Be Changed; Be Undone Masterlist

French Lessons (Steven Grant x f!Reader)

Summary: You had been in desperate want to learn French, but the absolute droll of learning through a boring app was no fun. Coincidentally, you meet a brilliant gift shop clerk at the museum who can teach you French while you can teach him a thing or two about love.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (By proceeding to read beyond this warning, you agree that you are 18 years or older)

Word Count: 5K

Content: Explicit Smut, pining, masturbation references, dry humping, fingering, handjob, fluff, romance, French, Steven Grant, slight reference to Marc Spector

Notes: My Steven fic has finally arrived!! I'm hoping to turn this into a series because I have quite a few other ideas and I don't want to leave you hanging with just a taste of the two of them. But I hope you like it and share/reblog! Love y'all!

Updated Note: Wow!! Thank you so much for all of your kind words and notes. Part 2 is currently in the works and coming soon.

Bonjour! Je m'appelle Vivienne Rousseau et bienvenue à votre premier cours de français’! 

Hello! My name is Vivienne Rousseau and welcome to your first French lesson! Did you understand my first sentence? If not, not to worry! I will teach you how to learn and with the right dedication you’ll be speaking fluently in the next 6 months! Today’s lesson is all about beginnings…

You whine as you raise your volume on your phone to stay focused. However, the tall statues and figurines in front of you were not helping like you thought it would. You had come to the National Museum to gain some peace and clarity while starting this new venture. French was always a language you had dreamed of learning, so why not start now? Sure, the grating voice of Vivienne Rousseau would drag you along through it, but this was a new adventure. The start of something interesting…

As long as you could pay attention. It wasn’t your fault Vivienne’s voice sounded like a high-pitched foghorn. But the reviews for her app were rave and they wouldn’t take your credit card information for another week, so if it became a bigger drag than it already was, you could cancel your free trial. 

You walked throughout the museum trying to focus on your lesson, but rewound the same phrases over and over. 

Je m’apelle Vivienne. Je suis ravi de vous rencontrer. 

You were thinking it wasn’t the pyramids and statues that weren’t helping you focus, but you figured it was time for you to leave the museum, regardless. Before the trip home, you stopped at the gift shop for a bottle of water. You walked over to the gift shop counter t o grab the attention of a man entirely more focused on his Egyptian mythology book than having to sell stuffed scarabs. He looked slightly disheveled, with black curly tendrils falling all over his head. When you made eye contact with him, he had dark crescents under his eyes and a timid smile. He looked so nervous to a complete stranger, you couldn’t imagine how he was towards his coworkers. 

Reaching for your water, the cord of your earbuds snapped and broke free from your phone. If you hadn’t noticed by the snapping of the cord, you would’ve noticed from Vivienne’s grating voice booming throughout your speaker: 

Bonjour! Comment ça vas?

“Bien, merci. Et vous-même?” You look up and the tired, timid man has spoken, meeting your eyes with a softer smile. 

You smile back and laugh. “Sorry about that. This is what happens when I don’t get earbuds from the last five years.” 

“Well, it’s not about the earbuds, innit? It’s what’s in them that matters. Learning French?” He asks. 

“If you could even call it that. I thought coming to the museum would help me focus up, but this woman I’m listening to sounds well braindead.”

“Je suis désolé. D'après ce que j'ai entendu, elle ressemblait à un bouton absolu.” The crinkles in the corner of his eyes became more prominent and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I’m sorry. From what I heard, she sounded like an absolute knob.” He translated. He introduced himself. Steven. With a V. You asked Steven with a V if he’d like to make some extra money on the side and before you knew it, you were meeting at the bistro every Wednesday for an hour of French lessons with Steven with a V.

