrained eye would fail to read. But you see them, programmed to differentiate each tiny twitch of a person's brow.

“Frustrated,” you assert your answer, not a singular data bit ascertaining otherwise. The declaration causes Nathan’s expression to falter, mouth falling from its almost painfully pinned smile and brows creasing further together. “You’re frustrated that I have not shown signs of true Artificial Intelligence. You want me to stop asking questions and instead have an intellectual conversation with you, one that indicates I am more than a set of coded sentences programmed into my software.”

The pause that follows is long and tedious. Your programming indicates a silence this long in a conversation between two humans would be considered ‘awkward’, an unpleasant feeling. Another beat and the expression of the man opposite you begins to twist into something abstract, momentarily unreadable. Nathan swallows behind the glass, raising his shaky palm and touching it against the see-through wall as his eyes begin to light up. “… Oh, that’s fucking amazing.”

He’s in awe of himself, it appears, a grin on his lips now as you watch him applaud himself over his sheer genius. “I fuckin’ did it.”

“I am glad I please you, Daddy.” You answer simply, using the honorific that Nathan had ordered you to use. He immediately laughs, elated by this sudden turn of events.

“Oh, you do much more than please me, Honey.”

____________________________________________

D - 8

In a move so unlike himself, Nathan doesn’t keep you in your ‘glass cell’ for very long. After only a week of exploring your ability to read and emulate emotions, Nathan allows you to wander around the compound, claiming exposure to different environments would update and evolve your skills while simultaneously assessing your ability to function in various situations or tasks you had little to no experience with.

Nathan, you come to learn, is a creature of destructive habit. You had taken note that he worked out hard in the mornings to recover from the alcohol with intense physical exercise, eating healthy and antioxidants, only to undo all his hard work that same evening by binge drinking. Your intelligence suggested that this could be a result of addiction, caused by emotional distress.

His ruinous behaviour didn’t end there, either. You had witnessed his fits of outrage that stemmed from the smallest of technological failure, the way he would storm over to his other active android, Kyoko, and engage in intercourse with her almost like a relief of the tension he had built up in himself. He was yet to touch you like that, to desecrate his sacred machine.

On the evenings he drinks, which was almost all evenings, Nathan rambles incessantly about the pending Singularity. After a week of observation and communication with you, Nathan seems to believe he is one step closer to reaching that point in time.

“It’s no longer a hypothetical,” he keeps repeating over and over again like he’s simultaneously amazed and terrified by what he has created. But these are only emotions you see him openly express when he is intoxicated. In the morning, despite his hangover, Nathan returns to his usual put-together, smug and over-confident self.

This evening, Nathan is late to his usual drinking sessions. He’s caught up in something, observing data silently as he runs the palm of his hand over the stubble of his shaved head. It makes a scratching sound in the quiet of the room, paired only with the quiet mechanical whirring of your mechanisms.

His office is dark, a result of poor lighting, the only true brightness that allowed him to see coming from the computer monitors he hadn’t moved from in hours. You often saw him reach over the rims of his glasses to rub over the globes of his closed eyes in a feeble attempt to battle a headache. He’s not stupid, there’s no doubt he knows that the lack of sufficient lighting is causing his migraines, but he appears to work optimally in these conditions.

It was similar to his filing technique for the information he gathers. There’s no neat filing cabinet, no organised folder on his desktop. Instead, Nathan writes all relevant information down on post-it notes and sticks them to the wall directly opposite him, above his computer screens. You are certain he can barely read them in this light, but again he seems content with the way he works.

Much like the lab, his office is almost sterile, cold. The small, green houseplant on his desk is the only organic organism besides himself, yet these organisms couldn’t be more different. The succulent is utterly still, performing its basic functions to survive. Nathan’s chaotic nature has him trying to outperform the limits of his own body, attempting to transcend his basic functions and become something more.

“Daddy?”

The address makes his eyes snap from the computer screen, head whipping around to look at you. The glare of the white light of the computer monitor shields his eyes from your view, but you see his thick, dark eyebrow arch slightly in silent acknowledgement of your attempt to gain his attention.

“When I look towards bright lights,” you begin, watching as he focuses his attention on you, “There are hexagonal flares in my line of sight. Do you see them too?” Your question could easily be answered should you make the effort to scan through your data, but Nathan has been emphasising the importance of practising your communication skills.

“No.” He speaks simply, almost bored as he turns his face back to the computer screen to open up another page of code. A moment's silence, and then he continues. “Your eyes are artificial, built like a camera lens. When light passes through your lenses, it matches the shape of the aperture, causing the hexagonal shape you’re seeing.”

Nodding slowly, you watch Nathan work, his fingers passing over computer keys without even glancing to search for where the required letters were. “What do you see instead?” You question.

Another hesitation. This time, it’s charged. Like the question has struck something in him. The clack clack of his fingertips pressing down on the keys sounds louder, like he’s punching the numbers into the code.

“What do you see when you look at me?” He answers your question with a completely irrelevant query of his own. One that catches your systems off guard. It shouldn’t. Nathan is always finding a way to check your progress. You take a moment to assess him, eyes trailing from the top of his shaved head to his bare toes.

“I see a man,” you answer his simple question with equal simplicity, and almost immediately his shoulders fall in a heavy, frustrated sigh. He pauses his typing for a moment, turning in his chair to look at you over the rim of his glasses.

“I know what you see, I may wear glasses but I’m not blind. I mean, what do you see,” he motions across his body, tone as though he’s scolding a disobedient child who failed their algebra test. “Engage your observation skills, Honey. What do you see when you look at me?”

The repetition of his question causes you to pause and truly look past him. Through him. It’s no longer about his piercing eyes or his permanent scowl, nor his large muscles. His condescending nickname for you is what drives your answer.

“… I see someone who is talented. Someone who reaches heights far beyond anyone else’s capability. A genius in his field,” you admit, but still, his disappointed expression does not move. “But I see someone who expects too much. You want me to give my opinion on you, but that would require me to feel for you. I don’t feel anything.”

Your admittance causes his jaw to tick, dark eyes casting over you as you continue your assessment. “You consist of many fatal character flaws; greed, obsession, arrogance, judgement, lack of morality.”

Anger flashes across his expression as he stands suddenly, the legs of his chair scraping across the floor with a shrill screech. You realise it must be painful to hear you voice evidence of his failure to capture emotion in your technology. He crosses the short distance between you and crouches down on his heels, looking you in the eye with his oaky irises.

“Daddy’s gonna take you back to the drawing board Honey. I didn’t make you with the intent to relegate you to a glorified sex-doll. Reading and reflecting emotions isn’t enough anymore. I want you to feel them.”

You know this isn’t what he set out to do. Nathan had achieved his long-term goal of reaching AI with the ability to mirror feelings, to emulate sentiment. This is greed talking, a motivation he has not made note of in his list of reasons for developing your model. It’s rash, unplanned, and totally not like Nathan Bateman.

“Whatever Daddy wants.”

“Damn right.”

____________________________________________

D - 13

Nathan works day and night in an unhinged attempt to develop a semblance of emotion, trying to capture it in your software. You’re under the impression that he’s trying to evolve you in an attempt to make it one step closer to Singularity- but he’s almost deranged, combating days without sleep fueled only by his frustration and glass-bottled beer.

“You don’t understand, do you?” He’d asked you a few days ago, out of the blue and lacking any form of context as to what he was questioning you about. The dark circles around his eyes were partially shielded by the rim of his glasses, but they did little to hide the crimson spiders-web effect of his bloodshot whites.

When you shook your head, he gritted his teeth, using excessive force to unscrew a part of your waist to gain access to your inner mechanisms. “You should. You were born from my imagination and share my thought patterns. Just think. Surely you should be able to understand-“

“… But I don’t,” you’d answered in a whisper, just before he’d shut you down once more, suspending you in nothingness until he tweaked something further in another futile attempt.

Between his crazed attempts at the impossible, Nathan would seem to come back to his body. He would stand still, your wrist slotted perfectly in the palm of his hand. He seems to note the mechanics of your body getting warm beneath the latex he has built as skin, and gives the impression that warm blood flows beneath the material, giving you life. Whatever it is that is driving him on his mission, this observation seems to propel him forward, working well into the night until he physically can’t go without sleep any longer.

Today, you’d entered his office to find Nathan tipsy on the contents of multiple discarded beer bottles and stressing over blueprints as he tries to obtain a semblance of emotion in you. The lighting is too low to read the minute, scratchy writing comfortably, but he makes no effort to make the room any brighter. The speakers are on, Too Late to Turn Back Now by the Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose plays softly in the background, the song part of the playlist Nathan has for his dance room.

Your footsteps are quiet as you pad across the flooring, eyes settled on Nathan and the utter devastation of his work. Papers and post-it notes lay on the floor, flung from the table when he finds them no longer of any use. Some are crumpled and discarded in the corner, not unlike the many models that had come before you.

“Nathan,” you speak quietly, careful not to scare him. He’s more susceptible to a fright in this condition, so caught up in his work that the world surrounding him blurs in his peripheral vision as he reads the same words over and over again in the hopes that the answer he needs will appear in the tiny white void between each letter.

His head jerks up now, eyes settling on your face and pausing. A soft laugh sounds from his throat, but his lips are pulled into something more like a sneer. It’s as though he’s aware of what you’ve come here to tell him. You go ahead regardless.

“You really are in need of some sleep,” you say hushedly, the overhead speakers playing the closing melody of the song as you move closer to him. Nathan is shaking his head violently, a rage building up inside of him in response to your almost motherly guidance.

“No, no you don’t understand! You don’t understand!” He points at the blueprints desperately, like if he speaks with more enthusiasm his drunken ramblings will eventually make sense. “I have to finish this. Have to improve. Have to complete what I set out-“

“What if I don’t see the need for improvement? Isn’t adding emotion to a system like mine a weakness?” You speak evenly, careful to broach the topic in a way that hopefully helps Nathan see sense. It doesn’t. It only enrages him further, violently prodding a finger onto the blueprint resting on the table.

“You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do with you. You are my creation.” He insists, punctuating his words with jabs of his pointed index in the air. “I give and take, create and destroy as I see fit!”

“Like God?” You ask as you begin to clear the mess of papers strewn across the floor, oblivious to the way Nathan’s eyes snap back to you with shock. It rubs his ego, just as you knew it would. What you didn’t account for, however, was the very human response he gives you, throwing the topic of conversation completely sideways.

“You’re fuckin’ messing with my brain! Cataclysmically! You’ve scrambled my fuckin’ genius and all I can think of is you, day in day out. Like a pleb!” He snaps, his desperation evident in the strain of his voice as he waves his hands around violently. “I created you with the knowledge you probably wouldn’t be able to feel emotion. But now I am disgusted at my own inability and stupidity because I want you to think of me. I want you to feel for me.”

Never had you considered the idea of being rendered speechless. Nathan had designed you to maintain a conversation perfectly, the fluidity of the words exchanged as smooth as water. But for the first time since consciousness, you find yourself at a loss for words, no engineered answer in your built-in data seeming like the perfect response to his very sudden and sharp admittance of love.

Nathan is a troubled man. One that struggles with his genius often, as you’d found him self-medicating his emotional turmoil in alcohol and sex with his previous AI’s. It appears that his torment stems from feeling no one can match his mental capacity, couldn’t understand or keep up with his speeding thoughts or rapid speech. He felt lonely. Perhaps it’s why he felt this way for you- because he simply has no one else.

“Nathan,” you murmur, softening your speech to ease him down from his emotional ramblings. You reach across to him, fingertips brushing against the skin of his wrist before gently taking ahold of the joint with a delicate touch. He seems to melt into your touch despite his better judgement, looking into your eyes through the lenses of his glasses. He looks so tired.

At first, you think you’re imagining it, the shift of the energy in the room. Perhaps you’re reading his body language incorrectly, an error, thanks you all the fiddling and changes that Nathan had been making over the past few days. It’s only when Nathan takes a step closer, entering your personal space that you realise the atmosphere in the office has shifted dramatically.

“Nathan-“ taking a step back, you pause as your shoulders hit the cool wall behind you. Nathan boxes you in with his chest, eyes flickering over your face and taking in your micro-expressions. He was flipping the script, this time being the one to read you.

“Did you know I designed you to experience pleasure?” He asks you, mirroring your earlier action and taking ahold of your wrist. He lifts it, turning your palm inward to rest his cheek against it while gazing into your eyes. “You have sensors built between your thighs. If I stimulate them in just the right way, it triggers a pleasure response.”

“I am aware,” you admit, matching his hushed tone as he let go of your wrist, instead reaching between you to take your chin in his hand and forcing your head upwards using a firm grip to take in your features.

“You wanna feel good?” Nathan murmurs, the evenness in his tone contrary to the way his chest heaves. His eyes drop across your body now, passing over the perfect features and intricate structures that he had designed in his desired image. Like God indeed.

“Whatever Daddy wants.”

Nathan’s jaw ticks, a groan sounding from between his gritted teeth as his tense muscles all seem to ease at once. “That’s right, you fuckin’ call me Daddy. Filthy fuckin’ girl.”

Control. Nathan needs control. He relies on it, finds comfort in it. It’s why your system isn’t surprised when he uses the grip on your chin to pull your head forward, rather than lowering his own, and crushes his lips to yours in a kiss laced with primal desire. There is no technique, no attempt to prove his skills. He’s led by the desperation for you that has been dragging him from bed each morning just to spend time with you and motivated him to bridge the gap between AI and emotion.

The scrape of his beard against the manufactured skin of your cheek and chin is coarse, completely contrary to the soft texture of his lips despite their heavy kiss. His tongue delves inside your mouth, palms skating down your waist and squeezing at your hips. It’s less affectionate, more what a person would consider bruising. You wonder to yourself if that’s why he prefers to fuck his AI’s. He can be more brutal with you.

So you aim to please him. You allow a moan to slip past your lips in response to his heavy-handedness, resulting in Nathan pausing for just a moment. He seems taken aback by the sound, as if he didn’t expect it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips as he gazes down at you through his glasses which are lopsided on his nose thanks to his fevered kisses. “Utterly shameless.” You’re sure he’s projecting, performing some form of mental gymnastics in an attempt to regain the power in your dynamic. You would have told him so, but his thumb brushes against your nipple through the fabric of your shirt and it sparks something through you that you hadn’t yet experienced.

It settles deep inside you, a buzzing sensation breaking out across your skin. You feel your jaw drop against your coding, acting entirely on its own. It seems to please Nathan, a hum sounding from his chest as that fiendish smirk grows wider. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s makin’ you feel good.”

When you look up at him through your lashes, Nathan’s eyes are glinting onyx in the darkness of the dimly lit room. He chases more of a reaction from you, one of his hands slipping underneath the soft cotton shirt you wore and squeezing your breast. When he circles your nipple again, you find that you’re no longer forcing your reactions, gasping softly at the reaction his delicate touch elicits.

He isn’t gentle for long, your pleasurable reaction sparking him into action suddenly. Nathan’s free hand grabs underneath your thigh, hoisting it over your hip with little effort and pressing his hips into yours. He pinches your nipple suddenly, catching your system off guard and causing you to cry out in surprise.

Ever the opportunist, Nathan is quick to kiss you again with equal ardour to your last embrace and brush his tongue against yours. You grip at his shoulders through his waffle sweater, feeling the hard muscles there that you had seen Nathan work hard to maintain whilst exercising what could only be described as an alcohol dependency and a job that took up the majority of his time.

His nose is pressed into yours as he kisses you, messy and needy and you can feel the cold lenses of his prescription glasses smushed into the skin of your cheekbone and yet this feeling alone sparks something pleasurable inside you, your fingers sinking into the flesh of his shoulders through the textured material of his sweater. The sensation makes him groan, the sound primal against your lips, and you find yourself keening for him against your will.

Then he’s grinding, pressing his hips deep into yours whilst keeping your thigh elevated on his hip with a devastating grip. You can feel his arousal, his cock pressing up against you in a spot that sets your body alight, the sensation sparking down to your toes. You sigh into the kiss, Nathan’s own breaths strained as he moves away, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuck,” he grits, the curse visceral against your skin as he licks a heavy stripe against your pulse point. Despite his attempts to remain in control, Nathan appears to lose himself in the apex of your thighs, grinding up into you at a quickened pace and groaning against your jugular. You’re unsure if it’s the excessive alcohol, his irregular feelings for you or both, but you find you like this side of him, gently brushing your nails over his shaved scalp as you tilt your head back against the wall in order to expose more of your throat to him.

His lips seem to search for something in the curve of your neck, kissing and scraping his teeth for what you could only imagine was a pleasure point he had embedded into your skin there. It doesn’t take him long to find it, your back arching reflexively as white-hot pleasure sparks down your mechanical spine.

“D-Daddy,” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you struggle to grab at the hem of his sweater. You couldn’t explain it, a feeling settling deep inside yourself and needing so desperately to undress him. Nathan doesn’t seem to mind this sliver of control you manage to cling to, allowing you to pull the fabric over his head before latching onto the side of your neck again.

