My You-niverse: Laurent LeClaire

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. 

Ari x Reader: but honestly baby, who's counting? (1, 2, 3) [One Shot]

Plot: Sometimes, you get everything you want by asking nicely.

or, the one where you are drunk and you might've slept with the owner of the hottest club in the city.

Tags: smut, 18+, bar owner! ari, spitting, p in v, some fluff, brief dom/sub, slight dumbification, sex while both drunk, wrap it before you tap it kids, alcohol, beeg ari (faintly mentioned), oral, corn with plot, MINORS DNI [A/N: This shit has not been edited yet so read at your own risk!]

[One]

“And who’er you?”

The entire room was blurry like the world spun and spun and then suddenly stopped but the fluids in your brain still sloshed around like a whirlpool, leaving you all confused, dizzy, and a bit giggly at the smallest bit of everything.

But one thing was for sure: the man in front of you was beautiful and unfairly hot. 

“...ri.” 

You blinked hard, unaware you had tuned out the man’s words in favor of staring at him like a lovesick fool.

“Ri-ri!” you blurted out, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment of being found out that you weren’t listening to him but he just chuckled – the deep, baritone type that traveled to the table you both shared.

You shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, cocking his head and smirking when you followed the direction of it in your quest to somehow figure out what made this man so enticing.

“You wanna warm me up, Riri?”

You weren’t usually this forward. Heck, the only reason you were in this “indie, hip, 80’s” (their words not yours) inspired dive bar was because your workmates dragged you around the city like a tourist.

Well, you might as well be considering you didn't really go out much in the 2 years you had made it your home.

What you didn’t expect was to actually rope some character from Top Gun in a conversation, or for him to smile at you like that till you were visibly swooning.

He was … big. Sitting down he towered over you, protecting you from the blazing disco light behind him. He had shoulder-length hair you wanted to pull and a beard you wanted to ri –

“I don’t see you here often.”

“Well,” you cleared your throat, leaning your hands on your palms as you looked up at him. “I don't go out often.”

He pursed his lips as if holding back laughter. He opened his mouth to seemingly try to have another decent conversation but you were way ahead of him.

“Will you have sex with me, please?”

You saw his entire body tighten for a second before his expression turned dark, looking you up and down till you were squirming in your seat.

“You’re drunk.”

“And so are you,” you insisted, nearly stomping your heels on the ground in protest. “I also have an apartment nearby.”

He laughed. Taking his glass full of dark liquid before emptying it in one gulp. “Is this your game, sweetheart?”

You giggled up at him as if he said something silly but you hiccuped in surprise when he slammed the glass back on the wooden surface.

“Cause if he so,” he stood up and made you gasp as he rounded to your side of the table, eyes falling down to the unmistakable bulge on his pants that, due to his imposing height, fell perfectly on your line of sight as you looked up at him. 

You may have bitten more than you can chew. Or suck – depending on how this night goes.

“I’ll play.”

You could feel yourself going cross-eyed, your mouth hanging open and letting out pathetic short moans. Every time you feel your hips falling down from exhaustion his hands hooked right below it and pulled you right back into his punishing thrusts.

“So good, so good,” you moan, your limbs shaking when he lewdly licked and nibbled on your ear. Your voice was raspy from your dry throat as you doubt your lips were frozen in position as you did but nothing but moan on his cock for the past twenty minutes.

He seemed to have noticed your minute pain and had the perfect remedy – a firm thumb on your chin to angle your open mouth perfectly to spit on.

The act was so dirty and yet so lewd that your brain short-circuited whether you should be disgusted, embarrassed, or turned on. He decided for you – slipping his tongue into yours and having you suck on it, the taste of rich, deep alcohol and a hint of smoke and mint clouding more and more of your mind.

“Yeah?” he whispered, his damp hair falling over your face, as he pressed a kiss on the edge of your lips. “You liked getting fucked, baby? Hmm? Like it when shady men from dirty bars fuck you stupid?”

You nodded, sobbing from the overwhelming pleasure that had you feeling him deep in your guts.

“Gonna cum,” you cried. “Gonna cum, Riri!”

“Can't even get my fucking name right but you're already too willing to drool over my cock,” he grunted. Suddenly, he pulled you two upright, leaning on your headboard and forcing you to sit on his cock, and making you scream. 

Despite being on top he hooked your legs over his arms as he thrust up at you, his teeth now nipping on the crook of your neck as you lay your head over his shoulders. The lewd position made you feel too bare, you would've been embarassed if not for his cock bullying its way into your cervix and making you lose any coherent train of thought.

“Cumming! I’m cumming!” you screamed over what could only be the pounding on the wall from your neighbor. But the thought was quickly blacked out by euphoria as you finally came and squirt all over his lap, falling limply into his thrusts that only doubled in speed and intensity until he too growled in pleasure as he drowned you from the inside.

