Out Of Left Field Series: Pt. 1 - This Is Bad (chris Pov)

irresistible 

pairing: nathan bateman x reader word count: 737 a/n: cs prompt challenge, week 4: “I want you to marry me.”  ~ nathan makes a proposition you absolutely can refuse… right? | read on AO3 here~

It had been 6 months since you became an assistant to the infamous Nathan Bateman. At least the view at his home in the mountains was nice because you weren’t doing much assisting, more like standing around being an ear for him to talk off. Sometimes he wouldn’t even let you do your work, insisted you follow him around as he worked and tested your knowledge as well as making sure you were listening. It was exhausting. Not because you didn’t know most things he asked, but because the air of arrogance that followed his every waking moment too, was exhausting.

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Be Changed; Be Undone Masterlist

Pairing: Duke Leto x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only The title is from the song Be Brave by My Brightest Diamond; the chapter titles are from the same song. Set before the events of Dune.  Summary: The Bene Gesserit believe that if there is any hope to change the fate of Duke Atreides, a child of his must wed a Harkonnen. For this, the family will need a daughter.

What’s My Responsibility?

Now Get to Work

It’s So Easy

Feeling Anger Swell

Be Undone The Flood The Fire

The Oil Spill

Undone Undone (II)

Just to Be

Under House Arrest Don My Mask

Be Changed

Be Brave

I Am

Beaded Dress

Changed

Dear One

Can you do a drabble about nipple play with Steve? Whether he's domming or subbing, he loves it when you suck his nipples. Sometimes you could get him cumming by sucking them only. Thank you!

im writing dom steve for a change and im so sorry if this isn’t as good as usual writing, idk why i had such a hard time finding inspiration for this

warnings: nipple play, dom!steve, sub!reader, slight exhibitionism, gender neutral reader

even if you’re submissive, steve is still a whore for you. hes always sporting tight under armor shirts that show off every muscle on his torso because he loves the way it draws attention.

he’d never admit it out loud, but he has a thing for people looking at him like he’s a piece of meat. at first he hated it. he hated how every time he entered a room, everyones eyes immediately turned to him. now, though, it makes him feel powerful. it gives him confidence knowing everyone wants a piece of him

you’re the only one who ever gets to have him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t show off. it makes him laugh to see you roll your eyes when he walks into a room with his chest on display, but he also knows you can’t help but stare too

“cover that shit up, rogers. you’re gonna take someone’s eye out with those things,” you joke

“it’s not my fault it’s cold in here.”

“you could put on a looser shirt so you don’t have to make it everyone else’s problem”

steve loves to play this game. you mouth off to him and he gives it right back until he finally has enough of your smart mouth and does something to shut you up

that’s exactly where you find yourself now

you’re kneeling at the foot of the bed, sucking on steve nipples while he stands on the floor with his shirt pulled up and his pants around his thighs

he has one hand in your hair and the other works his cock quickly. he loves making you suck his nipples like this; it always gets him off in record time and he loves how sweet you look when you look up at him

“fuck, sugar, that’s it. use a little teeth, baby, you know how i like it,” he praises from above you

his praise spurs you on and you suck his nipple faster, making sure to catch your teeth on the hard bud occasionally. you rub and twist the other between your fingers

he pushes his chest up as he gets closer, just needing that little extra bit of friction to push him over the edge. he cums onto your stomach, throwing his head back and moaning loudly as he does it

you know how sensitive he gets after he cums, so you stop touching him and wait patiently on your knees for him to clean you up

- drunken confession -

✧ pairing: santiago “pope” garcia x f!reader 

✧ summary: your best friend santi needs a ride home after a night out with the guys. pope, being the drunk man he is, confesses his pent-up feelings for you. 

✧ genre: fluff/soft comfort

✧ warnings: nothing bad, just mentions of alcohol and a bit of cursing

✧ word count: 1.2k

✧ author’s note: listen i’m like, in love with santi rn and um i was like why not do a lil fic of him? this is probably the first fic i’ve ever posted lol and well hope u guys like it! :) ♡ this is more in santi's pov and how he views you rather than vice versa. !! keep in mind, english is not my first language and if u see any mistakes pls ignore them :') (this doesn’t help my oscar obsession) 

@marc-spectorr helped me come up with this !! pls read her fics ! they're amazing and she's one of my favorite fanfic authors. i love u callie, this one's for u amiga, hope u like it ! ♥︎ 

You had just picked up your best friend, who was, not to your surprise, drunk.

