My You-niverse: Blue Jones

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that’s exactly where you find yourself now

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in the Water

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count 859

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, sex in a lake, skinny dipping, PLEASE SKIP THIS ONE IS YOU ARE UNDER 18

Request: Can we maybe get some Poe Dameron and pool sex? Or beach sex, or lake sex, just anything in water really. :3 from anonymous

A/N: First smut on this blog whoohoo

The cool sensation of the water made (Y/N)’s toes curl as she plopped down on the grass beside the lake, dipping her feet into the water.

“Looks like I picked the right spot,” Poe said with a smirk.

He sat beside her, his heart swelling with affection as she brought her head to lean on his shoulder with a content sigh.

“Couldn't imagine spending our break any other way.” (Y/N) replied, kicking her feet a bit. Poe smiled, pressing a kiss to her hair.

He looked down at the lake before him. The water was almost completely clear, the bottom shifting in and out of visibility. “Let's hop in.”

(Y/N) looked over at him, her eyebrows raised slightly. “I don't think it'd be the best idea to show up back at base with our clothes sopping wet.”

Poe thought for a moment, his brows furrowing together before a wide smile appeared on his face.

He shot up from his spot beside her, the water splashing up as his feet left it. Poe shed off his jacket, letting it fall in a patch of grass followed by his undershirt.

“Poe Dameron, I know you are not doing what I think you're doing.” (Y/N) said, her eyes running over his toned figure.

He winked at her as he unbuckled his belt, tossing it who knows where before letting his pants fall to the ground.

Poe shed his underwear, laughing as (Y/N) jokingly covered her eyes. “Nothing you haven't seen before, beautiful.”

She shielded her face as he jumped into the lake, splashing water in her direction.

“Come on gorgeous, the waters’ just right,” Poe said, holding his arms out in her direction.

(Y/N) sighed dramatically, removing her clothes and placing them in a neat pile beside his.

Poe watched as she made her way toward the lake, biting down on his lip as she sat on the edge. “How’d I get myself a girl like you?”

He swam toward her and settled between her legs, resting his hands on her thighs.

“I don't know. How do you think?” She said, running a hand through his now damp curls.

Poe smirked, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into the water. She shivered at the sudden coolness on her bare skin.

He pulled them backward, the water trying to resist his motions. (Y/N) let her legs float up to wrap around his waist, feeling his erection touch against her skin.

The water sloshed around them as he moved his hands to cup her ass, squeezing tightly before attaching his lips to hers.

The wet movement of their lips against each other and the loud slosh of the lake water whenever he pulled her closer filled the air.

Poe pulled away with a wet smack, smirking at her before moving to press his lips to her breast, kissing the skin just above her nipple before wrapping his lips around it.

(Y/N) tightened her grip on his hair, whimpering as he tugged gently with his teeth. The water sloshed wildly as she attempted to grind against his solid cock.

Feeling satisfied with his attention to her breasts, Poe rested his forehead against hers. He let the water help him hold her up as he guided his cock toward her entrance, teasing it before pushing the tip in at her desperate whimpers.

(Y/N) gasped as she sunk into the water, his cock filling her. Poe pressed his lips to her neck, his hands on her ass guiding her up and down on his throbbing cock.

He moaned loudly, muttering a low shit as she began to bob up and down quicker, the water splashing against their backs at the harsh movement.

She threw her head back as he hit that special spot inside her, her mouth widening to a O shape as he continued to ram into it.

Her walls tightened around him as she came, burying her face in his neck as she reveled in the sensations in and around her. Her walls clenching around his still moving cock, the water sloshing against her back, splashes that left droplets on her chest.

Poe pressed his lips to any exposed skin he could reach, biting down as he emptied himself inside her, tasting the droplets of lake water and sweat n her skin.

After a moment of rest, he pulled out of her, lifting her out of the water bridal style. “I really like this lake. Nature is so beautiful.”

“Oh yeah, you were really admiring nature. That's what you were focused on. ” (Y/N) said, rolling her eyes.