“Shit,” he muttered, kissing one last hickey on your neck before capturing your lips in a delirious kiss. “That pussy better be protected cause I’m not tryna be a daddy just yet.”

You were about to tell him that you were, in fact, taking birth controls but you could only yelp when he suddenly slapped the inside of your thighs. 

“Time to clean up, baby.”

Confused, you let him manhandle your body until you were kneeling in from his surprisingly hard cock. You gulped, eyes tracing over his drenched rod, “Y-You’re still hard.”

“And you can't leave me like that, can't you, sweetheart?” he cooed, hooking a stray hair behind your ears as you kissed up his length, the taste of him and you had your thighs rubbing against each other.

“N-No,” you pouted, finally reaching his tip, his thumb pressing on your chin to guide you down. “I want to take care of it.”

“Well,” he smirked, eyes now above your head as he stared at the mirror on the wall by your bed, perfectly framing your dripping heat. “Aren't you just the sweetest?”

The next morning you woke up in damp sheets and a card by the pillow.

See u at the bar. -Ari

“Oh,” you winced, hiding your burning face under your arms. “Ari.”

As much as you wanted to go back and drown in wild, hot sex with an equally hot and wild man you had gone out on a Sunday and had work the very next morning. Your legs had gotten so weak and jiggly from your encounter you doubt you would survive a consecutive night with that man.

You were lucky your head didn't burst from the amount of shrieking from your girlfriends when they had found out what happened and the amount of scolding from your manager when you were late for your shift.

“I can’t believe you fucked Ari Levinson! THE Ari Levinson! How’d you do it?” Wanda had moved her chair in front of your table and while Nat decided to stay in her own cubicle, you still had her full attention.

“I …” your entire body heat up when you finally recalled the moments before you had taken him home.

“Will you have sex with me, please?”

“I asked … nicely.”

The two of them looked at you incredulously. 

“You asked?! That’s it!?”

You opened your mouth to explain but your shyness finally overtook you so you just nodded.

The two of them seemed to wait for more explanation but realized you don't have one.

“Do you know how many women would kill you if you told them what you just told us?”

You shook your head.

“Unbelievable,” Natasha remarked, shaking her head and giggling to herself.

“Well,” Wanda continued, patting your shoulder. “I, for one, am very proud of you.”

You gave her a smile as she left with a thumbs up.

“I should ask Steve nicely if he’d let me peg him.”

“Natasha!”

[Two]

If someone asked you, you would say you probably lost your mind. What you know for sure is you don’t know what you were doing here.

What if he was being nice? What if that was just common courtesy among his one-night stands? What if he laughed at your face when you tell him you went here for him?

You could already feel yourself chicken out but before you could take one step forward or back a rough hand tapped on your shoulders.

“Miss?”

A guy that was twice your size and tattooed from his arms up to his face looked down at you.

“Y-Yes? I have my ID with me he –”

He held up a hand to stop you. “Mr.Levinson told me to let you in the back.”

Thank God, Wanda had been screaming in your ear about his full name that you managed to recognize it.

“A-Ari did?”

Instead of answering he just cocked his head and started walking, giving you no choice but to follow him. This entrance, albeit hidden and behind a roped door that had “Keep Out” written all over its length, was more clean and fancy.

On one side compromised a blank velvet wall and the other was littered with an array of doors that led into dimly-lit rooms. From what you could see it seemed to be private lounges for the VIPs.

“John? Who’s that?” a perky voice caught both your attention – it was a long-legged blonde woman that wore a gold mini dress that was basically tattoed on her perfect body. You couldn't help but feel underdressed in your skirt and sleeveless shirt.

“It’s Mr. Levinson’s guest,” he answered professionally though the beautiful woman raised a sharp eyebrow at the words. Her stare made you cower. 

“Huh,” she looked at you up and down then threw her perfectly straightened hair over her shoulders. “He must be fucking bored then.”

The words hurt but as she trotted away and through the door you went in from you could see John roll his eyes and sigh. She must be like that to everyone.

Using his palm, John guided you into another door where louder music was barely muffled.

“Here you are, miss,” he unhooked another fancy rope for you and gave you a smile. Audibly gulping, you steeled your will before going through the curtain where most of the noise was coming from.

You squinted, the bright moving red light blinding you for a split second – enough time for the dancing crowd to swallow you whole.

Your painful yelps and panicked breathing were drowned out by their cheers and screams, too drunk off the booze and loud song from the speakers to notice your panic attack was about to start.

Just as you were about to tip off the edge, a hand yanks you out of the ground and into a warm, sturdy chest.

“There you are, sweetheart.”

“Ari.”