It made your eyebrows raise in amusement as you quietly snickered to yourself, seeing just how out of it Santiago was as he stumbled over to your car. He was usually so composed and right now, he was loosened up.

Frankie had texted you earlier, asking if you could give Santi a ride home. The other boys were still drinking and partying their hearts out, they weren't going anywhere just yet. He had hoped you could take Pope with you, knowing you were just getting out of work anyways. He didn't want another wasted man to take care of, plus, he knew Santi would get rest if he went home early.

Not to mention how much Pope spoke of you; Frankie knew the man felt something for you, and vice versa. The two of you were just stubborn or shy, if he could call it that, to admit it to each other.

"Heeyy princesa," Santi slurred as soon as he was inside the car with you. "I missed you, I was looking, everywhere for you," he added, his hand snaking up to grab yours, interlocking your fingers with his own, while his other open palm gestured to the air around him.

You felt your heart flutter all of a sudden in your chest. He usually wasn't this touchy with you.

What does that mean? No, no, relax, he's just drunk.

Sure, there were the occasional hugs and his arm placed around your shoulders, but, never.. hand-holding. God, you felt your heart beat quicker by the minute.

"You look really beautiful tonight, amor," Santi complimented, "but you always do, right, Morales? Veery beautiful."

Your cheeks warmed up at his words.

"Take care of this idiot for me, will you?" Frankie chuckled, clapping Santi on the shoulder.

"Oh, I will, don't you worry." You grinned, your gaze shifting over to Santi who was staring at you with half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile.

"Alright, drive safe, amiga."

▬

Santi watched as you hummed to the music playing on the radio, eyes on the road, hand on the steering wheel and everything.

He noticed you were wearing scrubs, which barely clicked in his head that you had just come out of work.

"How.. was work, hermosa? Busy?" He asked you, that lopsided smile of his still on his handsome face. His short salt-and-pepper curls were hit by the bright red hue of the traffic light, illuminating his face too, the curve of his nose, his cheekbones.

Santi softly brushed his thumb across the warm skin of your hand, still holding it, in a way that screamed "i'm not letting go anytime soon".

You turned to look at him. "Oh, it was horribly busy. I had a lot of patients this shift and god, the doctor was chewing my ear off..."

As you explained to him how your day went, your words faded away as his dark brown eyes studied the features of your face for a long moment. The shape of your nose, your lips, your eyes, your scars, your eyebrows.

The same face he fell in love with ever since he had met you in that hospital in Paraguay, where you tended to the children that needed immediate medical attention with such carefulness and precision. He remembered how he felt when his heart stopped at the sight of you. You looked so beautiful and so caring; the way you softly smiled at the kid you were helping.

His gaze flitted down to your interlocked hands.

He loved you, and so he thought, with a burst of confidence, maybe he should tell you that tonight.

▬

"Come on honey, dance with me for a bit." Santi chuckled at you as he pulled you in for a spin, much to your cute protest.

"What you should be doing instead of dancing, Garcia, is getting your drunk ass to bed." You laughed, swatting at his chest playfully to make him let go of you. As much as you wanted to dance with him, he was drunk and you wanted him to get some rest.

"Only if you're there with me." He winked and you rolled your eyes at him in response. His hands drifted down to place themselves on your waist.

Santi felt your body go still from the feeling of his hands on you. He smirked down at you, and soon, that smirk turned into a soft smile.

Quickly enough, your own hands found themselves around his neck. You returned the smile he gave you without hesitation.

He leaned forward, gently placing his forehead against yours.

He heard your breath quietly hitch in your throat.

Even with all of the alcohol in his system, Santi suddenly and strangely felt steady.

He loved you, and he wanted to tell you that. Maybe he should. Would right now be a good time?

He knew you felt the same. He noticed how you would get visibly flustered whenever he'd compliment you, how you'd smile to yourself as you looked away from him, how you'd gaze at him when you thought he wasn't looking. He knew you did.

But if he was wrong, he'd know by your reaction.

A good minute passed by.

"San-"

"I like you," he cut you off, "a lot. Like, a lot, a lot." Santi laughed quietly under his breath.

"This isn't the alcohol talking, baby. I know, I'm not so great with this... kind of thing; confessing feelings and all, but I don't think I can hide it anymore."

"I've loved you ever since I saw you in that hospital years ago. I-I can barely understand what I feel for you." He whispered, one hand now on the side of your face, the other on your hip. Santi noticed the way your eyes slightly widened in surprise and in another emotion he couldn't quite place.