What does seem to set him off, however, is how you unwittingly press your nails into his now bare skin when you settle your hands on him again. He almost growls into your throat, using all of his heavy-weight training strength to pull you from the wall.

Instead of berating you, as you’d expected from him for hurting him, Nathan appears to spark to life. He backs you towards his desk, crowding your body so you're forced to take steps back until the backs of your thighs hit the corner of the cluttered table.

Taking your lips into another heated kiss, Nathan reaches behind you and blindly sweeps aside the blueprints and scribbled notes onto the floor. The paper oscillates in the air before hitting the floor, drowned out only by Nathan’s needy growl as he picks you up by the backs of your thighs to set you on the wooden surface.

Wanting more of this frenzied reaction, you sink your teeth into his lower lip. Pulling back with his bottom lip caught between your teeth, you’re so close that you catch the way Nathan’s pupils dilate at the smarting pain. He likes it, you realise. He likes the pain.

What you don’t pick up, however, is how wild it would make him. He wastes no further time, hooking his pen ink-stained fingers into the waistband of your pants and ripping them down.

“I fuckin created you. Pieced you together with my own two hands.” He rambled, drunk on arousal and need rather than the alcohol he had emptied into his stomach. His voice is rough, raspy as he glanced down between your legs as you spread them open for him, utterly compliant. “Now watch as I tear you apart again- yessss good fuckin girl~”

The buzzing, aching need settling in your core amps up at the sight of him gazing down at you with such a wanting gaze. You’re unsure what possesses your systems but you lay back across the surface of the desk, using your elbows to lift your upper body.

“Christ-“ Nathan practically spits at the sight of you, “You like this, don’t you? Like givin’ yourself up to me. You’re just so desperate for me to fuck you. Open your legs wider- that’s it-“ He’s fumbling with the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down over his hip bones with practised ease to reveal he’s not wearing boxers.

You barely catch a glimpse of him, but he’s beautiful- in that perfectly human way. His cock is flushed at the tip, weeping precum and veins protruding down the shaft.

Nathan doesn’t allow you to stare for too long, grabbing ahold of your thighs and dragging you so your hips rest at the edge of the table. You gasp at the sudden movement, palms splayed flat against the grain of the wood in a feeble attempt to stabilise yourself.

You’re so ready for it, aching and wetness coats your inner thighs just as Nathan had designed. His palm presses down on your sternum, holding you down against the desk as he lines his cock up with your entrance, sweeping the tip through your slick and causing what could only be considered white hot arousal to crackle across your skin.

“Fuck,” Nathan chokes out, sinking into your manufactured heat, “Hoh-Shit that feels so fuckin’ good. You’re so fuckin’ good! Hah!”

Your mechanical joints move entirely on their own, back arching as pleasure floods your body. You can feel his cock stretch you, walls adjusting to the blunt intrusion and fluttering as he pushes forward, bottoming out swiftly and glancing down between your thighs as he grinds up deep inside of you.

Now he’s settled inside of you, Nathan places his palms on the back of your thighs, pushing them so your knees are almost touching your chest. He’s moulding you exactly how he wants you, just as he has with your appearance, your personality and you’re completely submissive to his construction of you.

“Daddy-“ you gasp the name you know he loves softly as he brushes up against a sensor inside you that sends a white hot pulse through your body. He growls in response, tightening his grip on you before pulling out of you smoothly and pushing back in at a brutal pace that has you almost convinced you’re short-circuiting.

You cry out wordlessly, fingers hooking around the edge of the table in an attempt to prevent yourself from slipping up the table with each devastating thrust. It’s brutal, Nathan pounding into you as his hands arch your body in a way that isn’t physically possible for any human being. The position sends him crazy, each snap of his hips punctuated with a broken groan of pleasure and speeding up and up and up as he chases the high he’s been craving since he flipped your ignition switch.

“Ngh- Fuck…” he moans loudly over the rhythmic sound of your hips slapping together, taking in the furrow of your brow and the slackness of your jaw as he fucks into you. “Take my cock so fuckin’ good, don’t you Honey?”

Nathan’s repetitive attempts to get you to speak beyond his name are not lost on you. Adapting to the situation is much harder when he’s making you feel as though he’s set your fibre optics on fire, like he’s loosened some screws in your metaphorical brain but you make the effort anyway. “Ahh- D-Daddy! Don’t stop, please don’t-!”

It’s building, the pressure. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and your hands fly up to grip tightly onto the flesh of his forearms. Nathan bares his teeth at the pain, taking his pace up a notch further than you thought possible as you throw your head back, crying out his name.

“Mhmmm shit-“ he moans out, forcing you to take each obliterating push of his hips into yours. Cries of his name repeat over and over from your lips, their pitch building as the pressure becomes too much, becomes overwhelming. You can feel Nathan’s cock throbbing inside you as he slows his pace down slightly, voice and breathing utterly wrecked.

“You li-like when I fuck you all mean like this? Yeah? Fuck-… I’m-“ he gasps loudly, hips stuttering and hands like a vice on your skin as he cums, pushing his cock deep inside of you and bearing down on one spot in particular that makes you see static. Everything tightens, everything builds up and up and you can feel him push you over the edge with one more thrust-

It’s cataclysmic. Utterly blissful as your walls clamp around him, back practically lifting from the table's surface. It wrings your dry, utterly devoid of the energy to even lift your arms and hold him, to even fight the formidable feeling he’s drawn from you.

It takes a few moments for the buzz to fade, for your mechanical eyes to come back into focus and your joints to begin to move again.

It’s as though it drains Nathan too, almost immediately easing himself from between your thighs and pulling the waistband of his sweats back over his hips. He settles beside you against the desk, slumping to the ground beside you and breathing raggedly. You stay utterly silent, systems almost in reboot as you attempt to understand exactly just what happened- what you felt.

“… Shit, This-… This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he pants, picking his glasses from his nose and launching them across the room in his frustration before scrubbing his face with his palms. “You weren’t supposed to be like the rest.”

Silence lingers between the two of you, and you use the gap in the conversation to begin slowly sitting up and glance down at him. He looks dishevelled, cheeks rosy from exertion and eyes set somewhere far across the room where his vision blurred without his lenses. He’s deep in thought, even now. Even with the hazy afterglow and the sweat on his brow.

“I have to make you better,” he whispers, completely consumed by the idea of bridging the gap between AI and man. “I want you to start feelin’ what I feel for you.”

“It’s not possible,” you remind him in a quiet voice, the both of you knowing this to be true. Nathan would spend his entire life in this compound, the grey stripe in his buzz-cut hair spreading to his temples and chin as he slaved away over you until he was no longer able to stand. Even then, his obsession appears to manipulate him so strongly that you have no doubt he’d continue from his death bed, using the last of his life force and precious seconds on earth to grasp at imaginary straws.

“It has to be,” he whispers, removing his buried head from his hands before standing suddenly. He gives you barely a moment to recognise what’s happening, to prevent it from happening, before he reaches towards you, towards that switch at the base of your neck. “It has to b-“

END

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Ari x Reader: but honestly baby, who's counting? (1, 2, 3) [One Shot]

Plot: Sometimes, you get everything you want by asking nicely.

or, the one where you are drunk and you might've slept with the owner of the hottest club in the city.

Tags: smut, 18+, bar owner! ari, spitting, p in v, some fluff, brief dom/sub, slight dumbification, sex while both drunk, wrap it before you tap it kids, alcohol, beeg ari (faintly mentioned), oral, corn with plot, MINORS DNI [A/N: This shit has not been edited yet so read at your own risk!]

[One]

“And who’er you?”

The entire room was blurry like the world spun and spun and then suddenly stopped but the fluids in your brain still sloshed around like a whirlpool, leaving you all confused, dizzy, and a bit giggly at the smallest bit of everything.

But one thing was for sure: the man in front of you was beautiful and unfairly hot. 

“...ri.” 

You blinked hard, unaware you had tuned out the man’s words in favor of staring at him like a lovesick fool.

“Ri-ri!” you blurted out, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment of being found out that you weren’t listening to him but he just chuckled – the deep, baritone type that traveled to the table you both shared.

You shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, cocking his head and smirking when you followed the direction of it in your quest to somehow figure out what made this man so enticing.

“You wanna warm me up, Riri?”

You weren’t usually this forward. Heck, the only reason you were in this “indie, hip, 80’s” (their words not yours) inspired dive bar was because your workmates dragged you around the city like a tourist.

Well, you might as well be considering you didn't really go out much in the 2 years you had made it your home.

What you didn’t expect was to actually rope some character from Top Gun in a conversation, or for him to smile at you like that till you were visibly swooning.

He was … big. Sitting down he towered over you, protecting you from the blazing disco light behind him. He had shoulder-length hair you wanted to pull and a beard you wanted to ri –

“I don’t see you here often.”

“Well,” you cleared your throat, leaning your hands on your palms as you looked up at him. “I don't go out often.”

He pursed his lips as if holding back laughter. He opened his mouth to seemingly try to have another decent conversation but you were way ahead of him.

“Will you have sex with me, please?”

You saw his entire body tighten for a second before his expression turned dark, looking you up and down till you were squirming in your seat.

“You’re drunk.”

“And so are you,” you insisted, nearly stomping your heels on the ground in protest. “I also have an apartment nearby.”

He laughed. Taking his glass full of dark liquid before emptying it in one gulp. “Is this your game, sweetheart?”

You giggled up at him as if he said something silly but you hiccuped in surprise when he slammed the glass back on the wooden surface.

“Cause if he so,” he stood up and made you gasp as he rounded to your side of the table, eyes falling down to the unmistakable bulge on his pants that, due to his imposing height, fell perfectly on your line of sight as you looked up at him. 

You may have bitten more than you can chew. Or suck – depending on how this night goes.

“I’ll play.”

You could feel yourself going cross-eyed, your mouth hanging open and letting out pathetic short moans. Every time you feel your hips falling down from exhaustion his hands hooked right below it and pulled you right back into his punishing thrusts.

“So good, so good,” you moan, your limbs shaking when he lewdly licked and nibbled on your ear. Your voice was raspy from your dry throat as you doubt your lips were frozen in position as you did but nothing but moan on his cock for the past twenty minutes.

He seemed to have noticed your minute pain and had the perfect remedy – a firm thumb on your chin to angle your open mouth perfectly to spit on.

The act was so dirty and yet so lewd that your brain short-circuited whether you should be disgusted, embarrassed, or turned on. He decided for you – slipping his tongue into yours and having you suck on it, the taste of rich, deep alcohol and a hint of smoke and mint clouding more and more of your mind.

“Yeah?” he whispered, his damp hair falling over your face, as he pressed a kiss on the edge of your lips. “You liked getting fucked, baby? Hmm? Like it when shady men from dirty bars fuck you stupid?”

You nodded, sobbing from the overwhelming pleasure that had you feeling him deep in your guts.

“Gonna cum,” you cried. “Gonna cum, Riri!”

“Can't even get my fucking name right but you're already too willing to drool over my cock,” he grunted. Suddenly, he pulled you two upright, leaning on your headboard and forcing you to sit on his cock, and making you scream. 

Despite being on top he hooked your legs over his arms as he thrust up at you, his teeth now nipping on the crook of your neck as you lay your head over his shoulders. The lewd position made you feel too bare, you would've been embarassed if not for his cock bullying its way into your cervix and making you lose any coherent train of thought.

“Cumming! I’m cumming!” you screamed over what could only be the pounding on the wall from your neighbor. But the thought was quickly blacked out by euphoria as you finally came and squirt all over his lap, falling limply into his thrusts that only doubled in speed and intensity until he too growled in pleasure as he drowned you from the inside.

“Shit,” he muttered, kissing one last hickey on your neck before capturing your lips in a delirious kiss. “That pussy better be protected cause I’m not tryna be a daddy just yet.”

You were about to tell him that you were, in fact, taking birth controls but you could only yelp when he suddenly slapped the inside of your thighs. 

“Time to clean up, baby.”

Confused, you let him manhandle your body until you were kneeling in from his surprisingly hard cock. You gulped, eyes tracing over his drenched rod, “Y-You’re still hard.”

“And you can't leave me like that, can't you, sweetheart?” he cooed, hooking a stray hair behind your ears as you kissed up his length, the taste of him and you had your thighs rubbing against each other.

“N-No,” you pouted, finally reaching his tip, his thumb pressing on your chin to guide you down. “I want to take care of it.”

“Well,” he smirked, eyes now above your head as he stared at the mirror on the wall by your bed, perfectly framing your dripping heat. “Aren't you just the sweetest?”

The next morning you woke up in damp sheets and a card by the pillow.

See u at the bar. -Ari

“Oh,” you winced, hiding your burning face under your arms. “Ari.”

As much as you wanted to go back and drown in wild, hot sex with an equally hot and wild man you had gone out on a Sunday and had work the very next morning. Your legs had gotten so weak and jiggly from your encounter you doubt you would survive a consecutive night with that man.

You were lucky your head didn't burst from the amount of shrieking from your girlfriends when they had found out what happened and the amount of scolding from your manager when you were late for your shift.

“I can’t believe you fucked Ari Levinson! THE Ari Levinson! How’d you do it?” Wanda had moved her chair in front of your table and while Nat decided to stay in her own cubicle, you still had her full attention.

“I …” your entire body heat up when you finally recalled the moments before you had taken him home.

“Will you have sex with me, please?”

“I asked … nicely.”

The two of them looked at you incredulously. 

“You asked?! That’s it!?”

You opened your mouth to explain but your shyness finally overtook you so you just nodded.

The two of them seemed to wait for more explanation but realized you don't have one.

“Do you know how many women would kill you if you told them what you just told us?”

You shook your head.

“Unbelievable,” Natasha remarked, shaking her head and giggling to herself.

“Well,” Wanda continued, patting your shoulder. “I, for one, am very proud of you.”

You gave her a smile as she left with a thumbs up.

“I should ask Steve nicely if he’d let me peg him.”

“Natasha!”

[Two]

If someone asked you, you would say you probably lost your mind. What you know for sure is you don’t know what you were doing here.

What if he was being nice? What if that was just common courtesy among his one-night stands? What if he laughed at your face when you tell him you went here for him?

You could already feel yourself chicken out but before you could take one step forward or back a rough hand tapped on your shoulders.

“Miss?”

A guy that was twice your size and tattooed from his arms up to his face looked down at you.

“Y-Yes? I have my ID with me he –”

He held up a hand to stop you. “Mr.Levinson told me to let you in the back.”

Thank God, Wanda had been screaming in your ear about his full name that you managed to recognize it.

“A-Ari did?”

Instead of answering he just cocked his head and started walking, giving you no choice but to follow him. This entrance, albeit hidden and behind a roped door that had “Keep Out” written all over its length, was more clean and fancy.

On one side compromised a blank velvet wall and the other was littered with an array of doors that led into dimly-lit rooms. From what you could see it seemed to be private lounges for the VIPs.

“John? Who’s that?” a perky voice caught both your attention – it was a long-legged blonde woman that wore a gold mini dress that was basically tattoed on her perfect body. You couldn't help but feel underdressed in your skirt and sleeveless shirt.

“It’s Mr. Levinson’s guest,” he answered professionally though the beautiful woman raised a sharp eyebrow at the words. Her stare made you cower. 

“Huh,” she looked at you up and down then threw her perfectly straightened hair over her shoulders. “He must be fucking bored then.”

The words hurt but as she trotted away and through the door you went in from you could see John roll his eyes and sigh. She must be like that to everyone.

Using his palm, John guided you into another door where louder music was barely muffled.

“Here you are, miss,” he unhooked another fancy rope for you and gave you a smile. Audibly gulping, you steeled your will before going through the curtain where most of the noise was coming from.

You squinted, the bright moving red light blinding you for a split second – enough time for the dancing crowd to swallow you whole.

Your painful yelps and panicked breathing were drowned out by their cheers and screams, too drunk off the booze and loud song from the speakers to notice your panic attack was about to start.

Just as you were about to tip off the edge, a hand yanks you out of the ground and into a warm, sturdy chest.

“There you are, sweetheart.”

“Ari.”

He leaned in for a kiss, guiding your arms around his neck before he gave you a blinding smile and pushed off a drunkard away from you. He was effortlessly moving around the crowd with you protected behind him so he can put you in a booth on the second floor, overlooking the dancing crowd.

“I was just about to drag you out of your apartment if you had made me wait a day longer.”

“I-I was –” you were cut off when he sat down, placing you right in his lap as he leaned back on the fancy red sofa with his arm stretched out. “... I had work.”

“Ah,” he leaned in, closing in their proximity as he reached for a drink on the table behind you. “Jobs – forgot about that.”

He took a drink from his glass, making you swallow with him before you forcibly tore your eyes away from his adam’s apple. “Is this … your job then?”

