warnings: fluffy Jake ya'll. I died from his cuteness when writing this.
a/n: Jake Lockley is a total simp for you madly in love with you
as always, thanks to my homegirl @imgoingtofreakoutnow for helping me with Spanish parts <3
gif credit @mandobi-wan
How soft would Jake Lockley's heart go for you?
One would think he was lethal and scary. And he was, but with you, it was the exact opposite. If someone told him he would be madly in love, he would have fixed them a glare or a mocking grin. Boy, was he wrong.
He was absolutely smitten with you. It was the reason he let you sit comfortably on his lap. His left hand was loosely draped around your waist, just in case if you slipped back. Plus, he loved holding you in that position, sitting on his lap, facing him.
You squeezed the sides of his face with your index and thumb fingers, making his lips pucker into a cute pout. "You are so cute", you said, kissing his pouty lips with a loud 'mwah'
"You are staring" he stated, as a matter of fact, with a smug smile on his face.
"What? am I not allowed to look at my baby?"
Jake Lockley was many things, but cute?. Oh well, if you said he is cute, then he is cute. If you called him baby, then damn right he is your baby. No questions or protests by him.
"lo que tú digas, mi amor" he accepted it with a tiny smile on his lips.
He did not live his life through rose tinted glasses. Everywhere he saw, it was all dark corners, dark souls, with promises of threats and evil lurking—until you came into the picture.
You traced his face with your fingers delicately, his eyebrows, temples, cheek bones, the soft skin below his eyes, his nose. You brought your face closer to his, placing a feather light kiss on the little scar on his nose bridge.
His eyes closed for a moment. He was aware of his good looks and how many eyed him with lustful gazes everyday. But love? The magical word with the capital 'L', he never dreamt of such thing, but now? Oh my God, his heart would burst into fluttering butterflies.
You loved him and adored him— each touch so gentle, you could not hurt him even on accident. Your love was like warm sun on chilly days.
Now, you were not completely 'pure like an angel', no one was. But to Jake 'I love and adore my girlfriend with all my heart' Lockley, you were the best thing ever happened to him. All his life, he thought his purpose was to protect Marc and Steven and keep them safe. It changed when he you came into their lives, well it did not change completely, more like he had another person to protect. His sweet princesa.
"You alright there, baby?" you paused, your finger tip resting above a scar on his left eyebrow.
Here you were, making sure he was comfortable and alright, even now.
You loved the parts of him that needed the most love.
Your love was careful. Your love was soft, yet fierce and passionate.
Oh how nice it felt to be adored, to be cared for, spoken to in softer and caressing tones, to be held gently by your hands.
He opened his eyes. His usually sharp eyes was round with softness. If he kept looking into your face full of nothing but love for him, he would cry tears of happiness, he thought.
To answer your question, he brought your finger tips to his mouth, kissing them. Then he kissed your palm and the sensitive spot under your wrist, making you giggle. "I'm alright, princesa". His voice was bit gruff, but his heart wasn't. And you knew that. With a hint of smile, you kissed that above that scar on his eyebrow, ever so lightly.
He could kill someone with a hard look on his face, but the moment his eyes laid on you, his expression would soften.
You caressed the tip of his nose with yours. "You know what we can do now?" you pecked his lips quickly and pulled back, "we can do face masks"
"A what?" his eye brows was furrowed.
You sprung off his lap, making your way to the bathroom cabinet. His eyes followed you, he could hear you rummage through it.
.
He would sit with a cucumber face mask on his face with you on a wednesday night.
That's how soft Jake Lockley's heart would go for you.
Only you.
His love.
His woman.
.
.
"What the odd little mortal have done to you?!" Khonshu's voice boomed in Jake's ears. He was shocked to see Jake sitting camly next to you with a...what is that thing on his face? what have you done to my fist of Vengeance?!
Jake stared into a space behind you, mumbling something and shaking his head.
"What does your bird friend say now?" you asked your man, with a light amusement dancing in your eyes.
"Nothing, mi amor. Don't worry" his hand wrapped around your waist.