Steven was not as drab and droning as Vivienne Rousseau, quite the opposite. Before and after your hour was up, you found yourselves talking more and more about your days; him describing the gift shop and his aspirations to be a tour guide despite his awful boss Donna. You couldn’t understand how he wasn’t. It seemed like everything he talked about could circle back to his love for Egyptology and the wonder of the gods and goddesses. How does someone like that know so much about it but he’s stuck behind a desk selling crisps and plushies? 

After your 3rd meeting, you’d plucked up the courage to ask him. The first thing he did was look at you after those compliments with such earnest gratitude you felt your insides melt. The second thing he told you was that he had a sleeping disorder that kept him further back in life than he’d wanted. He aspired to have adventure, and life and zest as much as he could, but for right now… the gift shop was just enough.

That was the first night you had gone to bed thinking of how kind his smile was, chasing the warmth throughout your body it had given you as if you’d just taken a shot. You’d found yourself eager for the next lesson, to hear about his new studies, to watch his hands as he notated on your writing. 

You’d gotten to the bistro thirty minutes early, in your same corner table at the patio, waiting for Steven.

You waited. 

And you waited. 

And you waited. 

Two hours later, he never showed. 

You felt your insides deflate as you traveled home. You’d checked your text messages every ten minutes hoping to see a sign that he was okay or if he was busy or if he just didn’t want to come. Maybe he’d seen the way you looked at him in your last lesson and found it inappropriate? 

You wished Steven standing you up would’ve completely turned you off to him, but unfortunately, it just had him occupying your mind more and more until the sounds of his voice describing tales of the green jewel lulled you to sleep. 

You woke up the next morning to your phone going off, although it wasn’t your alarm. Steven was in the middle of writing you a flurry of text messages with apologies about how he wasn’t able to make it last night and how his sleeping had completely mucked his week up. He asked if you were free that night for your lesson and a free meal to make it up. While you agreed to see him, your worry and apprehension weren’t immediately gone. You weren’t sure if this was just his common excuse he had given women, but, it was worth it to hear him out. 

You had gotten to the restaurant and there at your familiar corner table was Steven Grant, looking like the saddest dog you had ever seen. As soon as you were in eye view, he walked up to you, moving to place his hand on your shoulder but hesitating. He moved it back to clasp his other palm. 

“Y/N. I am so deeply, deeply sorry. I go to bed on Saturday and then I woke up, and it’s Thursday and I feel like I got hit by a double-decker bus and— “

“Je te pardonne. Mangeons.” You had said. I forgive you. Let’s Eat. And he flashed you that damn smile again, and you felt your insides crack like an egg to the stove. 

There wasn’t as much lesson as there was dinner this night as you and Steven had discussed every topic you could. Work, music, books, television. No topic was left off the table as you waited for your food. The server brought out the very vegan Steven’s steaming lentil soup and what was supposed to be your salmon was replaced with a large burger. 

“I’m so sorry miss, it’s a bit of a mess in the kitchen back there tonight. I’ll get this sorted out straight away.” The server said to you. You saw the steam coming out of Steven’s soup and instead of digging in, his hands were placed politely on his lap. 

When the server came back out, he had brought trout, which you were unfortunately allergic to or else you would’ve scarfed it down by then. More than a half hour had gone by and you were still waiting for your dinner. And there was Steven, hands no longer in his lap but marking your French in his thick glasses. You took a mental note of how good he looked in them while cursing yourself for doing so. 

“Steven, if you want to eat, I completely understand. Your food must already be freezing.” You said, eying the way his hands held his pen. 

“Not to worry.” He said cheerfully. “The great thing about lentils is that you can eat them hot or cold and I want to make sure you’re taken care of. Laisse moi prendre soin de toi.” You immediately felt your face redden and were so glad that your food had come back correctly this time so you could bury your head in your salmon and vegetables. 

When you went home that night, you thought of his thick fingers, his kind eyes and the repeat of him saying “Laisse moi prendre soin de toi” in your head as you slowly slipped your fingers under the covers, dreaming of how your French tutor would say that to the heat between your legs. 