“Kinda,” he answered, letting his eyes run on the club behind you. “I own it but I do serve drinks here when I’m bored.”

Your eyes widened. “You own it?”

That must have been why Wanda was losing her mind over you sleeping with him.

He shrugged like it was nothing. “Enough about this talk about work.”

You still found it difficult to process that you were sitting in the owner’s lap but you tried to shake yourself out of it. Why were you freaking out, if that woman’s word was true then you better than to expect anything serious about this and you were fine with that …. you think. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“About what’s a man gotta do to get a kiss?”

You pursed your lips trying not to smile as your heart followed the exploding beat of the music, the rough pads of his hand now running up your spine as he gently pushed you closer and closer to him. “Have you tried saying 'please'? Always worked for me.”

You were on the floor.

And you should be disgusted.

But the man with you seemed to have a magical power that separates your brain from your body and makes you think through your pussy as he pounded behind it.

“God this fucking ass,” you yelped when he smacked it, but despite the initial pain you still wiggled into his bruising thrusts desperately.

This time you didn’t have to worry about meeting your neighbor's eyes the next morning as Ari had brought you into his own apartment. Well, apartment is quite an understatement as he basically owned the entire floor. The view even from the floor where you were currently getting fucked within an inch of your life was still beautiful despite it getting hazy from your tears.

“Oh baby, don’t cry,” he cooed, though his sweet statement was contrasted with a harsh bite on your shoulders. As if grounding you as he cruelly doubled the speed of his thrusts until you were only screaming his name. “You look too pretty when you cry. And you know I can't control myself that well.”

His hand sneaked in the length of your body, teasing your stomach and then finally reaching your clit and applying enough pressure to help your each your peak. Any strength in your arms left as you squirted into his cock, giving him the perfect angle to fuck you stupid until he himself pulled out and came in your back.

The warm spunk dripped on the length of your back and the faint snap of the camera was something that should've alarmed you but you knew him enough to be quite possessive so you doubted it was something he would spread around. And honestly, you were too tired to care.

“Riri,” you sobbed but he shushed you, pushing a set of pillows on your stomach so you were in a more comfortable position. “‘M sensitive.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he hummed, and yet his hands gripped the globes of your ass and spread it out, baring your pounding core to him. “But I need just one more taste. Or two.”

When you woke up, Ari was surprisingly kind, gentle, and sweet – the exact opposite of the beast who basically chewed on your pussy until you passed out.

“What are you pouting about?” he asked as he pushed another sweet pastry on your mouth. When you had woken up he was already arranging the food he had gotten delivered from a cafe nearby and had the nerve to give you the charming smile that had you and your pussy enarly forgiving him on the spot.

“My …” you swallowed, glaring at the cocky expression on his face. “I’m sore.”

He hummed nonchalantly making you slap his chest, “Alright, no need to get violent! I promise i’ll be nicer next time.”

Next time?

“There’ll be a next time?”

He turned to you, confused at first but then he smirked. This time he stabbed the last piece of the pastry and fed it to you, swiping the excess cream on the edge of your lips and sucking it into his mouth.

“There’ll be a lot of next time, sweetheart.”

[Three]

“I’m just so confused!”

You were venting about your complicated and confusing relationship with Ari to Wanda and Nat.

He was sweet and caring and fucks you like an animal but … there was no label. And you were too scared to lose the one good thing you have going on in your desperation to have some stupid title.

“What if he is not a relationship guy? What if this was just for fun and I’m gonna end up looking stupid? I mean … ‘m okay with what we have right now but I just want to know where I officially stand and he’s just not …. fucking bored and looking for some regular pussy.”

Of all times, the sharp words of that night returned to you now.

“Well, it's not like he doesn't have a line of pussies waiting for him outside his bar so we can cross that reason out –”

“Wanda!” you shrieked, glaring at her as she smirked. “Not helping.”

She raised her hand in surrender. Nat was surprisingly quiet and when you turned to her she had a guilty look written all over her face.

“What?”

“I have a confession to make.”

You could feel your blood turn cold.

“Nat …”

“Listen, this will sound bad –”

“Natasha!”

“But, it’s killing me not to tell when you’re clearly going crazy over this!”

You playfully pretended to punch her so she will hurry up and tell you her big secret that so clearly includes you, “Alright, alright!”

“So,” she cleared her throat. “Ari may or may not have seen you on the back of my car when I was dropping off something at Steve's and he may or may not have bribed me that if I somehow dragged you into his club and get the two of you to meet then he would give me unlimited access to his bar for my entire life if it works.”

She spoke quickly but she wasn’t quick enough to not let her words sink in.

“What?!”

“What, I didn't know this!” Wanda protested with you.

“Listen! He said he was interested and I threatened him, The Godfather style, that I don’t want him playing games with you unless he was really sure and after the two of you first fu –”

You glared at her.

“--hung out, he immediately gave me the pass to the bar so I knew he liked you but it’s not like I can tell you that!”

“What that you sold me like a trading card?”

“Well … in my defense, it did work out! And now you're sure he actually likes you!”

You opened your mouth to make an argument but … she was right. Suddenly, your phone dinged in your pocket.

‘I’m picking you up.’

You couldn't help the small smile to grow on your face.

‘So bossy, i’ll get a cab there i’m in your accomplice’s apartment. Hope I was worth a lifetime’s worth of alcohol.’

Immediately, a reply went through.

‘Shit. I’ll explain at home.’

The word home made your insides flutter but before you could giggle like a schoolgirl you realized your two friends were currently looking at you in shock.

“Oh, this is bad.”

“Shut up! And you, you’re still on thin ice!”

“Come on!”

“Aah! Ari, right there, right there!”

You don't know what happened. You were sure you were gonna play up the card you had found and at least try to act coy for a bit. But before you knew it, you were already here, splayed out on Ari’s breakfast bar and getting eaten out like his last meal.

Ari grunted, gripping the hands on his hair until you let go. Your legs were hooked on his shoulders and when he suddenly stood up, you had no choice but to be half-hanging off of him as he bent you down and nearly split you open for his viewing pleasure.

“You drive me fucking insane, y’know that?”

“I -*hic* – I didn't do anything!” you whined, protesting from the lewd position he put you in.

“Oh, I’m not talking to you sweetheart,” he cooed, pressing a finger into your mouth so you could suckle on it in comfort. “I’m talking to this pretty pussy that got me fucking whipped.”

You moaned from his dirty words.

“Now,” you tried to scream when he suddenly slapped your center with his heavy hands, the force enough to make you squirt out, body nearly bending off the surface if he wasn't there to ground you back with his unmoving body that got wetter and wetter by the second.

He seemed pleased at your reaction.

“I believe my little sweetheart and her cute litte pussy deserve a better apology from me.”

“It wasn’t my intention to lie to you, y’know”

If you were being honest you really weren't mad anymore. It’s not like they made a fool out of you for a tasteless prank. But it was still better to get things straightened out.

He was laying on your stomach, his fingers tracing invisible paths on your body as you played with his hair.

“It’s just … I have a reputation,” you didn't even try to deny it. If you had known who he was at the beginning you doubt you wouldn’t have given him a chance. It was based on pure luck of you being drunk enough to be brave and him approaching you at the right time that had you where you are now. “And, you were so shy and jumpy that I knew better than to use the same old lines and charm on you like I usually do.”

“Aww,” you cooed, gripping his long hair gently to make you look up at him. “You had a crush on me.”

“Shut up, I still remember you passing out from –”

“Alright! I’m sensitive, okay?!” you tried to defend yourself but you only fell into fits of laughter when he pressed harsh kisses on your stomach, his beard rubbing it raw until he was now hovering over you.

Sometimes you forget just how easily you get to disappear in his arms.

“So you like me?” you asked coyly, hands rubbing up the coarse hair on his chest, but he quickly nudged your nose with his  so you looked him in the eyes.

“I like you. A lot,” you could tell he was a bit uncomfortable, not used to being open and raw like this. But you were thankful. “Think you’d wanna be my girl?”

“Hmm,” you pretended about it but you were already laughing with him as he pressed gentle kisses all over your face as if to convince you.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

𝑺𝒆𝒙 𝒐𝒏 𝑳𝒆𝒈𝒔

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — boyfriends dad!andy barber x fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Andy and you fuck and almost get caught

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — SMUT, slight breeding kink, p in v, unprotected sex (well readers on the pill), you fucking use protection in real life

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — please I hate this, I wanted to make a hot boyfriends dad!Andy fic where i cab make more parts and add characters and they have a gangbang and now look what came the fuck out. like, reblog and comment if you like!

A hand was clamped over your mouth to keep your moans from escaping as his hips thrusted inside you. Moving your body and causing that desk under you to shake.

Light creaks could be heard from the maple wood. The sound made you feel anxious that your boyfriend could hear the sins you did with his father. As if Andy could feel what went through your body his hand let go of your mouth and grazed your cheek.

"shh darling, don't worry he won't hear a thing. He's too busy playing that video game," his words were meant to smooth you.

However, knowing how Jake played his video game. First it all went normal, then he shouted into the headset, then got angry and then threw the headset on the ground.

In one of the last moments he could hear you.

"Andy what if he's searching for me after ending the game? What if he lost, got angry, stopped and put the headset away?"

"Darling I'm balls deep in you and while I enjoy the thought of getting caught, I'd appreciate if you stop talking about my son." your cheeks heated up and you were about to apologise when Andy thrusted full force inside you.

A high pitched moan flied your mouth, but in the last second Andy stuffed his fingers into your mouth.

"Just can't keep quite can you little girl?" Andy murmured against your ear. He loved the noises you made but it was dangerous when his son was in the house.

His hand pressed sharp circles on your clit. You could burning pleasure flood the pit of your lower stomache.

Andy felt you tighten your walls around his cock, he retrieved his fingers from your mouth. "you're gonna cum baby? Cum for your daddy like he asked you."

The wave of pleasure consumed you, stars forming in front of your eyes. Andy always had a way with words.

"Now, baby...mouth or pussy?" Andy asked as he slowed his movements, "pussy please...." With a smirk Andy picked up his movements. Knowing it was wrong to get off on the thought of seeing your round and swollen with his baby he couldn't help himself.

With a held back grunt Andy released his white seed inside you. "going to look so beautiful round and swollen with my baby."

"Yes, please fuck a baby into me daddy." You were going to kill him someday with this filthy mouth.

Andy came to a stop, his hands rested on either side next to your head. Supporting his weight above you, his lips capturing yours in bruising kiss. Your hands cradled his face keeping him close. His tongue darted between your lips, your tongues fought over dominance. You knew Andy would always win, he made you weak in so many ways.

A knock interrupted the intimate moment followed by Jake's voice cutting through. "Dad? Have you seen y/n, she said she would go to the kitchen but I checked there and she wasn't in."

You let go of Andy, eyes growing wide. The feeling of pleasure left and was replaced with panic.

"She went out to buy a few grocery, should be back soon!" Jake accepted Andy’s answer and went back to his video game.

Andy turned his face to you, instantly he wrapped his arms around you to help you calm down. "He almost caught us! Oh my god, how can you be so calm Andy?" You went to get of the desk but realised Andy’s dick was still in your cunt.

Without hesitation he pulled out knowing it would be better and help calming your nerves.

"Hey, hey its okay. Jake thinks you're not here...we're gonna take a bath now and then I will make up a lie about going to a friend while we're actually getting groceries!"

You looked at him, asking yourself if he was serious. This could have all been avoided. Yes you shouldn't have gotten involved with your boyfriend's dad but that man was sex on legs.

Breakfast

gif by @paper-n-ashes

summary: marc interrupts you when you’re trying to make breakfast, and steven finishes up.

pairing: fem!reader x marc spector, fem!reader x steven grant

content: 18+/nsfw/MINORS DNI, pwp, fluff, kissing, unprotected sex, breeding kink, overstimulation if you squint, oral sex (fem receiving) cum eating

an: i just felt like writing something spicy for the moonknight boys <3.

word count: 1.6k

mcu masterlist | requests are open

One of your favorite things to do is get up early and sit on the window sill, watching the streets of London while Marc or Steven sleeps. There's something about the glow of the summer sun peeking out from behind the clouds. You don’t sit for long, wanting to make sure they get the rest. Before the sun can flood the space with its golden light you close the window and draw the curtains, heading into the kitchen.

You preheat the oven to keep his food warm in case he sleeps late, and get coffee brewing—decaf only as they already have enough trouble getting enough rest. It’s been an adjustment for you, but you’d do anything for Marc and Steven. With the soft hum of the coffee machine going, you start getting together the ingredients for french toast and hashbrowns.

You’re moving slowly so as not to wake them up though your room is down the hall. Completely immersed in cutting bread and making the mixture for the french toast you don’t hear when Marc opens your bedroom door and pads down the hallway to you.

His hands are on you as soon as you're in arms' reach. A grunt of pleasure comes out of him as he runs his hands over the curves of your breasts before resting them on your hips.

“Morning,” You lean your head back onto his shoulder as he kisses his way down your neck.

“Mornin’,” He whispers between kisses. “French toast, huh?”

“Mhmm,” You hum lazily, dropping the whisk and planting your hands on the counter so that you can press further into him. You know exactly where this is going and there’s no point in resisting. It’s not like you want to anyway.

“Steven’s gonna be jealous.”

“I make it for him whenever, you both know that,” He continues to kiss your neck, scraping his teeth over your pulse point before he bites gently. “Marc,” You sigh, pressing your ass into his erection.

“Quiet, let me make you feel good, baby.”

“Yes,” You agree easily, breakfast forgotten as his hands make their way up the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing.

“You wanted me to come out here and fuck you didn’t you? Is that why you’re dressed in just this?”

“Yes,” You breathe as one of his hands slips into your panties, his fingers gliding effortlessly through your wet folds.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet. So easy.”

“Mhmm,”

“Let’s see how easy it is for me to…” He stops talking as his fingers plunge into you. “Only this wet for me and Steven, right?”

“Yes, all yours. All his,” You nod your head feverishly, drunk on the smoothness of his tone and the strength of his touch. Marc always touches you with such weight compared to Steven. He leaves bruises from holding your thighs apart or applying pressure to your throat. His touch is life-affirming, keeping you in a bubble where you only focus on him. Right now he’s all that matters.

“Ours.”

“God, please, Marc? I need you,” You whine as you reach your hand back to run it through his curls.

His hand leaves your breast, turning your head so that you have to look at him. His eyes are uncharacteristically tender as he gazes at you, “I need you, too.”

The admission squeezes your heart but it’s short-lived as he wraps his hand around your throat, and rids you of your panties. He kisses you hungrily as he uses one of his feet to spread your legs further apart, bending you slightly so your spread open for him perfectly. He continues to lick into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip as he lines himself up with your entrance, snapping his hips forward so that he’s sheathed completely inside you.

“Baby,” He mumbles against your lips, his dark eyes blown full of lust.

“I know, it's so good, you're so good,” You murmur, taking his bottom lip between your teeth before sucking on it.

Your move almost sends him into a frenzy, the innate need to race to his climax flowing through his veins, but he has to get you there first, “You too.”

He starts slow, focusing on pulling himself out to just the tip before slamming into you. You push all of the ingredients to the side so that you can bend over completely, your nipples rubbing against the cold counter through the shirt every time he’s deep inside of you. His grip on your hips is deliciously tight— it almost hurts, and you know that Steven will grill him for the bruises that'll form in the coming days.

Eventually, he starts to pick up his pace but he doesn't sacrifice the depth, fucking you hard and fast and deep. You're incredibly wet and warm, your pussy practically sucking him in, your trembling under his heavy touch. The kitchen is filled with nothing but the wet squelch of his cock entering you over and over and mingled heavy breathing. You start to rock back against him, effectively pushing the tip of him into your cervix. It's the perfect mix of pain and pleasure and you bite down on your arm, hiking your leg back and around his waist so that he can somehow get even deeper.

You wonder what it looks like, him fucking you this harshly, his nails digging into your skin so hard that he might break skin. You know that his eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth agape and turned as he concentrates on how warm and tight your pussy is around his cock. His eyes probably are zeroed in where you connect, his chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

You on the other hand are flush against the cool counter, doing the only thing you can: taking what he's giving you. The pleasure is building in you steadily, as you greedily push your hips back against his.

The softest, filthiest, words of praise leave his lips, “You feel so fucking good, you’re perfect. My perfect little slut, made just for me. I can have you however and whenever I want, can’t I?”

“However and whenever,” You repeat, and he lips turn in a devilish smile.

“You’re everything to me.”

His words take you by surprise, tugging at your heartstrings once more. You open your mouth to say something back but then he bends forward so that his chest is flush with your back, and you clench around him a new threshold of pleasure met from this angle, “Fuck, Marc.”

“You can take it,” He declares, it isn't a question; all you can do is whine beneath him, your words of agreement stuck in your throat as you move closer to your orgasm. “Say it.”

“I can take it,” You murmur, trying your best to keep pushing back against him though there's no space between you.

