Latest Posts by lilith-safarina - Page 2

Be Changed; Be Undone Masterlist

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

What’s My Responsibility?

Now Get to Work

It’s So Easy

Feeling Anger Swell

Be Undone The Flood The Fire

The Oil Spill

Undone Undone (II)

Just to Be

Under House Arrest Don My Mask

Be Changed

Be Brave

I Am

Beaded Dress

Changed

Dear One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that’s exactly where you find yourself now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes: From this post

Not beta-read

Length: 3.5K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

"C'mere," You order.

"Busy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You signed all four?"

Nathan huffs, moving on to the next one.

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

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

"These are kinda bitter, Bateman."

Bitter?

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

"These fruit gummies," You say.

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

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

Oh...No.

--

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

"How many did you eat?"

"What?"

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

"I don't know—"

"Think!"

"Shit, five, maybe six?"

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

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

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

"What, I'm just gonna what?"

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

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

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

"It isn't."

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

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

"This isn't a joke!"

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

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

"I doubt it's the gummies."

"How can you know that?"

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

"I have every right!"

"I know that."

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

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

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

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

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

"For what."

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

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

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

"And if I refuse?"

"I won't sign that last release."

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

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

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

"Thanks for that note. Asshole."

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

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

"Talk to me," Nathan urges.

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

"Do you feel any different?"

"No."

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

"What are you working on?"

"Just taking notes."

"On?"

"You."

"Oh, for fuckssake."

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

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

"And have us both effected?"

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

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

"And with that comment, my avarice grows."

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

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

"Whereabouts?"

"Meta, Alphabet, Tesla—"

"First of all, you hate Elon—"

"I could work past it."

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

"You sadistic bastard."

"Does that do it for you?"

"What, turn me on? No."

"What does?"

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

"Delete that," You order.

"What."

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

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

"Shut up, no it's not."

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

He has a point.

"So?" He plies.

"I'm horny," You deadpan.

"Great. Symptoms, sensations?"

"...I'm horny."

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

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

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

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

You feel your skin prickling with embarrassed heat.

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

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

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

"I said explicit, sweetheart, not clinical."

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

"That makes one of us."

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

"Talk to me," Nathan urges.

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

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

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

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

"Like right before that."

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

"Any other notable sensations?" He plies.

"Like what?"

"Elevated heart rate, sensitivity?"

"...Yes, both."

"Sensitivity where?"

"In the nipple...Area."

"The nipple area," Nathan repeats, amused.

"Shut up."

"Feel free to relieve yourself."

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

"Whatever does it for you."

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

Nathan's shoulders shake with a slight chuckle.

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

"Go right ahead and what?"

"And do whatever you need to do."

"With you in the room?"

"Yeah."

"No thank you."

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

"What?!"

"Uh-huh."

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

"Nice try."

"Damnit."

--

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

You lift your head curiously, brow furrowing.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not staring."

"Yes you are."

"I'm appreciating."

"Appreciating what?"

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

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

"Dickhead," You mumble.

"They look nice."

"This is not good sexy chat, Hamlet."

"Don't call me that."

"Don't stare at my nipples!"

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

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

"I really do loathe you," You mumble.

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

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean...Maybe."

"Your arguments suck."

"Just play with your pussy, honey."

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

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

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

"My voice, then? Interesting."

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

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

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

"Thanks for that hot tip, Bateman."

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

"Okay."

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

"Or?"

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

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

"You sure?" He plies.

"Uh-huh."

"Alright."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How."

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

"Lips?"

"Yes."

"Clit?"

"Yes."

"Fingering?"

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

"Why not?" He murmurs.

"I just got down there!"

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

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

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

"Hm?"

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

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

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

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

"I wouldn't put it past you."

"What? Being made of stone?"

"Uh-huh."

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

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

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

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

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

"In," You mumble.

"Mm?"

"In."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...Faster," You answer grudgingly.

"More intense?"

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

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

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

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

"How kind of you."