Laisse moi prendre soin de toi. Let me take care of you. 

He wasn’t late for the next lesson. He was there when you had arrived, 15 minutes before, to counter the overeager 30 minutes versus strolling in right on time. You wanted him to know you care about these lessons, but maybe not too much. 

When you had walked over to the table, Steven had another downtrodden look on his face. His lips were turned down, and he was looking down at the ground. When he heard your footsteps, his face immediately brightened and damn, this was not helping your crush. 

“Bad day at the museum?” You greet him as he sullenly nodded. 

“Donna started taking the piss at me as soon as I got into work. A child — a child!! — came up to me and asked me where the bloody bathroom was and all I hear after I show her where it is—‘Stevie, you’re not a tour guide. It’ll never happen, so stop trying.’” He mocked Donna with a nasally grating voice. 

“I’m sorry. It’s like she doesn’t even give you a chance to prove yourself.” 

“Exactly!!” Steven excitedly exclaims as a few people from other tables looked around. He muttered apologies. “I’m just so tired of her thinking I’m some bumbling git. It’s not like she knows where the Hathor temple is and she could answer someone if they asked her. She wouldn’t even know Hathor if she bit her in the arse.” 

You giggled as he went on. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Let’s get on with our lesson soon, but do you mind if I eat here again tonight? She wouldn’t even let me take a lunch today!” 

“Well, since you had an absolutely shit day, I think it’s my turn to get dinner. And I’ll do one extra.” The server came around to your table as Steven looked at you, puzzled. 

“Excuse me, sir, but can you recommend your finest French wine?” 

A couple of hours later and two bottles of wine down, dinner was finished but there yet again wasn’t much of a French lesson. Giddy and bubbly from wine, you and Steven continued your endless back and forth and it felt like you could talk to him about just about anything. You saw him look at his phone screen to look at the time and you felt your heart sink a bit. 

“Oh bugger, it’s already 9 PM.” Steven frowned. “I don’t want to keep you too long. I’m sure you have plenty to do.” 

“No! Wednesdays are always our nights.” You saw his smile widen when you said that, the crinkles in his eyes deepening. “Besides, I wouldn’t just consider tonight a French lesson but me trying to cheer up a friend who seems to have had a bad day.” 

“Not so bad now, innit?” He grinned. You looked into his eyes with no reluctance, the alcohol warming your body giving you courage to keep contact. He had beautiful, dark eyes and his nose was so strong and defined. You knew better than to even look at his lips, though, because once you did, you would stare too long and then goodbye to your friend and French tutor. 

You heard a slight rumble and felt droplets hit your shoulders. First quietly and then pounding as the rain came through like a. Luckily you had already paid for yours and Steven’s food so you ran under the patio’s awning, Steven’s arm was halfway out of his jacket when he ran over to you and then flipped the jacket over your head. 

“What do we do now? I know we’re having a great time, but you’re also not exactly paying me to gossip during a rainstorm.” Steven shouted over the loud rain. 

Liquid courage be damned. You thought of an offer that you didn’t want to come off the wrong way, but it was raining and you did pay him for a lesson you hadn’t exactly completed. You bit your lip in contemplation and you could’ve sworn in the corner of your eye you saw Steven eyeing your swollen bottom lip. 

“My flat isn’t too far, if you don’t mind it.” Steven looked at you for what felt like a long moment and you held your breath. He nodded and kept his jacket above your head the entire way. 

As soon as you had gotten to your flat, you thought the alcohol would wear off, but the last bottle you two had shared was just kicking in. The two of you ran and giggled back to your apartment like a couple of schoolchildren, and you felt so refreshed. You loved that you could be silly with him. 

“This is it! Sorry I haven’t fixed it up much.” You said, tossing your shoes on the floor and your keys on your counter. 

“It’s much better than my place.” Steven looked around. “You wouldn’t be surprised though, loads of books, loads of paperwork, a goldfish named Gus.” 