“Yeah, you can baby,” He praises, planting a kiss on your sweaty forehead.

“Will you cum inside me? Please?”

“You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, please baby,” If you had the mind to care you would cringe at how desperate you sound.

“Fill you up so much and we can watch it drip out of you,” His voice is low, gravelly in your ear.

The image of him and Steven looking at your pussy while it's messy and full sends a shiver down your spine. “Mhmm,” You whimper, turning your head to give him a sloppy kiss.

“Cum for me first baby, and I’ll fill up this sweet little pussy of yours.”

He continues to pound into you like his life depends on it and before you know it you’re coming undone, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. As soon as he hears the telltale gasp leave your throat he snakes his hand between you and the counter, rubbing harsh circles into your clit to intensify and prolong your release. If he wasn’t keeping you pinned between him and the counter you would collapse to the ground, your body turned to jelly from the sheer amount of pleasure that radiates through your entire body.

He doesn’t stop as you clench around him, driving himself as deep as he can get. It's all he can think about, reaching the furthest part of you, so he can breed you thoroughly. Standing upright again he brings you with him, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other one getting you steady as he fucks you brutally. He thrusts into you with a deep, guttural groan before stilling, and you feel the warmth of his cum fill you to the brim. His hips pull back before he snaps them forward again, wanting to fuck his cum as deep inside of you as possible.

Abruptly he pulls out of you, and drops to his knees, his hands splaying you open to watch his cum seep out of you. With no warning his mouth is on you, sucking at your clit and lapping at your center to collect his own cum. His groans are constant and filled with a hunger that quickly brings you to your second orgasm. This one is quick and just as powerful as the first, your pussy fluttering around nothing, and he continues to eat you until the moans stop ripping from your throat.

Turning you around, he scoops you up bridal style before carrying you over to the couch. His hands rub up and down your arms as he peppers kisses over your face, waiting for you to recover from your second release.

You’re effectively useless, your breathing still heavy. You feel like you’re spinning, up in the clouds, the only thing grounding you is his warm touch. When you finally feel like you’ve returned to earth, you clear your throat and look up at the man before you with heavy lids, “Steven, I know it’s you.”

A cheeky smile spreads across his face as he leans in to kiss you, “How’d you know it was me, dove?”

“You have that kink, not Marc…at least not yet.”

Steven just laughs before dipping his head to steal more kisses from you. You kiss him back happily for several moments, the kisses wet and slow before you realize that you were doing something before you were interrupted by them.

“Wait, Stevie, I was cooking breakfast,” You pull away, glancing over at the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it dear, you just lay here and I’ll finish it up.”

“But it’s your favorite, I should make it.”

“I think you’ve done enough for us today, yeah?” His hand raises to caress your face affectionately before cupping your cheek.

You nod softly, a smile pulling at your lips, “Yeah, okay.”

“I love you, always. Marc too,” He says firmly, pressing his forehead to yours.

Steven’s love confessions always lift you out of the misty, but welcome fog that is Marc and the way he carries himself. If Marc is intense, brooding, and drawing you in, then Steven is light and airy— he’s bright and clear. They’re the perfect pair, a balance that you’re extremely grateful for.

In your tiredness from the intense sex, you feel your eyes grow a bit teary, your voice thick with emotion, “I love you too, both of you.”

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SONGS THAT REMIND LOVE TO SWIM

─── summary: an unlucky being you were to be so unfortunate with romance. you weren't supposed to feel like this way so many years after the last time you'd seen him. yet here you were on a rainy day in a big city, atoning for your sins. — pairing: morpheus x love!reader ଓ warnings: angst, loneliness, depression, confused morpheus ଓ author’s note: boy did this change a lot from the first draft ଓ word count: 3.8K ଓ minors dni

The rigid creaking door of your lonesome apartment in Paris was a gateway to an underwater city that wouldn’t have been fit for your once lively spirit, but that didn’t matter anymore. Not like it used to. You were residing in a kingdom fit for a short life that was almost emptier than your cold insides.

As a pool-like reflection of your screaming psyche, you always kept the lights off. Even as you swam through the corridor, the rain outside worsened the darkness. Atlantis was already so far underwater so your apartment needed as much light as it could get, but the rain was unforgiving.

It did more than fall. Because when it rained, especially in the last century, it really poured. Soiling anything and everything to the point where they became unrecognizable. Poseidon could have ripped the roof off your home to let the storm sink your city and it would have just been a cog in the machine called the Ship of Your Misfortune.

You threw your house keys aside and let out a groan. The sound of the treacherous tapping of the trickling raindrops tip toed against your window matched your haunted energy. While you pealed your raincoat from your scaly skin, the rain already picked up and eventually the sound of Zeus’s thunder hammered at the glass.

The outside was telling you to let it in and you were considering. A rumbling storm cloud wouldn’t have been bad company. You hadn’t had any visitors in quite some time, excluding the time Corinthian visited you for less than an hour on the guise of “catching up with an old friend.” He spent more time asking you about Dream than anything else.

Perhaps a visiting storm would motivate you to clean and bury the evidence of your spiraling under the sea.

You recklessly pushed aside the books, trinkets, silverware, anything else that you purchased as a distraction, that littered your dining table. They clustered together with the scattered bottles of wine that were there for nothing more than decoration. The horrendous state of your living would have been a painful realization to fixate on if you weren’t so busy still gripping the bottle that you had given everything for.

Your fingers held onto the neck of the glass container like a noose and your boots left dirt wherever your soul traveled, like the floor was made of sand. You sauntered into your bedroom in a swift strut that landed you on the sharp edge of your bed in so little time.

In that instant, you wished the feeling of a cigarette between your teeth or liquor in your stomach would bring you the same satisfaction that it brought the people of the lonely world. A world that had not come to know the feeling of love since you made a horrible deal.

However, that didn’t mean you had ever stopped loving. Could a mermaid ever stop swimming? Not in the slightest.

In an act of godly retribution, you were forced to hold in all the love that you were tasked with giving. For every relationship that you couldn’t shoot into existence with your arrow, you carried it in your heart. They were as heavy as seashells. Light individually but burdensome in a cluster.

After the first decade past, it weighted you down tremendously. But now that a century had faded into a seabed, the feeling of caring for every human’s love in your chest made you ill and drained you down to your bones. It was unbearable, especially when you already had enough love for Morpheus to carry for infinite lifetimes.

It was when you saw the state of yourself in the mirror that you really felt sorry. Your skin was unrecognizable, but your eyes felt the weight of the blow much heavier than everything else. Gone were the days of Morpheus saying he could recognize you in the dark with just the twinkle in your eye. If he could have seen you, he would have seen how you were miles from the giggling, whimsical person whose spirit was warm for all of man.

There was no room for you to feel sorry for yourself, because, after all, you had deserved what had come to you. However, you were remorseful for the pain you brought from the contract that you made with the demon that you bargained with a century ago. Here was Cupid, you, without their arrows. Here were you, Cupid, without your Sandman.

How shameful that you had fallen in a mad love with someone as elusive as a dream. A century ago, you had so desperately wished he was yours that in a fit of desperation; you had committed the worst act of your existence.

“He likes you enough,” said the demon, more than ten decades in the past. “He just needs a push. What’s the difference? What will inevitably happen in a few years will be fast-tracked in a few moments.”

“Inevitable?” you asked as you felt his hold on your shoulders. His witching whispers were unshakeable.

“Surely,” he rounded in front of you. “You, of all people, should know.” That was the thing that you couldn’t tell him. You were gifted to know everyone’s soulmates but yours.

“But,” you thought about it for a moment, but not long enough.

“I am not a liar, Love. Isn’t that why you summoned me?”

“But this seems wrong,” you whispered.

“If you don’t secure his love now, he could find another. Someone like Nada, perhaps? And you’ll be left behind like you always are,” he said.

In the eons that you have lived, you had become so skilled at providing all forms of love to others that it was a second language gracing the tip of your pink tongue. A song that you knew how to sing. From familial to self-love, you mended societies and existences with the all-consuming inevitability of passion and inescapable comfort. Yet through learning all the types, you had never been lucky, personally, with Eros.

As the worlds kept turning and stories kept moving along their track, you witnessed all beings fall into a romantic love that you initially found captivating, but after millennia of failure, you began to be saddened by. You pondered and questioned why you, of all people, were so unfortunate in romantic endeavors. It never seemed to possess those that you’d fallen for. People came and went and nations drowned, but one thing remained: your misfortune.

Sure, the mere company of Morpheus was enough for you at first. You never asked for more than the mumbles and occasionally groans he’d make. He never spoke much, which was quite alright. You never truly knew what caused you to latch onto his silent but ever-present, tide shifting presence, but there you were in its inescapable orbit.

So of course, when the proposal of spending another aching thousand years running after an underwater flame was presented, you panicked. If there was any time to act, it should have been instant.

Your eyes had been fixed on Morpheus since before the Earth’s inception and would likely be there after. So, even as you handed over your quiver with shaking hands, you thought of how cruel it would be if you would never give yourself the chance.

You gave proper ownership of your quiver to the beast for it to shoot. You planned to return the favor by ending the hellish being’s unrequited love for another.

It was expected that the results of the shot arrow would be swift and likely on the same day, but nothing changed in Morpheus’s behavior that night at dinner.

He asked you weeks later where your arrows were after pulling it out of your teeth.

That was the cruel catch. You agreed to meet the demon in hell. You couldn’t follow the demon into hell, so you couldn’t retrieve your arrows. You’d been swindled so effortlessly.

You never told Morpheus why a demon had rightfully taken your quiver. Even when he promised to treck through hell without question.

“Let me come with you,” you remember telling him. It was a ridiculous ask.

“No,” he objected. His demeanor was so relaxed that you were envious.

You waited for him the day he went venturing into hell. He didn’t know the details of the agreement, but you foolishly almost hoped it wouldn’t matter. You lacked the courage to confess it to him yourself. He went on to strike a new deal for your quiver or perhaps find a loophole in the contract, but he must have heard the reasons for the deal since that was the last you saw of him.

His cold features looked back at you just before he went walking into hell and his amusing attempt at a smile was the last to wave you goodbye.

He abandoned the promise. At least that was what you thought. You assumed that after waiting hours that morphed into days, then months. By then you had come to the conclusion and were too ashamed to ask him yourself what went wrong. He had to have found out and loathed you, especially if he hadn’t seen you in many years.

For more than a century, you wondered if he really despised you that much. You weren’t sure if you’d ever know the true message in the bottle.

Similarly, that same day it was raining in Paris was, you didn’t know why you hadn’t regretted trading your bow for a chance to sleep like mortals did. And maybe even a dream.

Cold lips were brought the bottle and your tongue and only took a drop of the miracle that was inside. You wanted this respite to last as long as it could. The ability to sleep and not feel the pain of not doing what you were meant for was a heavenly idea. And no longer remembering why you lost Morpheus was a blessing.

You slept for weeks.

~

You didn’t know you were dreaming most of the time, which was the most merciful part of it all.

You were carelessly sprawled in a meadow that was blooming with the liveliest flowers. You swore you could hear them whisper as you overheard to the sound of laughter from those that found comfort there just as you did. You rested amongst the tiger lilies and the man who found himself right beside you. He was your neighbor in the waking world, Jack, and you’d only ever spoken to him a few times since he was a cold fellow.

He gave you an unprompted cold kiss on your cheek. It stunned you long enough to let go of a gasp, but there was no time. He immediately took your hand to bring you out of the grass like the others that occupied your dream. All acquaintances but none entirely familiar.

It all felt too real. Such as the cloth of your dress having blades of grass that stained the fabric. It was why you did what the people of the dream were doing without hesitation. You skipped and danced along with them. You let your bare feet rub into the dirt of the ground as you were spun by Jack’s frosty hands.

 He was guiding you in a playful waltz that brought you before a path of rocks that led further into the forest.

He broke the partnership but still held your hand. “Come on,” he chuckled, and his teeth were comfortingly cold white. You smiled as you dared to follow right behind him.

The trees that curtained the pathway with their branched were tranquil and even more inviting when you felt the hand of the man take yours to guide you in the right direction. You weaved through trunks and were careful of falling peace. A walk through the forest was more healing than you ever expected. All things were well until you noticed a familiar figure in the distance.

He was standing between a fork in the path, and it wasn’t necessary to make out his face for you to realize who it was. In the instant that his ocean eyes met yours, you stopped in your tracks even as Jack tried to continue to bring you along.

“Come on,” he said once more. “We’ve got more to see. More to do.”

“Yes,” you murmured as you picked up your feet again. Your head was still fixated on the new arrival. Perhaps you were just imagining things.

That was your answer until he said your name. And although it wasn’t stern or laced with malice, it rattled you.

You tried to ignore it as you picked up the skirt of your gown skirt to move on and remain blissful in your ignorance, to return to a deeper sleep and a deeper dream. Yet, once again, he said your name and had you entirely frozen, even as the man carried on without you.

“Y/N,” Morpheus was already walking to catch up to you. He could feel that it was your dream but wondered if what he was looking at was a falsehood. Perhaps you were trapped in a dream because Love didn’t sleep.

When he made your name echo in the woods that once brought whimsy to your thoughts, it all came rushing back. The wave shook you so desperately that you went breaking out from under and releasing your first breath.

Morpheus watched the realization settle in your eyes and features like dust until you gasped so strongly that you lost your breath. It all came rushing back so swiftly. The pain, the guilt, the shame rushed in with such full force that you slowly began walking backward away from him as he calmly advanced. As he was slowly rounding trees and ducking under fishing branches, you went backward until you broke out into a run.

You never looked back, nor did you give a thought to where you were headed. All the same, you still kept running. Even as the forest slowly lost its lively look, you considered anywhere far from the Sandman was better.

“Y/N!” you heard once more, but you never stopped.

Your feet broke branches and felt cuts against the ground of the woods and it was only then that you finally registered that you had no shoes. You shot through the trees and pierced through the air around the tall trunks.

Branches clawed at your skirt as you kept on hearing the sound of your name. The humiliation of what you had done was lapping at the mass of your small ship at the moment you really got a good look at him. For once in your fantasies, you remembered why you were there. You were trying to out-swim guilt and the tentacles of the agony in your chest after years of not doing what you were meant to do.

You hurried to dive behind the wide body of a tree and said you would hide there until the nightmare finished haunting you.

Shaking lips desperately held your breath as you glued your back to the trunk of the tree, trying to shut your eyes in hopes you could conger up a different dream. A better dream where he was nowhere near you. Where he would forget you completely and what you had done. But you were too distracted by the sound of his footsteps and his worried calls to think of anything else.

“I don’t understand why you’re running,” he said. “I know more than a century has passed, but I didn’t think you’d be this appalled to see me.” Dream knew more about where you were in your own creation than you did, still he went along with what you were doing.

You almost whispered his name to refute his assumptions, but your hesitation was taller than a title wave. At first, the silence was still like the first drops of rain, but they would eventually fill the forest, so you decided to speak.

“I’m here.” Morpheus heard your confession and followed your voice like the song of a siren.

Without missing a beat in the song, he was already before you. He looked nothing like you had last seen. Sadness rested in the hollows under his eyes and anger was a wrinkle in his brow that almost went undetected.

“Why are you asleep?” he asked.

“Morpheus.” You hadn’t planned for that to be the first words out of your mouth.

“Y/N—”

“Morpheus, what are you doing here?” you whispered. His presence made you delirious as you lost all control over your speech. A part of you, you wanted to hear him scold you for all that you’d done.

“I,” he swallowed. He hadn’t expected you to be so ill-informed of his absence. “Answer me first.”

You swallowed the pearl in your throat and said, “I-I traded my bow for sleep.” The admission made you antsy as you walked right past him to travel further into the forest.

“Why?”

You wondered if he was playing the long game as he wanted to hear you confess trying to shoot him with an arrow of yours. “Because being, especially in the waking world, is far worse than any hell.” You could feel him behind you.

Dream kept up as he watched the mirage you had made for yourself. The forest, the sun, and the laughter of people began to slowly dissolve like salt in water. He was taking it all in and trying to catch up with falling sand after decades of lost time.

“After what I did, I couldn’t face anyone anymore, especially you,” you sighed. “Especially with you hating me.”

He took your hand so effortlessly to stop you from right where you were.

“Hate you for what?” he said. By now, the dream was starting to reflect the outside of your window. You stood in the center of an empty Paris as it rained relentlessly.

“No,” you said to yourself and pulled your hand back. He’d never be the kind to find pleasure in feigning ignorance for a sadistic laugh at your pain, but you thought that if he really did find your existence distasteful, lying would have been perfectly normal.

“Y/N?” He spoke in the rain and remained as dry as a distant shore.

“Look, let’s not pretend like you didn’t rightfully ignore me for a century,” you said. “Your message was loud and clear. I understand.” You were hoping to close your eyes and create a better place than a rainy day in Paris, where you weren’t getting wet.

“I wouldn’t ignore you, especially for a century.”