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

"Please just sign the release."

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

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

Aleksander Morozova x Sun Summoner!reader x Malyen Oretsev

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

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

PLAYLIST

STATUS: complete

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

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

spring/summer

Chapter I 

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI 

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

autumn/winter

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI 

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII 

Chapter XIX 

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

endings and mendings 

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXIX 

Chapter XXX 

Be Changed; Be Undone Masterlist

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

What’s My Responsibility?

Now Get to Work

It’s So Easy

Feeling Anger Swell

Be Undone The Flood The Fire

The Oil Spill

Undone Undone (II)

Just to Be

Under House Arrest Don My Mask

Be Changed

Be Brave

I Am

Beaded Dress

Changed

Dear One

French Lessons (Steven Grant x f!Reader)

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

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

Word Count: 5K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bonjour! Comment ça vas?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You waited. 

And you waited. 

And you waited. 

Two hours later, he never showed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steven…” You whisper. 

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

“That feel good?” Steven murmured. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes real life really eclipses fantasy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steven Grant. The start of something new. 

- drunken confession -

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

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

✧ genre: fluff/soft comfort

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

✧ word count: 1.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your cheeks warmed up at his words.

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

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

"Alright, drive safe, amiga."

▬

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze flitted down to your interlocked hands.

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

▬

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

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

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

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

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

He leaned forward, gently placing his forehead against yours.

He heard your breath quietly hitch in your throat.

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

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

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

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

A good minute passed by.

"San-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

His heart swelled at the sound of you saying it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fluff prompt #6 + Marc Spector please!

ˣ pairing: marc spector x reader

ˣ prompt: “i like it when you say my name.”

ˣ warnings: 1.3k wc. mentions of pregnancy. tons of fluff.

ˣ a/n: i swear the idea of this was made prior to all the baby talk these last few days okay. but hope you enjoy hehe xx

- ☾-

“Hmm… What about Oliver?”

Marc shakes his head, his dark, messy curls bouncing ever so slightly. The way he looks ethereal, bathed in a soft golden glow of the dipping sunlight, has your breath hitching and heart fluttering wildly.

Thankfully he’s used to this— you staring, regarding him as if he’s a glorious statue sculpted by Michaelangelo himself.

Gazes intertwining, his smile distracts you for a stolen moment. Not on purpose, but it’s almost always like that with Marc. You’d never seen a prettier smile than his, though he’d argue that yours is by far more beautiful. But there’s something about his smile that simply dazes you— makes you feel like you’re floating in an endless state of bliss.

It’s quite hard to believe at times that Marc is the one you call yours. Falling in love with him had come so unexpectedly, but very easily as if it were all meant to be. Five years and counting, with your first child on the way, you still find yourself falling deeper and deeper. You could only imagine the immense love your heart holds for him… and your little one.

Speaking of which, you cross off yet another name from the list visualized in your head.

“Okay… maybe we can call him Matthew?”

Your input is met with the briefest of silence, followed by a quiet, resounding no that leads you to let out an exhale.

“Huh, who knew naming a kid would be this difficult?” Marc chuckles, his chest reverberating under your ear as the arm around you tightens, pulling you impossibly closer. “We’ve gone through how many names now— 10? 20?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we already hit the 50 mark, to be honest,” you return, eyes flickering up to meet his warm, café gaze. “Plus, we still need to come up with a middle name. It would really help if you gave me three or four suggestions. Every name I’ve brought up, you didn’t like.”

“It’s not that I don’t like those other names. I just don’t think any of them suit our little guy— get what I’m saying?”

You hum softly in response, featherlight fingertips slowly drawing shapes into his tanned skin. “So, now what? Are we going to wait until he’s born to name him?”

“I guess so,” he answers with a shrug. “Naming a baby is a big responsibility, and our son will be stuck with whatever name we choose for the rest of his life. It has to be perfect.”

A gentle hand then comes to rest on your grown belly. With a tender smile, Marc soothes the pad of his thumb over the swell of your stomach.