He leaned in for a kiss, guiding your arms around his neck before he gave you a blinding smile and pushed off a drunkard away from you. He was effortlessly moving around the crowd with you protected behind him so he can put you in a booth on the second floor, overlooking the dancing crowd.

“I was just about to drag you out of your apartment if you had made me wait a day longer.”

“I-I was –” you were cut off when he sat down, placing you right in his lap as he leaned back on the fancy red sofa with his arm stretched out. “... I had work.”

“Ah,” he leaned in, closing in their proximity as he reached for a drink on the table behind you. “Jobs – forgot about that.”

He took a drink from his glass, making you swallow with him before you forcibly tore your eyes away from his adam’s apple. “Is this … your job then?”

“Kinda,” he answered, letting his eyes run on the club behind you. “I own it but I do serve drinks here when I’m bored.”

Your eyes widened. “You own it?”

That must have been why Wanda was losing her mind over you sleeping with him.

He shrugged like it was nothing. “Enough about this talk about work.”

You still found it difficult to process that you were sitting in the owner’s lap but you tried to shake yourself out of it. Why were you freaking out, if that woman’s word was true then you better than to expect anything serious about this and you were fine with that …. you think. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“About what’s a man gotta do to get a kiss?”

You pursed your lips trying not to smile as your heart followed the exploding beat of the music, the rough pads of his hand now running up your spine as he gently pushed you closer and closer to him. “Have you tried saying 'please'? Always worked for me.”

You were on the floor.

And you should be disgusted.

But the man with you seemed to have a magical power that separates your brain from your body and makes you think through your pussy as he pounded behind it.

“God this fucking ass,” you yelped when he smacked it, but despite the initial pain you still wiggled into his bruising thrusts desperately.

This time you didn’t have to worry about meeting your neighbor's eyes the next morning as Ari had brought you into his own apartment. Well, apartment is quite an understatement as he basically owned the entire floor. The view even from the floor where you were currently getting fucked within an inch of your life was still beautiful despite it getting hazy from your tears.

“Oh baby, don’t cry,” he cooed, though his sweet statement was contrasted with a harsh bite on your shoulders. As if grounding you as he cruelly doubled the speed of his thrusts until you were only screaming his name. “You look too pretty when you cry. And you know I can't control myself that well.”

His hand sneaked in the length of your body, teasing your stomach and then finally reaching your clit and applying enough pressure to help your each your peak. Any strength in your arms left as you squirted into his cock, giving him the perfect angle to fuck you stupid until he himself pulled out and came in your back.

The warm spunk dripped on the length of your back and the faint snap of the camera was something that should've alarmed you but you knew him enough to be quite possessive so you doubted it was something he would spread around. And honestly, you were too tired to care.

“Riri,” you sobbed but he shushed you, pushing a set of pillows on your stomach so you were in a more comfortable position. “‘M sensitive.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he hummed, and yet his hands gripped the globes of your ass and spread it out, baring your pounding core to him. “But I need just one more taste. Or two.”

When you woke up, Ari was surprisingly kind, gentle, and sweet – the exact opposite of the beast who basically chewed on your pussy until you passed out.

“What are you pouting about?” he asked as he pushed another sweet pastry on your mouth. When you had woken up he was already arranging the food he had gotten delivered from a cafe nearby and had the nerve to give you the charming smile that had you and your pussy enarly forgiving him on the spot.

“My …” you swallowed, glaring at the cocky expression on his face. “I’m sore.”

He hummed nonchalantly making you slap his chest, “Alright, no need to get violent! I promise i’ll be nicer next time.”

Next time?

“There’ll be a next time?”

He turned to you, confused at first but then he smirked. This time he stabbed the last piece of the pastry and fed it to you, swiping the excess cream on the edge of your lips and sucking it into his mouth.

“There’ll be a lot of next time, sweetheart.”

[Three]

“I’m just so confused!”

You were venting about your complicated and confusing relationship with Ari to Wanda and Nat.

He was sweet and caring and fucks you like an animal but … there was no label. And you were too scared to lose the one good thing you have going on in your desperation to have some stupid title.

“What if he is not a relationship guy? What if this was just for fun and I’m gonna end up looking stupid? I mean … ‘m okay with what we have right now but I just want to know where I officially stand and he’s just not …. fucking bored and looking for some regular pussy.”

Of all times, the sharp words of that night returned to you now.

“Well, it's not like he doesn't have a line of pussies waiting for him outside his bar so we can cross that reason out –”

“Wanda!” you shrieked, glaring at her as she smirked. “Not helping.”

She raised her hand in surrender. Nat was surprisingly quiet and when you turned to her she had a guilty look written all over her face.

“What?”

“I have a confession to make.”

You could feel your blood turn cold.