"I love the sound of your voice, I love the way your nose scrunches up when you smile, I love it when you dance in the kitchen, thinking nobody else is watching you. I love everything about you, you know?"

"I.. I've never felt anything like this before, preciosa. You're fucking beautiful and sometimes I-I wonder to myself how lucky I am to be your best friend. I just hope we can become something more." He finished, losing himself in those eyes he loved so much.. but judging by your stunned silence, he was quick to add: "B-but if you don-"

"Do you really feel that way, Santiago?" It was your turn to cut him off with a whisper, a pretty smile growing on your lips. You rarely called him by his actual name.

His heart swelled at the sound of you saying it.

"Meant every word, amor." He sighed in relief, feeling your hands hold his face, your thumbs caressing his cheeks slowly. He swore you could hear his heart beating.

Next thing he knew, you were softly pressing your lips against his, drawing him in as close as you could.

If his heart was running fast earlier, it was certainly running a fucking marathon right now. Probably add in a somersault, too.

Santi's arms wrapped and tightened around you, as if never wanting to let go, afraid that this moment would vanish if he did so.

He knew he'd never get tired of kissing you.

Eventually, you pulled away from him with a smile, much to his dismay.

Gazing into his onyx eyes, you chuckled to yourself, whispering:

"I love you too, Santiago Garcia. You have no idea."

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

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

Warnings: a little angst, a little fluff.

Rating: 18+ ONLY. minors DNI.

Word Count: 5.2k

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t respond, so he continues,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I heard Fish.”

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

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

You nod in reluctant agreement. 

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

“Yeah I know it’s…”

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

“It’s the hormones, I think.”

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

“Hormones, huh? Sorry about that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“This shirt is filthy anyway.”

You shake your head against his chest.

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

“Maybe you should go lie down.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Delusional and stubborn, huh?”

You smack his chest lightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have to tell you something.”

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

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

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

“Come sit.”

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

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

“I went to the clinic today and—“

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

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

“What’d they—“

“I’m pregnant.”

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

“How are you feeling?”

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

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

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

“Those ovaries didn’t stand a chance.”

“No they did not.” 

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

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

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

“I like it when you smile, old man.” 

The lines deepen around his mouth when his smile expands. 

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

- - - - - - - - - 

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

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

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

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

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

“Pipe down, you’ll wake up Tom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Right now?”

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

“Fine, wait here.”

Santiago turns to go back in the house.

“What’re you doing?”

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

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

Santi raises his eyebrows. “Herbal tea?”

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

“Coming right up.”

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

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

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

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

“You hoping for a boy, or a girl?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the most of your concerns?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Pity? For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What would you say to him?”

“Huh?”

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

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

“And what else?”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Thanks, Santi.”

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

“Oh he said all that did he?”

“Yep. don’t shoot the messenger.”

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

“Where at?”

“Can’t say.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I know.”

“Ohhh… one of those.”

“Yep.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Don’t know.”

“You don’t know at all?”

“Not really.”

“Not even a guess?”

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

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

“I don’t know.”

Your hand drifts to your stomach.

Santi breathes out, “Are you upset?”

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

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

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

“Yeah I know. I’m just worried.”

“About?”

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

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

Santi is silent.

“Will you call?” You ask softly.

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

“Send a postcard?”

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

“You going alone?”

“No. The guys are going with me.”

“All of them?”

“The whole gang.”

“Must be a big job.”

“You could say that.”

“When do you leave?”

Santi takes a deep breath. “Tomorrow.”

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

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

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

“A while.”

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

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

“Hormones!”

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“Already taken care of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vin—“

“Goodnight, Pope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.”

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

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

“Pinche… give me a minute, Kay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-------

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hide and seek | steve rogers

summary | While collecting the Tesseract and Pym Particles in the 70s, you watched as your boyfriend sees Peggy once again.

words | 1.4k+

genres | angst

pairing | endgame!steve rogers x avenger!reader

warnings | endgame spoilers

note | So... Basically, THIS one is why I made a Tumblr account. like, I needed this out of my head. Anyway, here it is. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated :)

masterlist

“Excuse me! Out of the way!”

Your eyes met Steve’s as you heard Hank Pym’s rushed voice outside the room you two were hiding at. He gave you a single nod, indicating for you both to go. You were the first one to step out of the office. Wearing a white blouse and dark blue office pants, you managed to fit in the settings as a faux SHIELD agent in the 70s. While your boyfriend, on the other hand, is dressed in green khakis and a low-pulled cap as one of the soldiers.