You snorted. “Come on, my books and my desk are in the bedroom.” 

He followed you into your bedroom as you turned on the desk light, lit enough to illuminate the space needed but not too bright to cause a headache. You fell onto your bed, back first, with your arms stretched out to the back of your head. It felt so good to close your eyes. It felt so good being tipsy. It felt so good being with Steven. Where is Steven? When you opened your eyes, there he was at your desk, eyeing your stack of French books. 

“I have to say this is quite the collection Miss Y/N.” He took his glasses out of his shirt pocket and slipped them on and you had to shut your eyes quickly before the heat between your legs grew to an uncomfortable amount. “Baudelaire, Marceline Desbordes-Valmore and you have my favorite, Victor Hugo.” 

“No way, Victor Hugo is my favorite as well!” You shot up excitedly. He had Hugo’s book in his hand as he skimmed through. 

“Le Roi S’amuse, I love absolutely love this play.” 

“Can I tell you something?” You swung your feet off of your bed to distract your bubbling nerves. “I’ve really wanted to pick up French just so I can read more French literature I can fall in love with. See more plays, get more cultured.” 

“That’s what I like about you, Y/N.” Steven said, bringing the book with him as moved next to you on the bed. “We haven’t exactly gone over this term yet, but when I think about you, I think of your joie de vivre. Your lust for life. You see things and opportunities and you take them.” 

You feel yourself redden. “What exactly do you mean by that?” 

“I just mean, if it was the other way around, I could’ve never walked up to an attractive stranger and asked them to teach me French.” He looks down nervously for a brief moment and then steadies himself, giving you deep eye contact. You’re almost rendered speechless. 

“Are you telling me you find yourself attractive, Steven Grant?” You whisper. Your eyes are locked on each other. You’ve never seen someone with such dark, kind eyes. 

“Can I tell you which verse is my favorite?” You break the silence. “It would probably do me good to have you hear some of my French tonight.” You giggle. Steven doesn’t giggle. He slowly nods as your liquid courage takes over. Your hands are shaking, but you feel the electricity. 

You slip your hands onto his and help guide him to your favorite passage. His eyes don’t leave your face. It’s as if he’s studying you like a new art installation. 

“La vie est une fleur, l’amour en est le miel.” You recite. 

“Life is a flower, love is its honey.” Steven translates. His hands are so, so warm on yours. 

  “C’est la colombe unie à l’aigle dans le ciel,” you continue, briefly daring to look up at his eyes, which are now on your hands. He looks absolutely dazed, as if he can’t believe this is real. 

“It’s the dove united with the eagle in the sky,” You notice Steven's hands are shaking too. 

“C’est la grâce tremblante à la force appuyée,” Do you dare to move your hands? 

“It’s the trembling grace to the leaning force,” He’s looking directly at you again. No wine, no French, no lentil soup could save you now. 

“C’est ta main dans ma main doucement oubliée…” You rub your hands on top of his and his fingers feel exactly how you thought they would, and more. 

“It’s your hand in my gently forgotten hand…” He moves one hand to your shoulder. Your heart feels as if it’s in your throat. 

“Aimons-nous! aimons-nous!” There are exclamation points in the text, but all that comes out of your mouth is a faint whisper. 

“Let’s love each other. Let’s love each other.” Somehow, your faint whisper is louder than Steven’s. 

And then silence. You feel yourself gravitate towards him, the heat of your lips meeting as they finally collide and give you the sweetest satisfaction. 

Steven Grant’s lips are softer than you could have ever fantasized. He’s gentle, slow and leaves you lingering for more. One hand is still on your Victor Hugo book, rubbing the palm of your hand as your fingers are laced together. 

You break apart briefly and lean your foreheads on each other, grinning as he rubbed your shoulder. 

“I feel like I’ve been wanting to do that since I first met you.” Steven confesses. You take your other hand and run it through his tussled black curls as you continue to kiss him. He follows your lead, matching the pace of your kisses and, albeit awkwardly initially, slipped his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste him. 