“Nat …”

“Listen, this will sound bad –”

“Natasha!”

“But, it’s killing me not to tell when you’re clearly going crazy over this!”

You playfully pretended to punch her so she will hurry up and tell you her big secret that so clearly includes you, “Alright, alright!”

“So,” she cleared her throat. “Ari may or may not have seen you on the back of my car when I was dropping off something at Steve's and he may or may not have bribed me that if I somehow dragged you into his club and get the two of you to meet then he would give me unlimited access to his bar for my entire life if it works.”

She spoke quickly but she wasn’t quick enough to not let her words sink in.

“What?!”

“What, I didn't know this!” Wanda protested with you.

“Listen! He said he was interested and I threatened him, The Godfather style, that I don’t want him playing games with you unless he was really sure and after the two of you first fu –”

You glared at her.

“--hung out, he immediately gave me the pass to the bar so I knew he liked you but it’s not like I can tell you that!”

“What that you sold me like a trading card?”

“Well … in my defense, it did work out! And now you're sure he actually likes you!”

You opened your mouth to make an argument but … she was right. Suddenly, your phone dinged in your pocket.

‘I’m picking you up.’

You couldn't help the small smile to grow on your face.

‘So bossy, i’ll get a cab there i’m in your accomplice’s apartment. Hope I was worth a lifetime’s worth of alcohol.’

Immediately, a reply went through.

‘Shit. I’ll explain at home.’

The word home made your insides flutter but before you could giggle like a schoolgirl you realized your two friends were currently looking at you in shock.

“Oh, this is bad.”

“Shut up! And you, you’re still on thin ice!”

“Come on!”

“Aah! Ari, right there, right there!”

You don't know what happened. You were sure you were gonna play up the card you had found and at least try to act coy for a bit. But before you knew it, you were already here, splayed out on Ari’s breakfast bar and getting eaten out like his last meal.

Ari grunted, gripping the hands on his hair until you let go. Your legs were hooked on his shoulders and when he suddenly stood up, you had no choice but to be half-hanging off of him as he bent you down and nearly split you open for his viewing pleasure.

“You drive me fucking insane, y’know that?”

“I -*hic* – I didn't do anything!” you whined, protesting from the lewd position he put you in.

“Oh, I’m not talking to you sweetheart,” he cooed, pressing a finger into your mouth so you could suckle on it in comfort. “I’m talking to this pretty pussy that got me fucking whipped.”

You moaned from his dirty words.

“Now,” you tried to scream when he suddenly slapped your center with his heavy hands, the force enough to make you squirt out, body nearly bending off the surface if he wasn't there to ground you back with his unmoving body that got wetter and wetter by the second.

He seemed pleased at your reaction.

“I believe my little sweetheart and her cute litte pussy deserve a better apology from me.”

“It wasn’t my intention to lie to you, y’know”

If you were being honest you really weren't mad anymore. It’s not like they made a fool out of you for a tasteless prank. But it was still better to get things straightened out.

He was laying on your stomach, his fingers tracing invisible paths on your body as you played with his hair.

“It’s just … I have a reputation,” you didn't even try to deny it. If you had known who he was at the beginning you doubt you wouldn’t have given him a chance. It was based on pure luck of you being drunk enough to be brave and him approaching you at the right time that had you where you are now. “And, you were so shy and jumpy that I knew better than to use the same old lines and charm on you like I usually do.”

“Aww,” you cooed, gripping his long hair gently to make you look up at him. “You had a crush on me.”

“Shut up, I still remember you passing out from –”

“Alright! I’m sensitive, okay?!” you tried to defend yourself but you only fell into fits of laughter when he pressed harsh kisses on your stomach, his beard rubbing it raw until he was now hovering over you.

Sometimes you forget just how easily you get to disappear in his arms.

“So you like me?” you asked coyly, hands rubbing up the coarse hair on his chest, but he quickly nudged your nose with his  so you looked him in the eyes.

“I like you. A lot,” you could tell he was a bit uncomfortable, not used to being open and raw like this. But you were thankful. “Think you’d wanna be my girl?”

“Hmm,” you pretended about it but you were already laughing with him as he pressed gentle kisses all over your face as if to convince you.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

- 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."

Okay buuuuuut can we get that aphrodisiac with Nathan Bateman please 🥺 for science 👀😤

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Minors interacting with this work WILL be blocked.

Notes: From this post

Not beta-read

Length: 3.5K

Warnings: Nathan Bateman's middle name is Hamlet. It's canon. I can't help it, I didn't write the movie. Explicit content - accidental aphrodisiac consumption; praise kink; fingering; breast play; cum play

It's an experiment. It's got nothing to do with the company—well, not really. Blue Book surely isn't about to branch out into Health and Wellness, no matter how much of a fucking money-sucking racket it is.