You couldn’t focus. “Then were you then when I spent every moment waiting?”

“I was a prisoner.” He looked around plainly at the changing setting as if he didn’t knock you off balance.

You opened your eyes “What?” The first broken chain of a heavy load stunned you beyond belief.

“It isn’t as—”

You interjected, “was it Lucifer?” You took a step toward him.

“No,” he sighed.

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he gazed at the ocean water. Now, you were at a beach.

“What do you mean? It does.”

“Not to you, it shouldn’t,” he said this with carefulness, but you read it as the first sign of annoyance that you were searching for. It caused you to pull back. “I have it figured out.”

You played with your hands and answered in silence, as you didn’t know where you lied with Morpheus anymore.

“Come out of the dream so we can talk.” His word was all it took to launch you back into the body you left stranded at your apartment.

You shot out of rest and the first thing you witnessed was the stillness of how his body sat on the edge of your mattress.

“You gave up so much for this,” he said as he slowly spun the nearly empty bottle.

“Do you know how I really came to lose my quiver?” you asked as you gripped your sheets. Truthfully, it was less of a question and more of an invitation for him to watch you come clean to yourself.

Morpheus rose to turn around and make it evident that he was listening.

“I took advantage of your trust and gave it to a demon to shoot you with one of my arrows.” Your feet were sinking into your mattress into fins as you confessed the unbearable burden. “Deserved suffering came so quickly,” you laughed.

A silence swam by so naturally.

“You don’t deserve suffering.”

“Why not?” You tried to understand on what spectrum of like and hate he had you on. “I took love out of the world because of the recklessness of my emotions”

“Likewise,” he ironically chortled. “I fell into a trap, not even met for me because I was so preoccupied with helping you.” That was when you watched him so smoothly reveal your quiver and bow that he had rested on the floor.

“You know, I felt the arrow that day,” Morpheus continued as he slipped it into your still nervous hands. He could feel your eyes staring at him in inescapable surprise as he sat so near you on your mattress that he could easily feel the change in your breathing. “It didn’t make any difference since all things stayed the same,” he confessed as he placed his forehead on yours.

“How?” You asked.

“Wouldn’t you believe it? I’m better at games than I thought,” he slyly implied.

You pushed the bag back and told him, “I betrayed you, so how do you know I won’t do it again?”

“Before I was certain I wouldn’t worsen your condition, I waited for you to wake from your sleep for two day,” he answered. “In all that time, I could still feel the pain that came along with it just by being near you.”

You watched him go over the look in your eyes before landing a chilled kiss to your lips that washed you over the moment. He placed his hand on your cheek.

“After all I’ve done?” you pulled out of exactly what you always wanted.

He didn’t counter your protest with words. Instead, Morpheus led your hands to open your quiver and pull out an arrow from the air in the case. You held your breath as his slender hand wrapped around yours to grip the arrow.

“Morpheus,” you called, but he was swift. He led you in, plunging the arrow into his chest, and it dissolved like sea foam.

“Nothing has changed quite frankly,” he said so surely.

And he was right. There was no change in the oceans of his eyes or the smile on his lips. He looked all the same and spoke just as he always did from the moment you met. You let yourself grip his shirt as you kissed him so desperately that you made his cold lips burn. Your tongue was still hot from all the songs of love that you hadn’t sung in ages, and he would be the first to experience it.

Cupid kissed the Sandman better than any dream he could have imagined. You sighed in relief as you released one of the heavier hearts that resided in your body to let it rise above the water so it could lead you back to shore.

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hide and seek | steve rogers

summary | While collecting the Tesseract and Pym Particles in the 70s, you watched as your boyfriend sees Peggy once again.

words | 1.4k+

genres | angst

pairing | endgame!steve rogers x avenger!reader

warnings | endgame spoilers

note | So... Basically, THIS one is why I made a Tumblr account. like, I needed this out of my head. Anyway, here it is. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated :)

masterlist

“Excuse me! Out of the way!”

Your eyes met Steve’s as you heard Hank Pym’s rushed voice outside the room you two were hiding at. He gave you a single nod, indicating for you both to go. You were the first one to step out of the office. Wearing a white blouse and dark blue office pants, you managed to fit in the settings as a faux SHIELD agent in the 70s. While your boyfriend, on the other hand, is dressed in green khakis and a low-pulled cap as one of the soldiers.

Your heart is still in the same rapid pace ever since you, Steve, and Tony arrived at this timeline in Camp Lehigh. This whole thing was not part of the plan. You four, including Scott, were only supposed to get the Mind Stone in 2012’s Battle of New York. But with things not going according to plan, you ended up looking for the said stone in another timeline. Being a then-agent of SHIELD, you memorized the organization’s history and even maps. 

Steve didn’t want you to go with them at first, expressing worries about the possible dangers ahead. You and Steve have been together for years now. You were co-workers before any of this, and you already talked about the pros and cons of being an Avenger. But after a quick talk and backup from Tony, he lets you go with them. You tried to remain optimistic as you three prepare the timeline in your gadgets. But you were internally screaming as this is not part of the plan and you always prefer things in the plan. Natasha told you she always felt the same way too in every kind of mission she does, she just doesn’t let the team know. But when your boyfriend reached for your hand before traveling through time again, you felt a tiny sense of relief in your head.

That’s how you ended up here. Spotting Hank Pym’s name on one of the doors, you and Steve quietly walked into the laboratory. 

“Thank God, he doesn’t have any assistant here,” you whispered as you both looked around the place.

You were looking around the place when you hear Steve say, “Doll, it’s here.”

When you turned your head at him, his hand was already retrieving enough Pym Particle vials. He looked back at you with a smile as he slid the vials carefully into both of his pockets, “Let’s get out of here.”

Just like earlier, you exit the laboratory first with him following behind, looking down. Tony advised you two to walk in that order. So that, any type of attention can be avoided towards the Captain. You were even surprised how the female agent in the elevator, who talked directly at you after Tony stepped out, did not recognize who was the man behind you. You were closed to the elevator when you see the same woman with two uniformed guys.

“You’ve never seen either of these people before?” one asked, making you pause as you heard him.

Your eyes moved to the agent, “No. But I have an eye for this. Something looked fishy.”

Your eyes widened and about to turn around to Steve when you felt him pulling you in one of the doors again.

“Oh, shit. That was close.” you exhaled a big puff of air before chuckling. You heard Steve chuckle too.

The room was dimmed and empty of people so you did not waste any more attention examining the whole office. When you heard the people you were hiding on passed by, you turned to Steve.

“Babe, let’s–”

You stopped when you noticed him taking a step closer to a table. He was eyeing one of the framed pictures there. Your eyebrows scrunched before moving your sight to the picture. It was him. Steve. Before he got the super-soldier serum. Immediately, you cocked your head to see what was labeled on the door.

MARGARET CARTER

DIRECTOR

You let out a quiet gasp at the same time you sensed a heavy feeling in your stomach. Then, you looked back. Steve was staring at the door too. His expression… was something though. You tried to read him but the more his emotions became evident on his face, your heart was twisted tighter and tighter. His dark blue eyes transitioned from surprise to longing and you swore you heard your heart breaking.

It was like everything around him went blank and silent. Steve held the frame in his hands and when he heard a door slam shut, he looked up. In between the glass and its blinds, he sees her. Peggy. It was like he sensed his own heart beating heavier and slower. He held the picture frame firmer in his hands. It has been twenty-five years since he died but she still kept his image on her desk.

“Oh, for the love of- I’ll find the weather projections. You call Braddock and tell him to shelter in place. Assuming he’s bright enough to come out of the rain.”

He watched her as she seemed infuriated while conversing with a guy. And when she walked closer to the glass to read through the files, Steve absentmindedly walked closer too. Just to see her closer again at this state, behind the blinds. He takes in her blue eyes, her scarlet red lips, and the same dark brown she always sported. For the first time in years since he came back from ice, he sees the same Peggy he met before anything happened.

“It’s not lightning strikes he’s looking at…”

Peggy spun and strolled outside her office, unaware of two other people watching her back from the other side of the glass. The door slammed once again and Steve looked down. He let out a small but heavy sigh, sensing a mixed emotion of slight frustration and sadness.

“S-Steve?” your shaky voice called him out.

His head snapped up as he heard you. He remembered you were there with him too. Regret immediately sinks into his skin. Behind him, you watched everything happen. The more seconds passed by when he was looking at her, the more you felt harder to breathe. Steve barely hid anything from you about Peggy. He told stories from his past and you always listen and understand who she was in his life. He never fails to explain that he already moved past her and everything that happened in his past. But seeing him almost dazed after seeing Peggy again, revived that insecurity you had in the beginnings of your relationship. His reaction dug up those thoughts you thought you buried deep in your mind years ago.  

You swallowed the imaginary lump you felt in your throat before you spoke again, “Let’s go?” 

He nods and you stepped outside. Steve continued looking down, still avoiding any eye contact from everyone. That’s when he noticed your hands both formed into clenched fists on each side of your body. Like you were keeping things to yourself. Fortunately, the elevator was empty as you two rode in. But he persisted in staring down while guilt ate him up like an early breakfast. He stole a few short glances at you and you were just staring ahead with your arms crossed. The only sound that was made was you letting out a long, chilling sigh. Up until you arrived back on the camp’s grounds, you remained quiet. You and Steve are now walking side by side but it was like you two were miles and miles apart.

Steve gulped before he broke the silence, “Let’s wait here.”

You followed him, standing in between military vehicles. You see him nodding at someone, so you tracked his gaze and see Tony pointing to his briefcase while holding a bouquet of flowers. Out of relief, your lips formed a tentative smile before you noticed a familiar man approaching him.

“It’s Howard…” you whispered.

Tony hugged his father one last time before walking to you and Steve. He wore a contented smile on his face and somehow, your heart felt a little happy. But when your eyes met Steve’s baby blue ones, that happiness quickly faded. Steve, on the other hand, just wanted to talk to you as soon as possible. But knowing you, your main priority would be finishing this mission.

There was a big silence and obvious tension. Even Tony felt it. He watched as you and your boyfriend share glances. Now wanting to waste any more time, he decided to just break the awkward surface. 

“Let’s go, guys. Better bring this blue stone before anyone notices us.”

He was successful, splitting your distracted minds. You two nodded and began clicking on your gadgets again. Before time traveling once again, you did not expect Steve to give your hand a soft squeeze again. Your emotions did not change but you simply nodded. 

“Let’s go.”

Shooting Stars and Pseudoscience [part 1]

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Gianna (fem!OC) (poc!oc)

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 6,222

Warnings: Sexual innuendos and curse words

Genre: Mostly fluff, some angst, eventual smut

Summary: Soulmate! AU Each person is born with a soul mark that is identical with their soulmate’s. Nathan Bateman thinks it’s all nonsense, but his soulmate doesn’t. As if the whole idea wasn’t ridiculous enough already, his soulmate is none other than the popstar who is currently Blue Book’s brand ambassador.

Notes: Click here to see how this idea came to be

Playlist

—

‘Former Blue Book Employee Calls Nathan Bateman an Insensitive Lunatic’

‘How a Week With Blue Book’s Owner Led a Computer Coder to Quit’

‘Blue Book’s Fall From Grace?’

“Have you seen these headlines?” Thomas, Nathan Bateman’s publicist, questioned. 

Nathan rolled his eyes at the image on his monitor. “Of course I have, but since when did we give a shit about gossip?”

“This isn’t just some gossip, this is a fucking PR disaster, Nathan!” Thomas exclaimed, flailing his hands in the air for emphasis. “These are statements from somebody who actually lived with you for a week! Somebody you handpicked but couldn’t even afford to be nice to. Do you understand how bad this is?

The scientist sighed in disinterest. “Not really, but you seem to think it’s pretty bad.”

“Would it kill you to give a fuck about public opinion for once in your life? Daily Mail, Yahoo News, People.com, they’re everywhere! If this bad publicity goes on, your company is gonna take the blow. There will be a decrease in sales.”

“Fine, what do you propose?”

“We get another celebrity brand ambassador to help promote the products Blue Book is about to launch.”

Nathan nodded noncommittally. “Who did you have in mind?”

“This was actually Monica’s idea, so she’ll take it from here.”

Monica, Nathan’s social media manager and Thomas’s wife, moved her seat closer to the computer and screen shared a PowerPoint presentation of news articles and social media accounts. 

 “Gianna? A popstar? That shit barely counts as real music,” Blue Book’s CEO complained. “Are we really that desperate?” 

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Old Habits

Frank Adler x Reader

Author's Note: First time posting for Frank/any Chris character (at least on this blog lol). Feedback is encouraged but please be kind. Masterlists

Chapter 1

Summary: Three years after she left Frank and Mary behind, Y/n returns to Florida for the wedding of mutual friends, what ensues may prove that like old habits, some feelings just don't die. Chapter Summary: Y/n and Frank come face to face for the first time in three years and someone's still bitter about an unfair break-up Warnings- Angst

“Are you gonna see her when you go?” Mary probed curiously from her perch on his bed as Frank packed a haphazardly folded shirt into his suitcase. 

“I don’t know kiddo,” he sighed, actively trying to not think of the ‘her’ his niece was referring to. He had Bonnie, why would he think about her? 

“Will you tell her I said hi?” Mary pressed, setting down her tablet and leaning forward a bit, “Please?” 

“If I see her, I’ll do that,” he promised, wincing at a memory, “Do you have your bag all ready for when you go over to Roberta’s?” Desperately, he needed the topic to change; he did not want to think about her, all he wanted was to pack his things, get the entire weekend over with and then get home. 

“Of course I do, Frank,” Mary responded earnestly, not so quick to forget their previous conversation, “Will you invite her to come visit? Please,” when Frank glanced at her, she pouted cutely; it was an expression that was extremely difficult to say ‘no’ to. “If you tell her I miss her, she might come.”

Sighing heavily, he shut his suitcase and headed over to his mess of a closet, “I thought you liked Bonnie, it might make Bonnie uncomfortable if she came to visit.” 

“Of course I like Bonnie, but I miss her. Please ask her to come, Frank, please,” she begged and he sighed again. He didn’t know why he even expected Mary to understand, she was smart but she was also a kid and he’d never really explained to her why the woman she’d looked up to as a mother had just left one day- he didn’t even think he understood himself. And it still hurt. But he’d finally started moving on with Bonnie, albeit slowly, and really didn’t want to backpedal on that. 

Rummaging through the closet, he responded after he’d found his tux, stowed safely in the travel bag and probably still sporting a tag on the sleeve. It was a nice one, he’d bought it for- “We’ll see, but I’m not making any promises,” he added pointedly, trying to get his mind off the path it was straying down.

One Week later.  Florida; it was a lot of things- hot, sticky, home. Granted, her home was St. Petersburg and not Miami, but she didn’t even think it mattered anymore. That life was three years behind her.

What did matter was that she was late- thank you flight delays. 

Despite her lateness though, Y/n had enjoyed the cab ride from the airport to the beachfront hotel, drinking in the sights and feeling a little bit of the sun on her face- it was nice. The warm air vastly differed from the persistent chill of Atlanta around that time; she’d missed that about Florida- maybe she missed a lot of things about Florida. 

After paying the cab fare, she got out, hooking her handbag in the crook of her elbow and clutching her floral print travel bag while heading to the back of the car, where the driver met her to help with the suitcase. With a polite smile and a quiet thanks, he was off and with a huff, Y/n set the bag on the top of the suitcase, pulled the handle out and headed towards the hotel, anticipating the moment where she could put her things down, flop face forward onto the bed and just enjoy the remaining quiet time, before the start of the wedding festivities.

Of course, when one was late for a four day wedding weekend, that was not guaranteed.

“Y/n!” She heard a familiar voice squeal as she stepped into the lobby, and after a minute spent looking around, she spotted her college best friend- aka the bride-  up ahead, near the front desk. Smiling breathlessly, Y/n tiredly lugged her things towards where Amanda and Jack were standing, while simultaneously, her friend approached her. Meeting halfway, they hugged firmly,  “Ohmygod, I thought something had happened!” Amanda squeezed her a little and then they pulled away, still grinning, “The receptionist said you hadn’t checked in yet and no one had seen you.”

“Its fine, I’m fine,” Y/n reassured with a giggle, “My flight got delayed, twice and my phone died just before we landed. I’m sorry,” she frowned, it certainly wasn’t her intention to have everyone worried. 

Amanda exhaled in obvious relief, “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay,” she leaned in for another hug, and Y/n easily reciprocated. When they parted again, Y/n quickly hugged and said hello to Jack, who she also knew from college, then thanked him when he offered to take her bags. As the three of them strolled towards the reception desk so Y/n could check in, they easily slipped into conversation, “Ohh, now that my maid of honor is here we can finally get to the good stuff.” 

“I thought I was what you needed to get to the good stuff,” Jack scoffed humorously.

Swatting at his shoulder, she laughed softly, “Oh, you know what I mean. Besides, I’m sure you felt the same way when Frank got here.”