Poe dunked her head in the water, laughing as she rubbed the water from her face as he pulled her back up.

He pressed a kiss on her damp lips, placing her down on the grass to redress.

“Ya know, you should really dry your hair. You could catch a cold.” Poe joked as (Y/N) handed him his jacket.

She swatted his shoulder, the annoyance on her face dissolving as he tossed his arm over her shoulder to walk them back to base.

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

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.”

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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𝑺𝒆𝒙 𝒐𝒏 𝑳𝒆𝒈𝒔

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — boyfriends dad!andy barber x fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Andy and you fuck and almost get caught

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — SMUT, slight breeding kink, p in v, unprotected sex (well readers on the pill), you fucking use protection in real life

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — please I hate this, I wanted to make a hot boyfriends dad!Andy fic where i cab make more parts and add characters and they have a gangbang and now look what came the fuck out. like, reblog and comment if you like!

A hand was clamped over your mouth to keep your moans from escaping as his hips thrusted inside you. Moving your body and causing that desk under you to shake.

Light creaks could be heard from the maple wood. The sound made you feel anxious that your boyfriend could hear the sins you did with his father. As if Andy could feel what went through your body his hand let go of your mouth and grazed your cheek.

"shh darling, don't worry he won't hear a thing. He's too busy playing that video game," his words were meant to smooth you.

However, knowing how Jake played his video game. First it all went normal, then he shouted into the headset, then got angry and then threw the headset on the ground.

In one of the last moments he could hear you.

"Andy what if he's searching for me after ending the game? What if he lost, got angry, stopped and put the headset away?"

"Darling I'm balls deep in you and while I enjoy the thought of getting caught, I'd appreciate if you stop talking about my son." your cheeks heated up and you were about to apologise when Andy thrusted full force inside you.

A high pitched moan flied your mouth, but in the last second Andy stuffed his fingers into your mouth.

"Just can't keep quite can you little girl?" Andy murmured against your ear. He loved the noises you made but it was dangerous when his son was in the house.

His hand pressed sharp circles on your clit. You could burning pleasure flood the pit of your lower stomache.

Andy felt you tighten your walls around his cock, he retrieved his fingers from your mouth. "you're gonna cum baby? Cum for your daddy like he asked you."

The wave of pleasure consumed you, stars forming in front of your eyes. Andy always had a way with words.

"Now, baby...mouth or pussy?" Andy asked as he slowed his movements, "pussy please...." With a smirk Andy picked up his movements. Knowing it was wrong to get off on the thought of seeing your round and swollen with his baby he couldn't help himself.

With a held back grunt Andy released his white seed inside you. "going to look so beautiful round and swollen with my baby."

"Yes, please fuck a baby into me daddy." You were going to kill him someday with this filthy mouth.

Andy came to a stop, his hands rested on either side next to your head. Supporting his weight above you, his lips capturing yours in bruising kiss. Your hands cradled his face keeping him close. His tongue darted between your lips, your tongues fought over dominance. You knew Andy would always win, he made you weak in so many ways.

A knock interrupted the intimate moment followed by Jake's voice cutting through. "Dad? Have you seen y/n, she said she would go to the kitchen but I checked there and she wasn't in."

You let go of Andy, eyes growing wide. The feeling of pleasure left and was replaced with panic.

"She went out to buy a few grocery, should be back soon!" Jake accepted Andy’s answer and went back to his video game.

Andy turned his face to you, instantly he wrapped his arms around you to help you calm down. "He almost caught us! Oh my god, how can you be so calm Andy?" You went to get of the desk but realised Andy’s dick was still in your cunt.

Without hesitation he pulled out knowing it would be better and help calming your nerves.

"Hey, hey its okay. Jake thinks you're not here...we're gonna take a bath now and then I will make up a lie about going to a friend while we're actually getting groceries!"

You looked at him, asking yourself if he was serious. This could have all been avoided. Yes you shouldn't have gotten involved with your boyfriend's dad but that man was sex on legs.

even without a beard

You really enjoy watching Steven shave.