Nathan doesn't tell you about it. You'd ask too many questions; you'd probably make fun of his childhood obsession, his love of Star Trek: The Original Series—particularly the This Side of Paradise episode.

So Nathan Bateman is concocting an edible aphrodisiac for fun. So what? It's healthy for a guy to have hobbies.

He's never tested them on anyone but himself. You're the only other person at the facility, and without a proper digestion system, he's no way to test it on Kyoko. The last attempt had Nathan certain he was on the verge of success. He'd felt a few stirrings, but without additional stimulation, it had done little.

That hadn't stopped him from getting off, of course.

The cumulative test results have been fairly inconclusive so far. The concoction has gone from a formulated to drops, which were incredibly bitter, into fruit gummies. They mask the taste well enough, but this last attempt still wasn't strong enough. His newest, formulation has tripled the dose, but he has yet to test its effectiveness.

--

"C'mere," You order.

"Busy."

"Nathan Hamlet Bateman, you will get up and walk over here right goddamn now. I have releases for you to sign and I'm at the end of my fucking rope."

Nathan thinks, for a moment, that he wishes he could bottle your attitude and find a way to incorporate it into the gummies. He glances at you over his shoulder, arching a brow when he sees you holding out a tablet. He makes a point of heaving a sigh, pushing himself away from his desk and strolling over to you. He has to fight back a grin as you shift from foot to foot, still holding the tablet out to him.

You're so cute when you're so annoyed.

Nathan takes the tablet from you, eyes skimming the contents and scrolling lazily.

"How's it going down here?" You ask. He lets out a non-committal grunt before signing.

"Done," He says. He holds the tablet out to you, and arches a brow when you don't take it.

"You signed all four?"

Nathan huffs, moving on to the next one.

"Can you learn to forge my signature? It would make this much faster," He grumbles, skimming through the next one. You don't answer; you're already wandering away from him.

"Can I have one?" He hears you ask. And Nathan's got snacks in a few places in his main office—walnuts, crunch bars, Nilla wafers—he doesn't even bother to ask what you're eating. He just grunts in the affirmative as he signs the second release.

"These are kinda bitter, Bateman."

Bitter?

"The hell are you eating?" Nathan asks, moving on to the third release.

"These fruit gummies," You say.

Nathan keeps scrolling, and scrolling, then—stops. Your words play through his ears again, all three spoken through thick, moist chewing sounds.

Nathan lifts his head, turning to look at you as you cram a handful of fruit gummies into your mouth. Nathan drops the tablet, ignoring the clatter of it hitting the floor as he rushes for a trashcan. Before you can ask what's wrong, he's holding it out to you, ordering, "Spit them out!" Like he's scolding a bad puppy. You do as you're told, the lot of them plopping into the trash. Nathan peers into the bin, eyeing the slick glob. He can make out a few bite marks; most of them have significant chucks taken out of them.

Oh...No.

--

"What the hell?" You mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Since when are you so territorial with your snacks?"

"How many did you eat?"

"What?"

"How many did you eat?" He repeats slowly, eyes boring into yours, "Before these, how many did—"

"I don't know—"

"Think!"

"Shit, five, maybe six?"

You watch as Nathan lowers the bin to the floor, taking a few steps away from it.

"Why, what is it?" You ask, looking down at the bowl of innocuous gummies, "What's wrong? Am I gonna die? Oh my god, I'm gonna die—"

"Calm down," Nathan orders, but it's a harsh order. "You're not going to die, you're just gonna..." He trails off, features scrunching.

"What, I'm just gonna what?"

Nathan clears his throat, glancing between the bin, the bowl of gummies, and you.

"If they work, you're gonna get...Really, really horny."

You stare dumbly at Nathan for a moment before you manage, "Bullshit."

"It isn't."

"What the fuck, Bateman!" You screech, "Why the fuck wouldn't you label these 'jerk-off gummies' or—or—'fuck-me-fruit-snacks'?"

"Because I hadn't worked the branding out yet."

"This isn't a joke!"

"You're the one saying fuck-me-fruit-snacks."

"What's happening to me?" You ask shakily, leaning back against the table. Your skin begins to prickle with heat; your head starts to spin. "I'm getting really hot and really dizzy."

"I doubt it's the gummies."

"How can you know that?"

"Because I have you allergies on file and none of your allergens are in there. You're just freaking out," Nathan explains boredly.

"I have every right!"

"I know that."

"...Okay...Okay. Have you finished signing the release forms?"

"Why is that your next question?" Nathan asks, brows raised amusedly.

"Because I need you to sign them and I wanna get out of here!"

"What do you mean, get out of here? I need to keep an eye on you."

You glare at Nathan irritatedly, lips twisting with a frown.

"For what."