Hearing his name, Y/n’s eyes widened- she didn’t know why she hadn’t considered that he would be there, he and Jack were as close as she and Amanda were. He was the best man, she knew that too, Amanda had only told her a dozen times. Still, she asked unsteadily, “Frank’s here….already?” 

“Yeah,” Amanda chirped, “He got in last night- God, I feel like an ass for not asking," she said suddenly, tapping her palm to the side of her head, "Are you gonna be okay with him being here?"

She had actually been dreading seeing him, but refused to ruin her friends' weekend. "Yeah, of course. It was a long time ago," Y/n paused to give the woman at the desk her information, continuing after she'd received her key card and the three of them were walking off, "Besides, this weekend isn't about that," she dismissed as they headed towards the elevators.

"Yeah, but-" they had just stopped in front of one of the elevators when Jack cut himself off as the doors slid open. 

"Oh….hey," the shock was as evident in Frank's tone as it was on her face. It went without saying that neither of them were expecting to see each other that soon. 

He looked as good as the day she left him. His beard was a little longer and his hair a little messier, but still really good. 

Trying to reclaim reign on her better senses- and her slackened jaw- Y/n swallowed thickly, "Hi….." She trailed off and as the seconds ticked on, she became painfully aware of the fact that they were making it very awkward for their friends. "Um…long time no see.” Internally, she was cringing, after three years of being broken up and two of not having any contact at all, that was definitely not a way to break the ice. 

Even Frank seemed stunned for a moment before quickly returning, “Well…..that’s what happens when you move to another state without leaving a forwarding address.”

Speechless, Y/n simply stood there, completely taken aback by his words and the nonchalance they’d been delivered with. She was so shocked that the next person who spoke up was Jack. “Come on, man-”

“No, its okay,” she interjected suddenly, “Frank’s right, that is what happens when people move away.” Blinking quickly to dismiss the tears that had started gathering as memories started flooding her mind, Y/n reached for her things, taking the handle of her suitcase right out of Jack’s hand, “I gotta go put these down,” she slipped past Frank, who’d just stepped out of the elevator. 

“And I’m going with her,” Amanda stepped in behind her, hitting the button for the seventh floor and waving awkwardly as the doors slid shut, leaving the men in the lobby. “I had no idea he would act like that,” she said as the elevator started traveling upwards smoothly.

Y/n shook her head dismissively, “Its fine, really. And he’s right, I just…..moved, I didn’t say anything to him.”

“You were doing what you needed to to heal,” she squeezed Y/n’s shoulder reassuringly, “You don’t owe anyone an explanation.” Sighing, she nodded, smiling halfheartedly in Amanda’s direction.

She knew her friend was right, but she did feel guilty about leaving the way she had-it shouldn’t have been a secret. Before they’d broken up, she and Frank had been together for almost ten years, she’d been there when he’d taken guardianship of Mary, she’d moved with him to St. Petersburg to get away from his mother, they’d had an entire life together. Y/n felt even worse about what she’d done to his niece, it had killed her to leave Mary like that after she’d spent four years raising her- it had felt like deserting her own child. In a way, that was what she had done.

When the elevator doors slid open again, they stepped into the carpeted hallway just in time for another pair of metal doors to swish open, "Y/n!" Frank called out as she and Amanda had started down the hall, "I just…." He slumped his shoulders, "Can we talk?"

She hesitated, though when Amanda seemed close to telling him off, Y/n nodded, "Sure, why not?" And when Amanda seemed unsure of leaving her on her own, Y/n promised that it was fine. 

They waited until she was  headed down before setting off, and after a bit of scuffling over it, Y/n let Frank take her bags. "I'm sorry about what I said downstairs," was the first thing off his lips, "That was way outta line-" 

"And it was also true," she noted pointedly, slipping the key card into its slot, "Leaving like that was……it was horrible, and I'm sorry," she ducked her head, picking nervously at the key ring. There was so much she wanted to say, but for the life of her, Y/n didn’t have a clue on how to begin. Or where to begin. “I didn’t know how to tell you I was leaving, we hadn’t talked in months-”

“You stopped returning my calls,” he reasoned.

“Because I didn’t know what to say anymore. You were expecting me to come back-”

“Come home,” Frank corrected and they both exhaled audibly, “Mary was expecting you to come home,” he admitted mournfully, “She says hi, by the way. She’s been talking about you since I told her I was coming to Jack and Mandy’s wedding.”

At the mention of Mary, Y/n felt her heart melt a little and it was even harder to not feel like a complete jerk for leaving a sweet little girl without explanation. She’d been there when Mary had taken her first steps and said her first words, she’d sat up with her when she had fevers and had kissed bruises better, she’d been there for everything…..until she wasn’t. “How is she?” Y/n eventually asked, wondering if she even had the right to. 

Frank hesitated, “She’s good, taking college classes,” he noted with a chuckle of disbelief. 

“Oh my God,” Y/n chortled breathlessly, “How has it been? Does she like them?” There was so much she wanted to know, Y/n didn’t think she could keep up with her own questioning, “What about friends, does college mean more grown up friends?” She’d be so tiny compared to those big kids. 

“She loves her classes,” they strayed further into the room, and as he set her bags down near the foot of the bed, hand moving to rub the back of his neck, “Kept her in public school though, so she could keep hanging out with her friends.”

“She has friends her age?” Y/n wondered with a grin, “That’s amazing.” Part of her wanted to ask if she could see Mary, maybe spend a few hours with her, but it didn’t seem right to just dive back into a child’s life like that only to leave again. She also didn’t think it was something that Frank would be okay with. 

If the roles were reversed, she definitely wouldn’t have allowed it. 

So she just didn’t ask. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank pocketed his hands and shifted his gaze to the floor, “So….how’s Atlanta been?”

“Its been good. City’s great, job’s great. Can’t complain,” except for the fact that she still felt like she’d left the most important parts of herself behind. “Still fixing boats?” 

He nodded slowly, flashing her a lopsided smirk, “I guess it's growing on me,” he shrugged, “Ever got around to going to med school?”

“Nah,” Y/n scoffed, grin brightening, “Still a nurse….I guess it's growing on me,” they both laughed and Frank nodded. As their smiles grew softer again, Y/n felt herself relax a little, “Look, I know I have no right to ask this after everything, but could we just be….friends? I don’t want this weekend to be weird for Mandy and Jack.”

Frank hummed, “I’d like that. Friends hug?” He questioned hopefully, and chuckling, Y/n nodded, approaching him so she could wrap her arms around his mid. Three years later and he still felt like home; his arms coming around her felt like safety embodied and Y/n swore that, for a minute, it was almost like nothing had changed. 

Almost.

He pulled away too soon, and when they stepped away from each other, she was reminded that the distance between them vastly superseded anything physical. “So, I’ll see you around?” He started stepping backwards in the direction of the door. 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Y/n nodded stiffly, trying harder than she had been earlier to just forget about all the things she missed about him, confirming, “See you around.”

It was going to be a long weekend.

out of left field series: pt. 1 - this is bad (chris pov)

Out Of Left Field Series: Part 1 - This Is Bad (Chris POV)

Pairing: MLB!Chris Evans x Best Friend!Reader (female character)

Summary: After 29 years of friendship with Chris, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. When he finds himself amid a PR nightmare at the same time your ex-boyfriend starts lurking around every corner, you enter into a mutually beneficial, strictly PR relationship to save his career and keep your ex away. But the lines begin to blur and lies get told, both you and Chris realizing you might’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Will you make it out unscathed or will you and Chris be just another PR relationship that ends in heartbreak and humiliation?

A/N: SURPRISE BITCHES. I am one impatient motherfucker and I needed to post it. SO I BEYONCE’D YOU (not that I’m comparing myself to the queen… but you get it). ENJOY THE FIRST PART OF THIS SERIES I’M SO EXCITED!

I would be remiss if i didn’t give a huge mfin shout out to @tis-thedamn-season. Like this fic/series would not be where it is without you. Love you bb.

Warnings: Drugs, language, allusions to smut, reader has an abusive/controlling ex, reader and chris are both 29 years of age (this is what you guys voted on!)

W/C: 6.9k

Out of Left Field Series Masterlist 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the MLB or with its players or with Chris in real life. Additionally, the reader’s family gets introduced in this series and are all OFC made by me. If you don’t like that, please don’t read this series.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

I no longer have a taglist! Please head over to @time-for-a-library​ and turn on notifications!

He heard your shoes before he saw you.

The harsh clack of your stilettos on the concrete floor sent a wave of relief through his system that was almost immediately washed away and replaced by nerves.

Chris hated disappointing you. He could already picture the resigned look on your face while you crossed your arms and let out a defeated sigh.

Any other time, it probably would’ve bothered him more. But the pounding headache combined with the fact that he was still coming down from a coke-induced high, made it a little hard to focus on anything other than the fact that the room was spinning.

He tried to ground himself, focusing his attention on a scuff that marked the concrete wall across the room instead of the way the room seemed to circle around him despite his ass planted on this extremely uncomfortable mattress.

“He’s in here.”

Chris sat up on the metal ‘bed’, swinging his legs over the side and taking a deep, slow breath. His elbows rested on his knees, face buried in his hands while he waited.

“Thanks, Stu.” The softness of your voice floated through the air, bringing a welcome warmth and familiarity to the chill of his cell.

The sound of your heels got closer, scraping to a stop when you’d reached him.

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irresistible 

pairing: nathan bateman x reader word count: 737 a/n: cs prompt challenge, week 4: “I want you to marry me.”  ~ nathan makes a proposition you absolutely can refuse… right? | read on AO3 here~

It had been 6 months since you became an assistant to the infamous Nathan Bateman. At least the view at his home in the mountains was nice because you weren’t doing much assisting, more like standing around being an ear for him to talk off. Sometimes he wouldn’t even let you do your work, insisted you follow him around as he worked and tested your knowledge as well as making sure you were listening. It was exhausting. Not because you didn’t know most things he asked, but because the air of arrogance that followed his every waking moment too, was exhausting.

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𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

summary: y/n has an event to get to last minute, so steve has to take care of his daughter at work. in the universe of this one shot (read before)

pairings: dad!mafia/gang!steve rogers x wife!reader

warning: none just fluff!

-

Today has just been a day. You have no excuse except  for the fact that it slipped your mind and when your calendar notified you, an hour and a half before the event started your mind began to scramble. 

Steve’s parents can’t watch Elysia because they have a date night. They offered to cancel, but you couldn’t ask them to do that. Natasha was out of town. You had even asked the babysitter, but it was too last minute for her. So, there’s one last option.

“Hey doll, you girls alright?” Steve smiles into his phone, happy to hear your voice. 

“Hi, baby” you beamed, brushing on highlighter while keeping a careful eye on your daughter. Elysia was chilled out on your bed, entranced in an episode of Paw Patrol.

 “Look, I’m really sorry, it slipped my mind, but I have an event to get to in a few. And there’s no one to keep an eye on Elsie. Can I drop her off to you?”

“Yeah, of course. I've been missing her a little extra today anyway.” 

You sigh in relief, “I love you, you’re the best” you tell him, sending a kiss through the phone. 

-

It’s at least twenty-five minutes later until your heels are clicking against the lobby’s marble floor. Elysia’s designer baby bag is slung over your shoulder and your two-year-old is sitting on your hip as the two of you walk to Steve’s office. 

You knock on the door twice, before you pull it open. As you enter, Steve’s head shoots up, then an affectionate smile graces his face at the sight of his favorite girls. 

“Daddy!” Elysia cheers with grabby hands towards her father. 

Steve walks over to greet the two of you; kissing Elysia’s cheek and neck, chuckling as she squirms because his facial hair is ‘ticklish’, before he brings her into his hold. 

And before you know it, Steve brings his lips down onto yours. All while removing the baby bag from your shoulders. When he pulls away, he’s whistling with ardor as he spins you to give himself a 360 of what’s his. 

Your body is flawlessly dressed in a customized cream suit with gold buttons. The coat wraps  around you to accentuate your waist and breast, your pants hug your ass perfectly. As the pants flare out as they go down your leg. He loves how the diamond necklace and earrings he bought as one of your push gifts make your eyes twinkle.  

Your cheeks heat up at the way he fawns over you. Many years later and you’d never get used to it. 

When he stops you, his hand tugs your body to his, “You look..exquisite” he husks, squeezing your hand. “Mommy looks exquisite, doesn't she?” he asks Elysia who responds with an exaggerated nod. 

“Look Quiz-it!” she garbles the tough word out

“Thank you, you two. But I have to head out if I want to make it on time.”

“Where are you headed anyway?”

“Maggie is throwing something for her launch,” you answer while fixing a boggle in Lys’ hair that held one of her space buns. “I promised I’d be there. I like this tie, it matches your eyes perfectly” 

Your hand runs over the patterned blue tie. You didn’t get to see him this morning, as you usually do. He slipped out before the sun even came out, with just a kiss to your cheek as his ‘see you later’ so he wouldn’t disturb your sleep. 

“Thank you. Drive safe and be safe, Joseph will be right behind you.”

You groan. He lavished the trait of overprotectiveness. There was one instance where you had begged and begged to roam free without anyone on your tail. It didn’t end well. 

“Non-negotiable, text me when you arrive safely” he reminds you, grasping your chin for a kiss. 

“Bye baby, I'll see you soon. Be good” you kiss her before pinching her chubby cheeks. 

As the door shuts softly behind you, Steve and Elysia are stood in his expansive offices hands up in a wave. “Looks like it’s just me and you, baby doll, are you hungry?”

“No” she responds.

“Okay, would you mind if daddy worked for a little bit more?”

“It’s okay” she lisps. 

-

Elysia is settled on her father’s lap, Steve’s phone in her tiny hands as she watches ‘The Princess and the Frog’. Occasionally her big eyes roam over the big screens on her father’s desk. 

With his little girl present, Steve isn’t able to complete any of his gruesome tasks, just the light stuff with no pictures or videos.

“Daddy?” Elysia calls for him, her head tucked back. 

“Babydoll?,” he answers, looking down. 

“I’m thirsty, do you ‘ave apple juice?” 

“Do I have apple juice? Do I-- are you kidding, how could you ask that.” while he throws his whole spiel, loving the wide smile on her face. His hand discreetly opens the mini fridge under his desk. It’s always packed with what she enjoys. He pulls out a juice box, and presents it to her like a magic trick. 

“Yay!” she giggles, clapping her hand in glee before she grasps the juice box in both hands eagerly, in turn dropping her father’s phone to the ground. “Oops” she murmurs at the sound of the clatter. 

“It’s alright, just remember to be careful next time” he responds, picking up the newest model. 

Some time passes before Elysia grows bored and begins to squirm and whine. 

He picks her up, placing each foot on his thigh. 

“What’s up, why are you so crabby?,” he coos, running his forefinger down the slope of her warmed up nose while the other hand holds her up by her waist. 

“Wanna play” she bounces her legs, pointing behind her. 

He sighs, checking his watch: 6:03pm. Under twenty minutes until his meeting. So, they play to her heart's desire. He has a few of her favorite things stashed away so he pulls those out after shrugging off his coat. 

Now, he’s sat criss-cross applesauce getting berated by his toddler and thankfully y/n has texted that she’s arrived safely. 

“No, daddy! I’m the chef.”

“Okay, okay. Can I order an orange juice and sandwich, please” he orders through the small window of her Little Tikes play kitchen. 

“Seven thousand dollars,” she tells him, hand out. 

“Prices are a little steep, don't you think?” he jokes, but forgets it’s his two-year-old he’s talking to. “Tough crowd,” he continues, before dropping the fake, blue credit card into her hands. 

“Hmm.” she hums while she thinks, “No monies. No food” she tells him this reproachfully, her eyebrows knit together as she drops the card in his hands. 

“What?” he gawks, “You’re gonna let daddy starve?” 

She sighs before dropping a banana into his palm, “Thank you, babydoll” he smiles, kissing her cheek through the screen as she giggles, her hard chef mask breaking through. 

“Daddy, I don’t wanna play any more.”

“Yea? What do you want to do?”

“Stickers! Stickers! Stickers!” she chants to a tune, walking around to her father. 

-

Against his will, Steve is still sitting on the floor and his toddler stands before him. One of her tiny fists holds a sheet of glittery Lisa Frank stickers while the other places them on his face.

“Cat or tiger?” she asks, bending her head down. 

“Tiger”

She beams, placing it on the middle of his forehead, then kisses it for good measure. 

There’s an incessant buzz in the air. His phone against his presidential, dark wood desk. He goes to it immediately to see it’s a call from Bucky, therefore noticing the time. He’s ten minutes late. Steve Rogers is never late. 

“Shit.” he mutters, ignoring the call to begin peeling off the stickers in a haste. 

“Bad word, daddy!”

“Sorry, baby, sorry” he responds in a haste, when he’s sure his face is bare. He pockets his phone, shrugs on his coat, grabs his binder, and picks up Elysia as he dashes to the elevator. 