It still leaves him awestruck, the fact that he’s going to be a father soon. He’d painted the nursery walls and assembled the crib and other furnishings nearly a month ago. Though it felt even more real after spending the entire morning of today helping you pack the hospital bag.

A few weeks more, you’d remind him earlier. Just a few weeks more, Marc would finally have the family he’d always wanted— the one he’d always dreamed of having with you.

“Come on, Marc, we gotta think of at least a few,” you urge him with a small laugh.

He gives you a look. A sweet one, at that. Earthy brown orbs gaze at you adoringly; they mesmerize you, seamlessly indulging in delight at the mere flawless sight of you cuddled at his side.

Only Marc could reduce you to a puddle with those sparkling eyes.

You sincerely hope that your son inherits them. Those eyes, those curls, the smile that you’d never tire of seeing. Perhaps even the sound of his laughter, if it were possible.

You wish that your son would grow up to become the good man Marc is. The world could truly use another Marc Spector to brighten up everyone’s lives, the same way your Marc has done to yours.

“What about Marc?” you blurt out in the open, smiling softly.

“Marc?” he repeats. His features are unreadable, but the furrowing brow at your idea gives his puzzlement away.

“Yeah,” you nod, fingers twirling at the stray strand of hair splayed on Marc’s forehead. “What if we name our baby Marc?”

“Why would you want that?”

“Because why not?” comes your counter as you prop yourself up on one elbow. “Be it his first or middle, I want to name our baby after his father, my wonderful husband. The man who would do anything and everything for the two of us and who would love and protect us fiercely no matter what.”

Marc pauses, his mind undoubtedly reeling this all in. There are instances when he’s unable to see himself the way you see him. He’d slip into these fleeting moments of self-doubt and self-deprecation from time to time, an unfortunate habit following his tragic past.

You’re certain that this is one of those moments.

So you do the only thing that gets Marc to stop.

You kiss him.

Softly and sweetly, you press your lips against Marc’s, sensing the tension in his body slowly easing away. He clings to you as if you’re his lifeline, and you draw him in as close as you can.

The kiss seems everlasting. You want it to last forever, or at least as long as Marc needs it to. You’d say you love him a million times, but a kiss— this kiss— seals the promise, declaring the truth that you’re more than glad to remind him of for the rest of his life.

When it’s time to part, you leave Marc breathless. Breathless and grounded. All worries now a minuscule thought in the back of his head. He allows himself to bask at this moment, in this reality.

In this slice of heaven that you and he have built together.

The silence breaks at the sound of his delicate voice. “A-Are you sure?”

“Only if you agree, but yeah, I’m sure. I want to name our son after you, Marc.”

Marc’s smile reappears, and it reaches his tear-stained eyes. The corner of his mouth curls with your words, his hand remaining on your bump, caressing it. “I like it when you say my name, you know? Can’t exactly explain how it feels, but hearing you say it makes me the happiest man in the universe.”

Your heart swells at the touch and his admission.

You make Marc happy, but he doesn’t realize how much he makes you happier.

“So… what do you think?”

He takes a second to form a response. And as if he needs more convincing, your son gives a slight kick from inside your womb that catches you both by surprise. “Marc Jr., huh? You like that, buddy?”

Another set of kicks and they cause you and Marc to break into a fit of giggles.

“Little Marc Jr.,” you whisper. “Of course, we can give him a nickname, so he doesn’t get confused when he’s older.”

“Well, what if we settle on Marc as the middle name to avoid it?”

You ponder for a bit, then release a chuckle. “I’m good with that. But you know what this means, right?”

Marc tilts his head, his gaze narrowing as he shifts in bed, turning to you. “What does it mean?”

“It means we’re back to square one on first names.”

A playful groan escapes Marc’s parted lips, and with a kiss dotted on your nose, he buries his head in the crook of your neck. “Back to the drawing board, we go.”

- ☾-

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moon knight masterlist

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

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