"I've only ever tested those on myself, and I haven't tested the latest dosage. I need to see how it effects you."

"...Right," You mutter. "Can't I just write you a report and send it in in the morning?"

"Absolutely not. Besides, if you're dizzy now, that could get worse. I need to monitor your symptoms."

"And if I refuse?"

"I won't sign that last release."

Nathan gives you a shit-eating grin as you squeeze your eyes shut.

"You know," You sigh, "Sometimes, I really hate working with you."

"Pull up a chair, relax," He counsels, "And don't eat any more of those."

"Thanks for that note. Asshole."

You sit on the futon behind Nathan's office chair. Your heart is still pounding in your chest, but it's beginning to slow just a bit. Your skin feels just as hot; it's as if it's prickling, but you're not sure if it's the gummies, your worry, or the irritation of the overall situation.

"Would you stop doing that?" You grumble as you see Nathan twist to look at youu.

"Talk to me," Nathan urges.

"Oh, I do not think you wanna hear what I have to say right now."

"Do you feel any different?"

"No."

Nathan hums, turning back to his computer and typing something.

"What are you working on?"

"Just taking notes."

"On?"

"You."

"Oh, for fuckssake."

"Look," Nathan turns around in his seat. "I formulated those for me. There are differences in our make up—our body types, our metabolism, our chemistry. They might effect you differently."

"Well why don't you eat a few and find out?"

"And have us both effected?"

"Yeah. You can handle it in your own time."

"Aw, honey," Nathan chuckles. "If I'm horny and you're horny, who's gonna fly the plane?"

"And with that comment, my avarice grows."

"Still coherent enough to use a word like avarice," Nathan turns, typing rapidly; you can only guess that he's writing it out to annoy you.

"While you're at your computer, could you uh—do me a favor, look up personal assistant vacancies?" You ply.

"Whereabouts?"

"Meta, Alphabet, Tesla—"

"First of all, you hate Elon—"

"I could work past it."

"Second of all, the recommendation you'd get from me? You're not going anywhere."

"You sadistic bastard."

"Does that do it for you?"

"What, turn me on? No."

"What does?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Alright," Nathan shrugs, turning away from you again. "Just lie back and think horny thoughts. I'll set the timer for an hour."

--

After the first hour, you think that you might get out of it—that you might get away with getting out of there.

But then the little tingling feeling starts. You know it well—you've felt it before—when you've gone home with someone, when you've felt the anticipation of trying out a new vibrator.

You start fighting the urge to squirm. Nathan's been twisting around to eye you this entire time. He hasn't turned to look at you in a few minutes, but you're sure he will soon. You give yourself a moment, eyeing the back of his head nervously, and then you give in just a little, squeezing your thighs together to try and quell some of the growing ache. Not only does it not work, but Nathan asks, "How are you doing back there?" As if the bastard has eyes in the back of his head.

Well. You wouldn't put it past him, all things considered.

"Fine," You say. And you think that you've done so softly enough, calmly enough, but Nathan whirls around. His eyes narrow minutely, eyes sweeping your form and zeroing in on your thighs. You realize that they're still squeezed together, and you force them to relax. But that one sign has already been enough. He turns, typing something rapidly.

"Delete that," You order.

"What."

"Whatever it is you just wrote!...What the hell did you write?"

"That it's starting to take effect. I'm marking the time."

"Shut up, no it's not."

"Honey," Nathan sighs, "Do me a favor—make it easy on both of us. The sooner you tell me what the hell's going on, the sooner we get out of here."

He has a point.

"So?" He plies.

"I'm horny," You deadpan.

"Great. Symptoms, sensations?"

"...I'm horny."

"I'm gonna need you to get a little more explicit than that."

You groan, tipping your head back. "How do you usually describe it?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"I keep a video diary." Nathan turns toward you with a sly grin pulling his lips. "Wanna see? It may help you."

You feel your skin prickling with embarrassed heat.

"No," You mutter stiffly. "Thank you."

"So?" Nathan plies. He turns back to his computer, hands poised over the keys.

"So my...Vagina is...Experiencing a...Tingling sensation?"

"I said explicit, sweetheart, not clinical."

"I don't want a scientific account to read like a penthouse letter."

"That makes one of us."

You groan, tipping your head back and stomping your feet a touch on the futon. The action sends your thighs pressed back together again; it makes you tingle just a little.

"Talk to me," Nathan urges.

"I feel hot, like my skin feels—" You swallow thickly, pushing yourself to sit up and peel off your sweater, leaving your tank top on. "The air is like...Too close? Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Nathan nods. "What else?"

"I'm still kind of...Dizzy isn't the right word, I mean, I feel sort of floaty."

"Okay. Like getting the spins when you're drunk?"

"Like right before that."