As the kiss deepened, you heard the book slam onto the ground with a large thud as you lifted yourself onto his lap. You heard Steven gasp, and you broke the kiss. 

“Is everything alright?” You scan his eyes for any discomfort. 

“I’m alright, love.” His hands continue gripping your shoulders tightly. You place your hands on them, moving them slowly from your shoulders to the curve of your hips. 

“You don’t have to worry.” You whisper into his lips. “You can touch me however you want.” He exhaled and gripped your hip with more confidence. His other hand moved to the back of your neck as your lips crashed together, moving at a faster pace. You moan as he slips his tongue into your mouth, which causes him to moan. You pushed against him, slowly rocking on him, your skirt slipping up by the friction. 

He groans before breaking the kiss. “I should let you know something. I’m not like other men.” 

“That’s precisely what I like about you, Steven.” You move your lips to the warmth of his neck, sucking on him as he groans again, shaking his head as if he needs to get out of his trance. 

“No, I’m serious Y/N. I’ve told you about my sleeping disorder… how it causes me to miss certain days and how I feel so knackered afterwards. It’s… caused me to miss quite a bit out of life.”

“And I can help you make it up.” You nibble on his ear. 

“I’m a virgin.” He blurts out so fast you almost miss it. 

You take a moment to settle into his lap, hands still firmly smoothing out his soft curls. He looks down with a tinge of shame and embarrassment that you’re puzzled by, so you reassure him by lifting his chin up and giving him a soft kiss. 

“Hey, come on now. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It just hasn’t happened yet.” 

“Yeah, at least not with the right person.” He takes his slightly shaky hand to hold the side of your face as you kiss his palm. 

“Well, we can go at whatever pace you like tonight.” 

"I just want to make you feel good Y/N.” Steven whispers. “Show me how to do that and I’ll be satisfied enough tonight.” 

“But I want you to be satisfied too, Steven. And I think I know of a way to do that.” 

You press your lips against his, but this time hungrier, needier. You wanted to show him how much you had been pining for him all of these weeks. Steven could steadily match with your pace, boldly biting your lower lip and smiling as he heard a moan exit your mouth. 

You move his hand from your face, slowly sliding it down your neck, to the curve of your breast. Steven let out a whimper as you guided his hand to knead your breast. He stared at your hands together, mouth agape, eyes hooded, in a trance. 

You moved his hand from your breast to your stomach, to your thighs as you guided his hand up your dress. You planted soft kisses on him while you guided him, but when you stop at the heat between your legs, he’s absolutely speechless. You remove your hand from his, letting him decide his next step. 

He rubs the outline of the wetness of your underwear as you sigh in pleasure. 

“Steven…” You whisper. 

“I could never get tired of hearing my name said like that.” He sighed, still looking at you in absolute unabashed awe. You removed the straps from your sundress, exposing your naked breasts, and instead of the trembling nerves Steven had shown you, he was massaging and rubbing at one nipple while still rubbing the outline of your underwear. 

“That feel good?” Steven murmured. 

“So good Steven.” Your nipples had started to harden under his touch. Steven removed his hand from your crotch so he could steady himself and focus on putting his breasts in your mouth. He took ample time with both of them, switching back and forth and sucking on them with such passion that his eyes were shut and he was moaning, silently praising your chest. 

After a few moments of bliss, you stopped him, lifting his head up as he could watch you get off of his lap and onto your knees. Just the simple action of you kneeling between his raging erection caused him to start quietly panting, not wanting any sudden movements to ruin this moment. 

You unfastened his belt, eyes still met with his as you saw the bulge from his boxers. There was a slight wet spot of pre-cum on the fabric and you felt your mouth water with anticipation. You pulled his boxers down so his cock could spring free and you weren’t only surprised but very pleased. 