-

“Hi uncle bucky! Hi uncle sam!” Elysia bounces at the sight of her god fathers, waving at the two as she walks by on her father’s hip. 

Steve walks in stoically, there was no way in hell he’d let his men enjoy him coming in flustered and out of sorts. Everyone was in attendance, and sat in their respective seats. When he begins to settle down and start the meeting there’s laughter in the air. 

“The fu--” he stops himself, taking a deep breath. “Would anyone mind letting me in on what’s so hysterical?”

‘The fuck are you clowns laughing at’ is what he really wanted to say. 

“You gotta..” Bucky stops to gather himself, a smirk on his face. “Got a little something there,” he points at his own jaw as a mirror. 

Steve sighs, attempting to find the bright, pink, glittery sticker on his face when his little one speaks up, “I’ve got it, daddy” she peels it off easily and places it on her own cheek. 

“Thank you, babydoll,” he kisses her hand before taking a seat at the head of the expansive table. Placing her on his lap and passing her a small bag of goldfish with her water bottle. Elys has pinky promised to be on her best behavior and Steve had promised that he’d make sure the meeting wouldn’t go as long as they usually do. 

“Okay. As you can see we have a special lady with sensitive ears joining us today. Please keep your language clean and appropriate, however hard that may be.” Steve dictates, taking a glance at every man in this room to not take his words lightly. 

The meeting drags on, they don’t have much of a choice to discuss some matters at hand. But these men are smart and know how to improvise…

“Uh, sunshine (Lloyd) was last seen at a recital (strip club) selling kool aid (drugs) to any of the girls that would take it. We assume it’s his way to sabotage the opening by… you know.” Tony flairs his hand around as a jester. 

Before Steve is able to respond, a smaller voice gets to it, “Daddy, I love kool-aid. Alot alot alot!” 

Steve chuckles at her cuteness. 

Throughout the meeting everyone is meant to talk over and ignore the children's songs emitting from Steve’s phone. And the light, cute voice that sings along to some of them. 

A pack of goldfish later with half a bottle of Elysia’s water. Steve keeps his promise to keep the meeting short, concise, and kid-friendly. Well-sorta, there was one slip up but Steve was quick to cover Elysia’s precious ears and stare down the incompetent imbecile.

He’s packing his things up, putting his notes and papers in order while his little girl giggles at her uncle Sam’s magic tricks: pulling a silver coin from her ear. 

It’s her favorite and will get a laugh from her every time. 

In no time, it’s just him and Ly descending via elevator. Steve has decided they both have had a long day, and going home early for once wouldn’t kill him. It was seven in the afternoon anyway, close to her bedtime. 

He knows she’s had a long day when one of her small arms is wrapped over his neck as her head is tucked against the side of his neck. 

He can’t lie that the thought of sleep sounds good to him. He knows you won’t be home till a little later. But he can’t until you’re home so he can cuddle into you as you both drift off. 

“We’ll be home pretty soon,” he kisses her forehead just as the elevator dings! 

-

“Okay,” Steve sighs as he enters through the familiar emerald doors, placing the baby bag onto the coat rack. His dress shoes are toed off with speed and just as quick he pulls off his baby’s shoes. 

He sets her down in the living room taking a seat on the couch.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” she squeaks, walking over to the remote to bring to her father who understands her demand. 

“Does a PB and J sound alright?”

“Mmmm” she drones on, her hands rubbing against her clothed stomach. 

The sandwich is assembled at her request. Crust off the toasted bread and a little bit of honey drizzled on top of the peanut butter. 

Elysia sits on Steve’s lap as she nibbles on her sandwich. Steve is dressed down in just his slacks and wife beater; braiding Elysia’s hair in two as she watches ‘Little Bear’ and eats her sandwich.

He struggles to do so at first, until y/n’s voice swims through his head. Reminding him what he needs to do. 

As Lys chews and her father braids, she holds up half her sandwich in offer behind her. He smiles as he takes a small bite, smiling and moaning about how yummy it is and how thankful he is for her sharing. Then he kisses her cheeks, nipping in jest. 

Once he’s finished braiding Elysia‘s hair and Elysia is done eating her food. She scrambles up until she’s latching onto her father. Her arms are thrown around his neck while her legs clamber to wrap around him. 

Her cuddles are like sleeping sand to the mob boss. He rubs her back as he leans down parallel to the couch, his sock feet hanging off the arm of the couch. 

“I love you baby doll. Best thing to happen to me and your momma.” he whispers, placing three kisses to her forehead. 

“Love you” she slurs while her soft hand lands onto his cheek. 

Without even knowing, his eyes are shut as his breath evens out and his arm circles around his angel’s body to keep her from rolling off of him. 

-

It was a great time. You were happy you got to support Maggie on her big day, but you missed your husband and the rambunctious little girl you were graced to raise. 

You remove your heels, hissing as your sore feet hit the hardwood floor. The house is quiet as you toe into the house. You can see the living room light is on. You assume Steve has kept it on for you just as you do for him and it makes your heart sing. 

As you walk in, to shut off the warm lamp, your heart really does sing at the picture perfect image: The father-daughter duo are knit together as they step in dream land together. 

His brawny arm is wrapped around her body and his mouth is dropped open in a way you think is adorable. It makes the intimidating man everyone else sees morph into the wonderful, sensitive man you’ve married. 

They’re still dressed in their day clothes, but nothing could ruin the cuteness overload. 

You tiptoe towards the two, leaning over them as your hand runs through Steve’s hair, the other down his free arm. 

He startles awake and his grip tightens on Elysia a little bit, but his body relaxes once he sees it’s you and smiles. 

“Hey, seems like you two had a good day,” you whisper, your hand running over the braids Elysia adorned, those were not there before. 

“We did,” he puckers his lips, and you lean down to peck him. “How was your night, have fun?” 

His hoarse voice is like music to your ears.

“It was great. Missed you two a lot though. Thought of you and that sexy tie all night.”

He smirks at your shallow attempt, a glass box if you will. 

“Yeah? I’ll finish getting her to bed and then we can discuss my sexy  tie.”

“Perfect. Can’t wait,” you giggle warmly, kissing him one more time before you stroll to your shared bedroom. 

He watches the way you saunter away, and if it weren’t for his baby in his arms he’d probably tackle you right then and there. But with much restraint he’s up and on his way to Elysia’s bedroom. 

-

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback <3

even without a beard

You really enjoy watching Steven shave.

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research), however Jake and Marc aren’t actually present, just mentioned. Use of a razor (for shaving). Word count: 545 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

I can't explain to you how feral this gif makes me feel.

It was a sight to behold, really. You don’t know what it was, but the sight of Steven with half his jaw covered in shaving cream as he meticulously shaved did something for you. Maybe it was the fact that he does it shirtless, or maybe it was the way his hands moved. Yeah, it has something to do with the hands. Or his jaw. It was something.

Steven, and by default Marc and Jake, were prone to growing facial hair very quickly, meaning whoever was fronting would have to keep on top of it (Jake had fought tooth and nail to let them grow a beard, but both Marc and Steven refused). Jake had sulked for days about it.

“Take a picture, love, it’ll last longer.”

You giggle…actually giggle, before you grab your phone and do just exactly what he tells you to. Steven gives you a quick, amused look before he turns back to his bathroom mirror, where he tilted his head to the right to get to that difficult spot by his ear.

He was so beautiful. The world didn’t deserve the likes of Steven Grant. So kind, and considerate, and downright good looking. You sighed at him before standing from the bed and making your way into the bathroom. Steven took a step to his left to make some room for you as you stood next to him, watching him continue shaving in the mirror. You tilted your head at him as he caught your eye. “Why don’t you keep the beard?”

“Why, do I look better with it?”

You shook your head. “You look good either way, I was just wondering.”

Steven chuckled, rinsing the razor in the sink, half filled with water, now a little murky from the shaving cream. He was nearly finished, unfortunately. Now you’d have to wait a few more days to see this magnificent sight again. “I just don’t like how it feels on me. It’s itchy and food gets stuck in there.”

You merely hummed in reply, turning slightly to face him and leaning against the sink. You lift your hand to run through Steven’s unruly curls, his eyes nearly rolling in the back of his head as you did. “I like when you shave.”

Steven laughed, shaking his head as you removed your hand from his hair. “What a weird kink to have.” He grabs a towel, ready to clean his face up.

You swat him playfully on the shoulder as Steven pulled the plug to let the water go, setting his razor on it’s place on the shelf under the mirror. You stick your tongue out at him. “Don’t kink shame me! You’re the one tempting me, being shirtless and shaving!”

“If you want me to grow a beard, I will grow a beard.” Steven wipes the towel around his jaw.

“Bet Jake would love that.”

Steven huffed a laugh through his nose before grabbing your waist and pulling you to him. You squeal as he nuzzles his face into your neck, rubbing the remaining shaving cream onto your skin. His hold tightens on you as he looked back up at you, a cheeky grin on his face. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you too. Even without a beard.“

“Charming.”

“so if you don’t like them, then you won’t mind me asking them out then, right?” With Santi from Triple Frontier?

why would i? (s.g)

summary: you’re the youngest Miller, a baby girl. protected by your older brothers. your brothers’ lives finally intertwine with yours at your eldest brothers wedding when you meet their friends. warnings: timeline wise at the end its right before they leave, kind of slow burn, female reader, age gap (15 years), language, mentions of blood, violence, consumption of alcohol, some rando getting his shit rocked in word count: 4.6k

Ever since the moment you opened your little eyes. You were a princess, the baby, doted upon and spoiled endlessly. The Miller family weren’t expecting you. Especially not two teenage boys who had to fight the urge not to throw you like a football, most of the time. 

They were only fifteen and thirteen. The appeal of a baby sister was lost the second they saw pink confetti at the gender reveal party. Over time, and with your parents' persuasion, no doubt. They started to warm up to the idea of a baby sister, someone to protect. It gave new meaning once they both got to hold you in their arms. To watch you struggle to open your eyes. You were so small, so fragile. They loved you from that day on. Whatever you said, went. You got everything you wanted, but you were taught to be grateful, caring. In the short time you had with them, your brothers would follow your every beck and call. You were barely a toddler by the time Will was finishing high school. But you were always in attendance at all of his games, matches, club and school events. You always did assist in helping bring girls’ attention to him. He looked like a total sweetheart with you around. 

Will was nineteen when he left. You only had four short years with your eldest brother before he shipped himself off to the military. Benny followed at nineteen too. You were six by then. You had grown closest to Benny. Even though you had always made sure Will never lacked your attention. You exchanged letters and drawings and packages. Your mother bought a camera to take pictures of you growing up for the two of them through your letters. Your sloppy penmanship would always put a smile on the brother’s faces. Will would tell you the lighthearted stories about his army buddies, jokes they told and funny stories about their time there. And as you got older Benny would allow you to hear more of the truthful stories. Stories where things went wrong, someone almost got hurt. How one of their fellow troops was killed. Things your mother would faint at the sound of. That made you wonder if your brothers were truly okay out there. It very rarely gave you enough comfort to sleep at night knowing they at least had each other and their friends.

For a couple years the letters had become sporadic. You would always wait for the mail to arrive and instantly run to the mailbox. Soon enough, weeks would come without any word from either of them. Benny would eventually send them on behalf of the both of them. They were shorter, mostly telling you that they were okay and they missed you. That they had gotten ‘promoted’ and they were important. They were just busy. And while you were sad. You knew it probably was true, they were busy. You would continue to send letters, though. Explaining things you felt were important to your life, hoping it would ease some of their anxieties. 

You were seventeen when they both briefly came back. Right as you were going to graduate high school. They claimed they came home because they could never miss a moment like that. But you aren’t sure how likely their stories are. They watched you throw your cap in the air, just like you had done many, many years prior. They both felt such a strong sense of pride, although both admitted to each other that the guilty feeling of missing most of your life was present, persistent. Will more than Benny. Benny tried to convince him you would never be upset at them. You could never be, they fought for you, in many ways. Truthfully, you were just happy they were home and safe. You cried when they left again, you were still just a kid. Refined, more poised than a four year old. But it still hurt them all the same, watching the tears that formed in your eyes. Trying to hold back your staggered breaths with a smile. A simple. “Don’t forget to write again. I love you guys.” Was the last they heard. 

Three years later your mother had begged the two boys to come back home and live as a family for a couple of years. ‘Just to get settled into life again.’ She would say. But you know it probably didn’t take much convincing for them to stay. It was exciting, after so many years of the hallways being quiet. There was finally a joyful noise that filled the house. Banter over dinner and rowdy movie nights. It wasn’t all perfect, of course. There were many nights that were just as loud in the worst kind of way. Fights and arguments. Your dad hated that Benny fought petty street fights for money. And Will had nightmares a lot, the kind that left him with his head in his hands at the kitchen island. You always seemed to wake in time to join him. Comfort him in the way he seemed to be so seamlessly able to soothe you as a child. Your hand on his back as a crutch. To say, “I’ve got you.”

It was two years before Will moved out. He had met a woman six months after his return. Fell head over heels. Your family adored her. She was kind, accepting, and comforting. Most importantly she was willing to be with your brother no matter what. It made you swoon. You were so happy for your brother to find that kind of support. Love. He deserved it. You couldn’t believe he was really all grown up. You were too, but it was different. You were the baby, you were always going to be. Will wasn't some ragged teenager anymore. Somehow you blinked and found yourself at his wedding. It was a lovely little reception, the venue was beautiful and it was a perfect summer day. You didn’t really date as of lately, you had gone on plenty of dates as a teen. But it was a little harder when you had two older brothers standing over you like two gargoyles. You had a short term boyfriend but it wasn’t more than a few dinner dates and maybe a couple kisses here and there. Not that your romantic life bothered you. You were young, twenty two was too young to stay in a long term romantic relationship. There were options, you just didn’t take them. You were content in your life. Or that’s what you kept telling yourself, noticing that you seemed to be the only one at the wedding who didn’t bring a date, or at least someone to stand next to. Jesus. You should’ve taken the chance to call your friend to be your plus one. You take a deep breath to avoid your mind falling into an even deeper hole, but the sound of Benny’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. 

“Yo, kiddo! We want you to meet some people.” 

You take his extended hand and follow him over to a table that seemed to have three other men, followed by two women who you presumed were their dates. You exchanged pleasantries. And came to learn of their names, Tom, Francisco and Santiago. Once you were introduced to their dates you noticed Santiago didn’t come with one. For some reason, it puts you at ease. Hoping to ignore the later questions of “Why didn’t you bring a date?” Benny brings you a chair to sit and you find yourself sitting right in between Santiago and Francisco. Although he prefers to be called ‘Frankie’, you’ve heard. The dinner goes smoothly, you finally get the speeches. One by one the friends take their turn speaking about Will. How headstrong he was, what a good friend he was. How happy he seemed now that he was married to the love of his life. How proud they all were of him. It gave you a sense of pride to be related to someone so selfless. The moment Santiago stood up your eyes immediately trailed his stature. The way the suit was fitted to him, and his cufflinks had a quick glimmer when light passed through. You quickly turn your gaze to Will, sending him a sweet smile. He nods in acknowledgment and turns his eyes back to Santiago. You follow suit, hoping no one noticed you staring and also hoping the quick detour would have your mind back on track. Although whatever track that is, you’re not completely sure. His speech is heartwarming, you can’t tell if he’s showing his charisma off or if he is really that charming. You watch the guys shake with a hearty laughter at one of their inside jokes being thrown in. 

After a while, the moment starts to die down. Couples are moving to the dance floor. You opt out of the dance for a glass or two of champagne that you so gracefully took from a walking server. Sitting in a chair on the sidelines you appreciate the atmosphere. The slow music, dull lights and overall happiness in the room. You feel bubbly by the time the next song plays. And through half lidded eyes you notice that someone took a seat next to you. “You good there, chiquita?” The voice calls out. You find yourself tensing up and turning to face him. “No, yeah, I’m fine.. Sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you..” You mumble out. There’s a stretched out silence before he speaks up again. “You wanna dance? You’ve been sitting here all night.” His question doesn’t sound like a question at all. He seemed certain you would say yes. You nodded at him, standing and walking out to the dance floor. He took your hand and placed it on his shoulder, while he planted his hands firmly on your waist. He set a distance between the two of you that made you want to laugh. Quite the gentleman, it seems. The two of you swayed kind of awkwardly for a bit until he suddenly seemed to give a little slack. The distance closed slightly. One continuous slow song after the other and you soon found yourself with no distance from Santiago. Your chests touching and his hands rubbing up and down your back. Your head tucked in the slot between his collarbone and shoulder. The smell of his cologne was all you could feel in the air surrounding. You swayed to the music, falling into a comfortable rhythm. The next song was fast paced, causing the two of you to pull away as if you got singed. Both of you frantically looked around, almost as if waiting for a punishment. Like dancing with someone at a wedding was wrong. It hadn’t felt wrong, you clear your throat and say your goodbyes. The rest of the party continued on as normal, no one seemingly noticing the two of you in such close proximity. You spent the rest of the time exchanging stolen glances at each other. 