Every query and response prompts hammer-like typing from Nathan's side of the room.

"Any other notable sensations?" He plies.

"Like what?"

"Elevated heart rate, sensitivity?"

"...Yes, both."

"Sensitivity where?"

"In the nipple...Area."

"The nipple area," Nathan repeats, amused.

"Shut up."

"Feel free to relieve yourself."

"Relieve myself? You make it sound like I'm gonna piss."

"Whatever does it for you."

"Shut up, oh my god, I knew you were gonna say that, shut up."

Nathan's shoulders shake with a slight chuckle.

"I just mean, you know. Go right ahead."

"Go right ahead and what?"

"And do whatever you need to do."

"With you in the room?"

"Yeah."

"No thank you."

"Alright," Nathan shrugs, "But the effects could last between six and eight hours."

"What?!"

"Uh-huh."

"Tell you what," You hedge nervously. "You sign that release...That'd be really sexy."

"Nice try."

"Damnit."

--

"...How you holdin' out back there, pretty girl?"

You lift your head curiously, brow furrowing.

"Did you just call me pretty girl?" You ask. "Am I a fucking parrot?"

"I've noticed in the past that you respond fairly favorably to praise. So?"

Your skin prickles with embarrassment as you grumble, "Not that."

"Alright, not pretty girl. What does it for you?" Nathan turns fully to face you.

"Not being stared down is pretty high up there on the list."

"I'm not staring."

"Yes you are."

"I'm appreciating."

"Appreciating what?"

"The fact that you didn't put a bra on this morning."

You glance down, eyeing where your nipples are hard in your tank. You huff irritatedly, throwing your arm over your chest.

"Dickhead," You mumble.

"They look nice."

"This is not good sexy chat, Hamlet."

"Don't call me that."

"Don't stare at my nipples!"

"Fine, I won't stare." The promise is a relief, but chased with a proposition: "How about suck?"

You loose an involuntary moan at the suggestion, and then feel mortified. It's made worse by the pause, then rapid typing.

"I really do loathe you," You mumble.

"Tell you what," Nathan comments, "Sooner you sort yourself out, sooner the effects will wear off."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean...Maybe."

"Your arguments suck."

"Just play with your pussy, honey."

Your breath is punched out of you in shock as your cunt throbs at the suggestion. When Nathan offers a sly glance over his shoulder, you mutter, "Shut up."

"What about this is working for you?" He asks after a moment. "The teasing, the sound of my voice, what is it?"

"I can tell you that the teasing is not doing it for me right now."

"My voice, then? Interesting."

You whimper, squeezing your thighs together and squirming a touch. You vaguely note Nathan standing, and the nearing of footsteps as he crosses the floor. Then you feel the heat of him beside you, his arm brushing yours. You feel his breath against your cheek, and then he murmurs, "How long are you gonna keep torturing yourself, huh?"

You suck in a sharp breath, squeezing your eyes shut to try and shut Nathan out of your mind.

"S'okay," He coos, sliding his hand along your thigh. "Relax. Take a few deep breaths."

"Thanks for that hot tip, Bateman."

"...Alright, we've got two options here."

"Okay."

"Either I stay in here and watch you now, or..."

"Or?"

"Or I leave the room, you take care of it, and I watch the tape back later."

You're not sure which prospect is more mortifying: your boss watching you get off in front of him, or him watching you later on his own. You hesitate, weighing your options. Then you reach down, resting you hand atop Nathan's.

"You sure?" He plies.

"Uh-huh."

"Alright."

You let go of his hand as he leans back just a touch.

"Pretend I'm not here," Nathan adds.

"Oh, please," You laugh. You feel more than hear Nathan huff out a soft chuckle.

"You're right, sorry," Nathan comments. Then—"You obviously like knowing that I'm here."

You don't argue or reply, you just take in a deep breath and trying to relax back into the futon.

"Is that all of the equation or just part of it?" He plies.

"Part," You mumble. "The rest is the result of your fucking gummies, you—shithead."

Nathan chuckles, pressing his hand into your thigh. You tip your leg into the touch.

"I could do more," Nathan offers, "If you'd like me to."

You hesitate before you reach down with both hands. One lifts your shirt; the other draws his hand up and under it, resting it just over one of your breasts. Nathan lets out an interested little hum before he slides his hand over. Then he dips his head, sucking one of your erect nipples through your shirt.

"Shit," You breathe, arching your back up into his touch. You squeeze your thighs together, hips rolling at the pressure as your pussy pulses. Nathan hums against you. You feel him alternating and trying to work you out—how you react to him tugging your nipple with his fingers and teeth, then just one or the other; if you squirm when he gives your breast a squeeze or a suck, then a squeeze and a suck. But you couldn't care about the combination of stimuli just now. You just want to cum.