Steven’s cock was so thick you could barely touch your thumb when wrapping your hand around him. He was already so firm and hard for you, veins slightly protruding out and more liquid glistening at the top of his tip. 

“Oh my God.” Steven chanted as you rubbed him up and down. “Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening.” 

“I can’t believe you’re so big.” You say, a bit hypnotized yourself. You had fantasized about this moment but couldn’t believe it was actually happening and better than you had ever expected. 

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” Steven strained out. “As much as I would love for you to put your mouth… all… over me… I think our fun would end rather quickly, and that leaves us with a bit of a problem.” 

You slightly turn your mouth, upset you can’t have your mouth take the challenge of swallowing his cock just yet, but then you come up with an even better idea, giving Steven a devilish grin.

You slip his boxers back on, his bulge even more prominent than before, and Steven looks up at you with a puzzled look. You wrapped your legs around his hips and sunk your clothed crotch into his. 

“Oh, fuck Y/N.” Steven moaned. “Fuck, that feels amazing.” He fastened his hands on your hips as you slowly rocked into him. You put your forehead onto his, breathing in each other’s air as Steven quickened the pace, the pressure of his thickness tightening your bundle of nerves. You started to grind onto him, hard and fast, as he held himself steady with the softness of your ass. 

The warm pressure of his cock was about to make you come undone. His head was buried in between your breasts, not sucking at them but just breathing you in, just to make sure you were real. That this was real. 

Steven pushed his crotch up against you at a pace that you knew would unravel you. Your moans together became more rhythmic. 

“Steven, I’m so close, please don’t stop.” You whined. You brought your hand not tangled in his curls to your clit as you began to rub it, this just quickened Steven’s pace as you bounced on his crotch, his hands gripped on your ass so tightly you knew you’d have bruises later. 

As your moans got louder, you felt yourself release, your orgasm throbbing throughout your entire body. Steven came quickly after, abruptly stopping as he released his warmth into his boxers. The two of you panted together, heads still connected through your foreheads. Closer than ever. 

“Wow.” Steven meekly whispered. “That was better than I ever imagined it would be. Tu es exquis."

”Tu es incroyable.” You whispered back, looking at him as he smiled warmly at you. “See, I’ve been paying attention.” 

The two of you laid there for a few moments until Steven went into your bathroom to clean up. You had slowly stripped away your dress and your bra, nestling under your duvet, leaving some space behind you for the wonderful man you were waiting for. 

A few moments passed, and you felt his warm body surrounding you, arms around your waist as he lay there naked, reciting Victor Hugo’s romantic poetry into your ear. 

“I reckon if I can’t give you a full French lesson, this was the best substitute.” Steven’s hands were circling lazily around your arms and you briefly reminisced about the time when he didn’t even know if a hug was appropriate. And now here he is in your bed, wearing no clothes and reciting poetry into your ear. 

Sometimes real life really eclipses fantasy. 

“I’d say this absolutely makes up for it, and then some. But… I think we’re going to have to go into double time next lesson to make up for it.” You grinned. 

“You’re right, maybe an oral exam will have to do.” Steven awkwardly quipped and you both laughed at his awkwardly adorable attempt at double entendre. 

You turned around and opened your arms up towards him. He moved his head towards your chest, arms gripping your waist tightly with the same fervor as earlier, as if you would float away and this was all a dream.

You buried your fingers in his curls, gripping your free hand to the back of his head until you drifted asleep. 

Steven Grant, the shy gift shop clerk that had offered you French lessons. 

Steven Grant, the brilliant, burgeoning Egyptologist that brightened your life with his stories and his warmth. 

Steven Grant. The start of something new. 

“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.”

Recreating this iconic pic of Oscar Isaac eating hot cheetos with chopsticks, but with a moonknight twist 😭🤚

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.

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.

Keep reading

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: 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!

Request: Oscar Isaac talking about how you both embarrassed your son.

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. 

-

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