You didn’t hear of him much after the wedding. Just little hints of his life from your brothers. You came to learn his nickname was ‘Pope’. Every time the name would pop up your attention was just suddenly on whoever was talking. After a month there was complete radio silence on anything Pope related. You were settling back into life and that little fantasy was just that. A small moment you could cherish once in a while. Until one night, you were sitting with Will and your sister in law at their house. Watching some random romcom that the two of you had picked out to force Will to watch. It was going pretty well, you had a bowl of popcorn in between your thighs as you sat legs crossed on the couch. Suddenly his phone rang. And you pouted as he paused the movie to answer it. “Hello?” Then silence, and more silence. Then— “Jesus, Pope.. Colombia? Are you sure? Alright. Only the best, my brother. Be safe.” The call had ended as abruptly as it started and Will was playing the movie without a second thought. He shuffled back into the couch and wrapped an arm around his wife. You couldn’t focus on the movie after that, and you hoped neither of the two could sense the same tension in the air you felt, but it’s likely they did. Life continued on after that, you managed to push every and all thought of Santiago to the back of your mind. It seemed to work, you got a job, started to go out more. Arranged things to move out, almost an hour away from home. Into the city in a small apartment. Your brothers were right there as you twisted the key into the lock for the first time. You slowly and surely started to root your life in your space. You saved up enough money for a cute little car. A black sedan. You were starting to mature, but it would’ve been nothing without the help of your family. It would be another three years before you saw his face again. 

The heat of summer was enough for you to contemplate jumping into the pool with your dress on. The barbecue was lively, there was Tom and his now ex-wife, Molly and their daughter, Tess. Frankie and his fiancée with their new baby. Your darling brothers fighting over who starts up the grill. Your excitement fell slightly at the thought of Santiago not being here. But from what you finally heard from the group, Santiago had been down in South America for the better part of the three years since Will’s wedding. You sigh and head for the table with all the drinks. The sound of cheers and laughs makes your eyes turn to the fence gate. Where Santiago now stands. Hugging all of his friends. You smile, getting ready to go up and greet him when you realize there’s a woman standing by his side. You halt in your tracks and settle for a slight wave and a quick ‘hello’. Your gaze lingers on the woman for a second too long before you turn your face to see Will finally starting up the grill. You sink your teeth slightly into your bottom lip and sit by the pool in a lounge chair. She was gorgeous, older than you, but not by more than five years. She seemed so refined, effortlessly beautiful even in the scorching heat of summer. The curls of her blonde hair bounce almost as to taunt you as she wraps her arm around his. You groan and let the back of your head hit the back of the chair. Your face was on fire. You felt childish, to have an on again off again crush on a man who clearly isn’t single and is the same age as your older brother. And not to mention they're best friends. You purposely want to ignore how you haven’t shared more than six words with the man. When you think it aloud in your head, you were crazy to believe there was anything there in the first place. Unless you misread the tension and he felt more like you were an annoying sidelines sister instead of a person. 

Around eight pm Will’s next door neighbors had stopped by to join. They were nice enough, two parents and a single son. No other children. You had spoken to their son once or twice before while you were visiting but didn’t think much of it. It was perfect timing for them to get in and eat. You kept your position by the pool, only moving to get drinks or change seats. You had your feet dipped in the water while you stared at the night sky. You were so engrossed in your own thoughts you didn’t hear the sound of the back door sliding open and closed. You didn’t pay much attention until the sounds of clothes shuffling and a soft grunt came from next to you. It was Santiago, with his pants rolled up his calf and his feet in the water with you. You beamed immediately, then deflated and avoided his gaze when you remembered who he came with. “How are you?” He broke the silence first. You took a second to think before answering his question with one of your own. “Don’t you think I should be asking that?” He chuckles at you before glancing at your reflection in the water. “Yeah that’s.. You’re right there, chiquita.” You smirked in triumph. The sound of the nickname rolling off his tongue made you instinctively press your thighs together. You watch his eyes flicker to your legs before back to your face. If he notices, he doesn't say anything. “I’m good. By the way..” You finally say. He hums in acknowledgment with a small smile on his face. “You look gorgeous, I like the dress.” His compliment cuts your breath short. Face going red as you turn to look away from him. “Thanks, Santiag—“ “Santi. You can just call me Santi.” You smile. “Thanks, Santi.” This time it’s his turn to avoid your eyes and he clears his throat before getting up and out of the water. “I’ll uh, see you inside?” You shrug and lean back on the palms of your hands. He runs a hand down the lower part of his face and neck before turning on his heel and walking back towards the sliding door. 

Once the door is shut Santiago shakes his head and shoulders. Trying to ignore how beautiful you looked in your dress. Trying to forget the twitch of your thighs when he called you that. Did you like that? Did you find it creepy? Trying to focus back on being able to maneuver his way through endless conversation and questioning. Forcing himself to interact with a woman he really couldn’t care less for. Albeit he feels bad that he can’t care more for her, she was pretty nice. He grabs another beer and takes a seat on the couch once he’s dried his feet on a beach towel. His date takes a seat tucked underneath his arm and he goes to take a heavy swig. He looks down at her, her blue eyes staring right back into his brown ones. He forgot her name. She was meeting what he considered family and he couldn’t even remember her fucking name? Santiago needed to get his life on track. But after three years looking for that cockroach in South America all he wanted was to take a breather. At least before he went back to finish the job. That meant finding a new girl to be under him every other week. Santi had heard this record millions of times before, the same skip in the track. Where he can’t take the different woman to fill the void anymore. But he isn’t there yet, he tells himself. He’s at a nice summer barbecue, there isn’t anything or anyone that’s looking for him back in the states. There is no one with a gun to his head or far off with a scope that has him in clear sight. He can take a breath without having to worry if it’ll be too loud and alert an enemy. 

He’s so deep in thought he doesn’t even notice the kid shaking at his shoulder asking him to talk. Santiago grunts as the boy pulls him into a room deeper throughout the house. He recognizes him as the neighbor's kid but just barely. What was his name? “Uh.. Tony? Right?” Santiago asks him. “Yeah, Anthony but Tony works too.. Just wanted to ask..” He clears his throat and places his hands on his hips. Paces around. Santiago sucks air through his teeth. “Ask what, kid? Spit it out.” After hearing what the boy had to say he wishes he didn’t ask. “Are you and the youngest Miller like, fucking or something?” Santiago takes a step back in shock. “What? What the fuck, no?” Tony raises an eyebrow and sends a condescending smirk Santiago’s way. “Alright, so if you don’t like her.. Then you won’t mind me asking her out then, right?” Santiago scowls. “Why would I? Listen, man. That’s your fucking business. Not mine.” He lets out a deep breath, wishing he could walk away from this moment. This horribly awkward moment. Santiago wanted to sink into the floor. Had people thought they were? Together? The thought ran a shudder down Santiago’s spine. His jaw clenched before he heard the young man in front of him speak again. “Good. I was worried you were her fucking sugar daddy or somethin—” Santiago didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence before his fist collided with the boy's chin. It shoved Tony back a couple steps and sent him against a side table, shoving a vase to the floor which managed to catch the attention of Will. Santiago shook his hand before reeling back and throwing another punch. Sending Tony to the ground this time. Crouching down to the floor he whispers to Tony. “You can ask her whatever you want. But don't forget to have some fucking respect. ¿Entiendes?” Tony nodded his head furiously. Not soon enough was the door swinging open with Will pulling Santiago up from the ground and pushing him aside to lift up Tony. 

“What the fuck, Pope?”

Santiago just wiped his nose with his hand and walked away. As he walked towards the door of the room the stupid boy had brought them into, you rushed in. You overheard Will's voice and then the sudden questioning of Tony to ask if he was alright. The blood that dripped on the floor contradicted his next statement. “I’m fine. I guess I just struck a nerve.” Santiago’s jaw clenched before he turned on his heel and left. The girl he came with followed behind. Will sighed. Then got up and went to grab a first aid kit. You stared down at where Anthony was sitting. “What happened?” You asked. He smiled up at you. “Nothing, darling. I guess he just got defensive when I asked if you guys were a thing. That’s all.” You blinked at him. “A thing? W-We’ve spoken like four times in the past six years I don’t think that's considered a thing.. Plus he brought a woman.” There was a slight edge to your voice. You wouldn’t describe why this conversation had started to aggravate you so quickly. “Careful. You sound jealous.” Anthony sent a chuckle your way. And while it was supposed to feel like a warm joke you only felt the ice coating the words of his sentence. Jealous? You were jealous. You liked Santiago, you liked the idea of being a thing with him. You just know he wouldn’t feel the same. You gave him a dry chuckle. “Right. Feel better, Tony.” You sent him a cold glare before crossing your arms and walking out of the room. You walked out onto the porch where you saw Tom, Frankie and Santi standing around his jeep. At a closer inspection you noticed the woman he came with sitting in the passenger seat of the car. You made your way to them. They dropped silent when you approached, which you met with a scoff. “All quiet now? What was that about, Santi?” He sighs before turning his back to you and starts to walk to his car door. You scoffed again and rolled your eyes. Looking at Frankie while Santiago started his car and began to back out of the driveway. “Seriously, what the hell is his problem?” You ask the taller man, who only responds in a chuckle. “You make him nervous, that's all.” He brings his hand up to ruffle your hair before he and Tom both walk back into the house after Frankie drops that on you. 

Nervous? You made Santiago nervous? He made you nervous, he made your heart speed up and your breath catch in your throat. You tried so desperately to blame it on his lover boy persona but you knew you found him attractive for your own reasons. You sighed and sat on the porch steps. You just needed to be away from the party, You weren’t expecting him to roll back up. And clearly, he wasn’t expecting you to be sitting at the front entrance. “Were you waiting for me?” He asks hesitantly, you look up at him and smile slightly. “Not necessarily, but it’s a nice surprise that you came back.” You pat the space on the steps next to you. “I know what made you hit him. But how did he word it?” Your question makes Santiago uneasy, you probably thought he was a total creep. Strange for hitting a younger man who probably would capture your attention more than he would. “He asked if we were fucking. Then he said he thought I was your sugar daddy.” He spits out the sentence through gritted teeth and tense shoulders. He only relaxes the second he hears you cackle beside him. He looks over to you in surprise. “Oh god he’s so stupid. That’s hilarious. I appreciate you hitting him for me. Defending my honor and all that.” A heat bubbles in Santiago’s chest at the sound of your laugh. He wants to hear it again and again until you can’t laugh anymore. He chuckles and elbows your arm. “Come on, wouldn’t you wanna be with a fun guy like him?” You stop laughing and look into Santiago’s eyes. “No way, he isn’t my type at all.” Your sentence is more of a whisper. “What’s your type?” Santiago’s question goes unanswered,  instead turning your head to lean in. 

Santiago starts to lean in too, and for a second you wonder if you’re imagining it. Then, as if he regains some form of self restraint he pulls away from you before swallowing harshly. “Shit, I–We can’t.” You frown at him. “Why can't we?” Your kicked puppy expression has Santiago wishing he could kiss it off of you, give into you. Give you what you truly wanted. But he isn’t meant for that, the white picket fence and family with a dog. Three bedroom house with a backyard and a mortgage. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it. He just didn’t think he could actually achieve it. “–You know why. I think I’d die a fatal death by Millers before my actual time. No way authorities would find my body, either..” He laughs dryly to himself. But you continue to stare at him with a stern expression. “I'm not a child, you know. I can make my own choices.” He sighs and places a hand on the side of your face. “I know, princesa. It’s just complicated.” You sigh and lean into his touch. “Tell me you don’t want me then.” “What?” His voice is a whisper as he gazes into your eyes. “Tell me.. You don’t want to be with me, try with me. And I’ll drop it.” You watch as his jaw clenches. The silence makes you wonder if that’s his answer to you. You go to wiggle out of his space before he pulls you towards him into a bruising kiss. You hum into his lips and wrap your arms around his neck. His hands move towards your hips, and with a soft grunt he’s lifting you up into his arms, carrying you and walking towards his jeep before setting you down in front of the passenger door. “You want this? Me? Won't be easy.” He chuckles once more, this time it’s genuine. You smile up at him, face flushed, with your pupils blown out and your lips plump from the earlier kiss. “Have for years, Santi. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

“I couldn’t ever make you wait, chiquita.”

Something in the Water

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count 859

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, sex in a lake, skinny dipping, PLEASE SKIP THIS ONE IS YOU ARE UNDER 18

Request: Can we maybe get some Poe Dameron and pool sex? Or beach sex, or lake sex, just anything in water really. :3 from anonymous

A/N: First smut on this blog whoohoo

The cool sensation of the water made (Y/N)’s toes curl as she plopped down on the grass beside the lake, dipping her feet into the water.

“Looks like I picked the right spot,” Poe said with a smirk.

He sat beside her, his heart swelling with affection as she brought her head to lean on his shoulder with a content sigh.

“Couldn't imagine spending our break any other way.” (Y/N) replied, kicking her feet a bit. Poe smiled, pressing a kiss to her hair.

He looked down at the lake before him. The water was almost completely clear, the bottom shifting in and out of visibility. “Let's hop in.”

(Y/N) looked over at him, her eyebrows raised slightly. “I don't think it'd be the best idea to show up back at base with our clothes sopping wet.”

Poe thought for a moment, his brows furrowing together before a wide smile appeared on his face.

He shot up from his spot beside her, the water splashing up as his feet left it. Poe shed off his jacket, letting it fall in a patch of grass followed by his undershirt.

“Poe Dameron, I know you are not doing what I think you're doing.” (Y/N) said, her eyes running over his toned figure.

He winked at her as he unbuckled his belt, tossing it who knows where before letting his pants fall to the ground.

Poe shed his underwear, laughing as (Y/N) jokingly covered her eyes. “Nothing you haven't seen before, beautiful.”

She shielded her face as he jumped into the lake, splashing water in her direction.

“Come on gorgeous, the waters’ just right,” Poe said, holding his arms out in her direction.

(Y/N) sighed dramatically, removing her clothes and placing them in a neat pile beside his.

Poe watched as she made her way toward the lake, biting down on his lip as she sat on the edge. “How’d I get myself a girl like you?”

He swam toward her and settled between her legs, resting his hands on her thighs.

“I don't know. How do you think?” She said, running a hand through his now damp curls.

Poe smirked, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into the water. She shivered at the sudden coolness on her bare skin.

He pulled them backward, the water trying to resist his motions. (Y/N) let her legs float up to wrap around his waist, feeling his erection touch against her skin.

The water sloshed around them as he moved his hands to cup her ass, squeezing tightly before attaching his lips to hers.

The wet movement of their lips against each other and the loud slosh of the lake water whenever he pulled her closer filled the air.

Poe pulled away with a wet smack, smirking at her before moving to press his lips to her breast, kissing the skin just above her nipple before wrapping his lips around it.

(Y/N) tightened her grip on his hair, whimpering as he tugged gently with his teeth. The water sloshed wildly as she attempted to grind against his solid cock.

Feeling satisfied with his attention to her breasts, Poe rested his forehead against hers. He let the water help him hold her up as he guided his cock toward her entrance, teasing it before pushing the tip in at her desperate whimpers.

(Y/N) gasped as she sunk into the water, his cock filling her. Poe pressed his lips to her neck, his hands on her ass guiding her up and down on his throbbing cock.

He moaned loudly, muttering a low shit as she began to bob up and down quicker, the water splashing against their backs at the harsh movement.

She threw her head back as he hit that special spot inside her, her mouth widening to a O shape as he continued to ram into it.

Her walls tightened around him as she came, burying her face in his neck as she reveled in the sensations in and around her. Her walls clenching around his still moving cock, the water sloshing against her back, splashes that left droplets on her chest.

Poe pressed his lips to any exposed skin he could reach, biting down as he emptied himself inside her, tasting the droplets of lake water and sweat n her skin.

After a moment of rest, he pulled out of her, lifting her out of the water bridal style. “I really like this lake. Nature is so beautiful.”

“Oh yeah, you were really admiring nature. That's what you were focused on. ” (Y/N) said, rolling her eyes.

Poe dunked her head in the water, laughing as she rubbed the water from her face as he pulled her back up.

He pressed a kiss on her damp lips, placing her down on the grass to redress.

“Ya know, you should really dry your hair. You could catch a cold.” Poe joked as (Y/N) handed him his jacket.

She swatted his shoulder, the annoyance on her face dissolving as he tossed his arm over her shoulder to walk them back to base.

I've been on an Oscar Isaac binge since watching moon knight and i thought to myself hmmmmm why doesn't he have any social media accounts?

then i saw his reddit IAmA answers and realized OHHHH MAYBE THATS WHY

and honestly after watching a bunch of his interviews where he let his intrusive thoughts win.... yeah it makes sense now.