You slide your hand down, slipping it between your thighs, under your pants and underwear. Your cunt is slick and sticky beneath your fingers. You sigh deeply, tipping your head back and letting your eyes slide closed as you begin to swirl your fingers over your lips and along your clit.

"What are you doing?" Nathan lifts his head just long enough to ask.

"I'm to-ouching myself," You admit, breath hiccuping.

"How."

"Just—touching, Nathan, I don't know."

"Lips?"

"Yes."

"Clit?"

"Yes."

"Fingering?"

"No," You laugh shakily. Nathan lets out a thoughtful hum before he lowers his head to your breast again.

"Why not?" He murmurs.

"I just got down there!"

Nathan actually chuckles, lifting his head to catch your eye.

"Your pupils are dilated," He comments. You just grunt in turn, shifting your hips down against your hand. You feel trapped int he way Nathan is watching you; you couldn't look away if you wanted to. And, most horrifying of all—you're not sure you want to. Your tongue swipes out to wet your drying lips, and Nathan's eyes lower and linger on them.

"...Yours are, too," You accuse after a moment.

"Hm?"

"Your pupils," You clarify. "They're dilated."

You let your head rest back against the futon as your eyes sweep Nathan's face.

"Is this turning you on?" You find it in yourself to tease.

"Yes," Nathan answers earnestly, and when he takes in the stunned look on your face, he chuckles, "Of course. I'd have to be made of stone to not find this hot."

"I wouldn't put it past you."

"What? Being made of stone?"

"Uh-huh."

"How are you this turned on and still this mean?" Nathan reaches down, sliding his hand over the outside of your pants.

"How about now?" He presses. "Out? In?"

You slide your hand from your pants, gripping Nathan's wrist and drawing his hand down against you, under your layers. You see him swallow thickly as you do so, and you're not sure if it's the potential of being a critical stimuli, or how pruney and sticky your fingers feel.

Nathan's thick fingers smooth over your pussy lips. You shiver, letting your head fall back against the futon. The roll of your hips against the heat of his hand is slow and leisurely. Nathan takes it in stride, fingertip slicking over your clit before he teases it lower.

"Yeah," You urge breathlessly, hips shifting a little more harshly. Nathan presses his face into your neck before he begins to suck warm, slick kisses to your neck.

"In," You mumble.

"Mm?"

"In."

Nathan doesn't hesitate to press a finger into your pussy, swiping at your clit still with his palm. The pressure is upped by the confines of your pants. This was a bad idea—you should've taken your pants off. You're so heated up now, but you don't want the pressure—the kisses, the grind—to stop. Nathan slips another finger into you, scissoring and curling his fingers until you're whimpering and arching up off of the futon.

"You gonna cum?" Nathan asks, though by his tone, you're certain that he already knows. You nod hurriedly, curling your fingers around his wrist for leverage and grinding down against him. You're just on the edge—you're nearly there. The sensation is building, and building—

You gasp sharply as Nathan lowers his head, sucking your nipple between his lips and giving it a tug with his teeth. You wail as you cum, hips bounding into his hand as your cunt squeezes around his fingers.

"Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," You gasp, head lifting and falling against the futon. You huff, relaxing a touch as you slouch back down. You draw a deep breath in through your nose, blinking blearily up at the ceiling.

Nathan's fingers stay tucked in your pussy as you clench and spasm around them.

"...Would you say that was faster than your usual session or slower?"

"...Faster," You answer grudgingly.

"More intense?"

"About the same..If you get up and take notes right now, I swear to god," You mumble. Nathan smiles, removing his fingers. He smears them over where your shirt is ruched up before he raises them to his lips. His tongue darts up to taste them, and before you can protest, he sucks them between his lips.

You watch, stunned, as he dips his tongue between his fingers, letting out a thoughtful hum.

"...What the actual fuck, Nathan."

"I'll write it down when you're not here."

"How kind of you."

Nathan grunts, glancing at his wristwatch. "Two hours down, four to six to go."

"Please just sign the release."

@mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @jedi-mando ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @bb-skyrunner ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @aellynera ; @writefightandflightclub ; @thedukeofcaladan ; @beepboopyoda ; @foxilayde

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.

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.”

Don’t Treat My Love Like a Habit Masterlist

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader Rating: Mature (this may change) Warnings: Cursing; mentions of sexual situations Notes: Set before the movie. Not beta-read. Reina is Spanish for Queen. Song title from The One That You Love by LP Summary: You’d been working with Santiago in Colombia for nearly two years. You’d worked in intelligence while Pope was both in Delta Force; you’d crossed paths more than once, as you’d usually worked on the briefings that the team received. Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen Part Sixteen Part Seventeen Part Eighteen Part Nineteen Part Twenty

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. 

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

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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