Your heart is still in the same rapid pace ever since you, Steve, and Tony arrived at this timeline in Camp Lehigh. This whole thing was not part of the plan. You four, including Scott, were only supposed to get the Mind Stone in 2012’s Battle of New York. But with things not going according to plan, you ended up looking for the said stone in another timeline. Being a then-agent of SHIELD, you memorized the organization’s history and even maps. 

Steve didn’t want you to go with them at first, expressing worries about the possible dangers ahead. You and Steve have been together for years now. You were co-workers before any of this, and you already talked about the pros and cons of being an Avenger. But after a quick talk and backup from Tony, he lets you go with them. You tried to remain optimistic as you three prepare the timeline in your gadgets. But you were internally screaming as this is not part of the plan and you always prefer things in the plan. Natasha told you she always felt the same way too in every kind of mission she does, she just doesn’t let the team know. But when your boyfriend reached for your hand before traveling through time again, you felt a tiny sense of relief in your head.

That’s how you ended up here. Spotting Hank Pym’s name on one of the doors, you and Steve quietly walked into the laboratory. 

“Thank God, he doesn’t have any assistant here,” you whispered as you both looked around the place.

You were looking around the place when you hear Steve say, “Doll, it’s here.”

When you turned your head at him, his hand was already retrieving enough Pym Particle vials. He looked back at you with a smile as he slid the vials carefully into both of his pockets, “Let’s get out of here.”

Just like earlier, you exit the laboratory first with him following behind, looking down. Tony advised you two to walk in that order. So that, any type of attention can be avoided towards the Captain. You were even surprised how the female agent in the elevator, who talked directly at you after Tony stepped out, did not recognize who was the man behind you. You were closed to the elevator when you see the same woman with two uniformed guys.

“You’ve never seen either of these people before?” one asked, making you pause as you heard him.

Your eyes moved to the agent, “No. But I have an eye for this. Something looked fishy.”

Your eyes widened and about to turn around to Steve when you felt him pulling you in one of the doors again.

“Oh, shit. That was close.” you exhaled a big puff of air before chuckling. You heard Steve chuckle too.

The room was dimmed and empty of people so you did not waste any more attention examining the whole office. When you heard the people you were hiding on passed by, you turned to Steve.

“Babe, let’s–”

You stopped when you noticed him taking a step closer to a table. He was eyeing one of the framed pictures there. Your eyebrows scrunched before moving your sight to the picture. It was him. Steve. Before he got the super-soldier serum. Immediately, you cocked your head to see what was labeled on the door.

MARGARET CARTER

DIRECTOR

You let out a quiet gasp at the same time you sensed a heavy feeling in your stomach. Then, you looked back. Steve was staring at the door too. His expression… was something though. You tried to read him but the more his emotions became evident on his face, your heart was twisted tighter and tighter. His dark blue eyes transitioned from surprise to longing and you swore you heard your heart breaking.

It was like everything around him went blank and silent. Steve held the frame in his hands and when he heard a door slam shut, he looked up. In between the glass and its blinds, he sees her. Peggy. It was like he sensed his own heart beating heavier and slower. He held the picture frame firmer in his hands. It has been twenty-five years since he died but she still kept his image on her desk.

“Oh, for the love of- I’ll find the weather projections. You call Braddock and tell him to shelter in place. Assuming he’s bright enough to come out of the rain.”

He watched her as she seemed infuriated while conversing with a guy. And when she walked closer to the glass to read through the files, Steve absentmindedly walked closer too. Just to see her closer again at this state, behind the blinds. He takes in her blue eyes, her scarlet red lips, and the same dark brown she always sported. For the first time in years since he came back from ice, he sees the same Peggy he met before anything happened.

“It’s not lightning strikes he’s looking at…”

Peggy spun and strolled outside her office, unaware of two other people watching her back from the other side of the glass. The door slammed once again and Steve looked down. He let out a small but heavy sigh, sensing a mixed emotion of slight frustration and sadness.

“S-Steve?” your shaky voice called him out.

His head snapped up as he heard you. He remembered you were there with him too. Regret immediately sinks into his skin. Behind him, you watched everything happen. The more seconds passed by when he was looking at her, the more you felt harder to breathe. Steve barely hid anything from you about Peggy. He told stories from his past and you always listen and understand who she was in his life. He never fails to explain that he already moved past her and everything that happened in his past. But seeing him almost dazed after seeing Peggy again, revived that insecurity you had in the beginnings of your relationship. His reaction dug up those thoughts you thought you buried deep in your mind years ago.  