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research), however Jake and Marc aren’t actually present, just mentioned. Use of a razor (for shaving). Word count: 545 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

I can't explain to you how feral this gif makes me feel.

It was a sight to behold, really. You don’t know what it was, but the sight of Steven with half his jaw covered in shaving cream as he meticulously shaved did something for you. Maybe it was the fact that he does it shirtless, or maybe it was the way his hands moved. Yeah, it has something to do with the hands. Or his jaw. It was something.

Steven, and by default Marc and Jake, were prone to growing facial hair very quickly, meaning whoever was fronting would have to keep on top of it (Jake had fought tooth and nail to let them grow a beard, but both Marc and Steven refused). Jake had sulked for days about it.

“Take a picture, love, it’ll last longer.”

You giggle…actually giggle, before you grab your phone and do just exactly what he tells you to. Steven gives you a quick, amused look before he turns back to his bathroom mirror, where he tilted his head to the right to get to that difficult spot by his ear.

He was so beautiful. The world didn’t deserve the likes of Steven Grant. So kind, and considerate, and downright good looking. You sighed at him before standing from the bed and making your way into the bathroom. Steven took a step to his left to make some room for you as you stood next to him, watching him continue shaving in the mirror. You tilted your head at him as he caught your eye. “Why don’t you keep the beard?”

“Why, do I look better with it?”

You shook your head. “You look good either way, I was just wondering.”

Steven chuckled, rinsing the razor in the sink, half filled with water, now a little murky from the shaving cream. He was nearly finished, unfortunately. Now you’d have to wait a few more days to see this magnificent sight again. “I just don’t like how it feels on me. It’s itchy and food gets stuck in there.”

You merely hummed in reply, turning slightly to face him and leaning against the sink. You lift your hand to run through Steven’s unruly curls, his eyes nearly rolling in the back of his head as you did. “I like when you shave.”

Steven laughed, shaking his head as you removed your hand from his hair. “What a weird kink to have.” He grabs a towel, ready to clean his face up.

You swat him playfully on the shoulder as Steven pulled the plug to let the water go, setting his razor on it’s place on the shelf under the mirror. You stick your tongue out at him. “Don’t kink shame me! You’re the one tempting me, being shirtless and shaving!”

“If you want me to grow a beard, I will grow a beard.” Steven wipes the towel around his jaw.

“Bet Jake would love that.”

Steven huffed a laugh through his nose before grabbing your waist and pulling you to him. You squeal as he nuzzles his face into your neck, rubbing the remaining shaving cream onto your skin. His hold tightens on you as he looked back up at you, a cheeky grin on his face. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you too. Even without a beard.“

“Charming.”

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

CH. 1 CH. 2

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

Word Count: 3.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Replace the spark plugs?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eggs.” You nearly whisper.

“Eggs?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope you like crasins… and walnuts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, roster, don’t remind me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been reading up about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have a book?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, I shouln’t—“

“I’ve been meaning to—“

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

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

“I did.”

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

Santi scratches his smooth jaw and licks his lips deliberately. 

“I guess I’ll be.. I wan’t to be…”

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

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

“Okay.”

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

“I don’t know.”

“At all?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

“No. I live right next door.”

You smile at him. “Thanks, Santi.”

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

“You shit!”

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

“What are your plans for today, officer.”

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

“Oh my god, thats perfect!”

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

“Are you taking your truck?”

“Uhhh, yeah?”

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

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

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

“Thought you said it was ‘little’?”

“Uhhh…. Comparatively.”

“Compared to what?”

“Compared to my car.”

“Vin…”

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

“Bingo.”

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

“Uh huh.”

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

“My what??” 

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

“My drill, you mean?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

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

“And the osmosis filter?”

“What about it?”

“Is it an internal or external component?”

“Uhhh? Elaborate?”

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

“Oh! Under.”

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

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

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

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

“Really? Did she install it herself?”

“No. She hired someone.”

“You’re insane.”

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

“Fine.” 

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

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

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

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

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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."

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