You swallowed the imaginary lump you felt in your throat before you spoke again, “Let’s go?” 

He nods and you stepped outside. Steve continued looking down, still avoiding any eye contact from everyone. That’s when he noticed your hands both formed into clenched fists on each side of your body. Like you were keeping things to yourself. Fortunately, the elevator was empty as you two rode in. But he persisted in staring down while guilt ate him up like an early breakfast. He stole a few short glances at you and you were just staring ahead with your arms crossed. The only sound that was made was you letting out a long, chilling sigh. Up until you arrived back on the camp’s grounds, you remained quiet. You and Steve are now walking side by side but it was like you two were miles and miles apart.

Steve gulped before he broke the silence, “Let’s wait here.”

You followed him, standing in between military vehicles. You see him nodding at someone, so you tracked his gaze and see Tony pointing to his briefcase while holding a bouquet of flowers. Out of relief, your lips formed a tentative smile before you noticed a familiar man approaching him.

“It’s Howard…” you whispered.

Tony hugged his father one last time before walking to you and Steve. He wore a contented smile on his face and somehow, your heart felt a little happy. But when your eyes met Steve’s baby blue ones, that happiness quickly faded. Steve, on the other hand, just wanted to talk to you as soon as possible. But knowing you, your main priority would be finishing this mission.

There was a big silence and obvious tension. Even Tony felt it. He watched as you and your boyfriend share glances. Now wanting to waste any more time, he decided to just break the awkward surface. 

“Let’s go, guys. Better bring this blue stone before anyone notices us.”

He was successful, splitting your distracted minds. You two nodded and began clicking on your gadgets again. Before time traveling once again, you did not expect Steve to give your hand a soft squeeze again. Your emotions did not change but you simply nodded. 

“Let’s go.”

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

PART 1 HERE

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Male masturbation. Language.

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

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

“You didn’t need to come with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t be serious.”

Santi’s eyes narrow on yours.

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

Santi sighs in defeat. “Yeah.”

“You were able to, right?”

“What?” 

“Abstain?” 

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

“Just checking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m, coming with you, duh.”

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

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

His eyes are wide but stern. 

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

“I’m here for moral support!”

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

“Yes.”

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

“Problem?”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Got it.”

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

“Sorry?”

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

“Jesus, what goes on in there?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Go ahead.”

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

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

``````

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

END

taglist:

@miraclesabound @reallystressedhoneybee @blackberries45 @plz-and-spank-you @bit-dodgy-innit @rnlaing @stevenngrant @sharin4readers @hebelongstothestars @stardustbells @alwritey-aphrodite @libraryreservations @eroticandawkward @tripleheartx . @johnny-simpfinger @fangirlfreakingout @jake-g-lockley @lunawants

Aleksander Morozova x Sun Summoner!reader x Malyen Oretsev

WARNING(S): gore, blood, violence, angst, cussing, sexual content, one character from the books that has not yet been introduced in the show 

SERIES SUMMARY: You have lived isolated from the outside world in a forest for a large portion of your life. One day, a mistake you made causes you to end up with the Darkling wounded in your cottage. Time passes as you both become closer while you nurse him back to health. When it is time for him to return to the Little Palace, you go with him, which puts you on the track for a new part of your life.

PLAYLIST

STATUS: complete

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The only time that I do describe the reader is with hair and last name, but that is because it is integral to how the story progresses. Furthermore, I was planning on reading the book series but decided to wait until I finish this story. Thus, what I know about the Grishaverse is based on selective research.

DISCLAIMER: NO ONE HAS ANY PERMISSION TO REPRODUCE MY WORK ON TUMBLR OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES IN ANY FORM OR FASHION. MY WORK CAN NOT BE PUBLISHED, REPOSTED, OR TRANSLATED EVEN IF CREDIT IS GIVEN. FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH THESE TERMS WILL RESULT IN INTERVENTION OR LEGAL ACTION.

spring/summer

Chapter I 

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI 

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

autumn/winter

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI 

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII 

Chapter XIX 

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

endings and mendings 

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXIX 

Chapter XXX 

I've been on an Oscar Isaac binge since watching moon knight and i thought to myself hmmmmm why doesn't he have any social media accounts?

then i saw his reddit IAmA answers and realized OHHHH MAYBE THATS WHY

and honestly after watching a bunch of his interviews where he let his intrusive thoughts win.... yeah it makes sense now.