"I can put this mask on his face too if he like-"
Before you could even finish the last word, the God of the moon fled in fear. In fear of an odd little mortal; an odd little mortal that had his Fist of Vengeance wrapped around her finger.
requested kiss challenge: king arthur + soft kiss.
pairing: arthur pendragon x reader | words: 1.1k | rating: 💙
sum: the sun is rising in camelot, but the king is nowhere to be found.
The sun has begun to rise in Camelot. Servants move throughout the castle, each glancing up when the sounds of footsteps echo down the hall. Only to find they do not belong to the King. It is because the King still sleeps alongside you.
For as long as he can remember, Arthur has been plagued with nightmares. Each night, religiously, he jolted awake drenched in sweat. Mind racing, torn between clinging onto the images he’d just seen and shoving them away. Most nights, his lips pressed against your shoulder before Arthur slipped away to endure a sleepless night. Other nights, he’d managed to roll over and fall back to sleep.
Nearly a month has passed since his claim to the throne, and the roles have reversed. Instead of suffering restless nights, Arthur has slept soundly. You have found yourself stirring in the middle of the night, checking to see if he’s restlessly dreaming.
“I haven’t had any, love,” he chuckles, each time you ask, lips brushing against your forehead.
Despite his reassuring words, you can’t help but worry they will come back.
Now that the nightmares have disappeared, it is as if Arthur’s body needs the night to catch up on all the hours lost in the past years. Paired with the exhaustion of trying to undo the damage of his uncle’s reign, Arthur often needs you to wake him in the morning.
You know Percival impatiently paces beyond the door, silently questioning if it is wise to disturb the sleeping king. An important meeting with the Dukes is to transpire in a few hours, but you remain where you are. Arthur’s breath is light against your cheeks. His arm is draped around your waist as he sleeps, his pulse soft against your fingertips.
The jagged line you trace is one you have committed to memory. Your touch covers the lifeline of the scar, starting at the base of his right ear down Arthur’s throat. A scar etched into his skin by the cold edge of a blade. A silent warning of caution, and a demand to remember his place, from a Black Leg to a young, cheeky Arthur.
Not many know the origin of the scar residing eerily close to Arthur's pulse. Or the scar above his right brow. Many assume they are battle scars. A man courageous and powerful enough to dethrone Vortigern must have earned all his scars nobly. In a way, they are battle scars--no one survives the streets of Londinium without them. Arthur’s scars are the price one pays for speaking their mind.
A soft smile finds the steady rhythm of Arthur’s pulse. The initial kiss is not enough to break his slumber. Each kiss that follows draws him closer to you. Arthur has lost track of the times your lips have brushed against the healed skin. Each kiss warranted the same response--an awakening of butterflies deep in his stomach and the spike of his pulse.
Your lips drift along his jaw. The soft “morning,” you whisper, draws a lazy smile from your husband. The sleep weighing down his response threatens to pull him back under. Arthur’s brain can’t manage to string together a few letters. Instead, his arm tightens around your waist, nudging your body closer.
The kiss you grant him is his favorite kind. A kiss which often comes when he’s spent hours seeing you in passing. The transition to power demanding more of his time than he could allot to you. A kiss that made him fall in love with you years prior, when neither of you could have dreamt of what fate held for you both.
A soft kiss. Behind closed doors, this kiss is free of the restraints of time. A kiss where your husband’s fingers press into your skin, keeping your body close until he deemed himself satisfied. A kiss comprised of soft smiles, giggles, and whispered words. A kiss capable of melting away your surroundings, flooding your mind with the only thing that matters--remaining as close to each other as possible. It is the type of kiss which has also become the biggest pain in the ass for Arthur’s Royal Court.
In your time together, you have learned this type of kiss is the remedy to taper your husband’s stress. It is not uncommon for eyes to divert as Arthur halts a conversation to catch your hand as you pass. The deep set furrow of his brow indicating his irritation with the task at hand. His eyes telling you he wishes for you to steal him away from his responsibilities. In these instances, the kiss you press against his lips is the encouragement he needs to survive another boring conversation of politics. In the eye of the public, each soft kiss is left with a warning of “behave, Your Majesty,” as Arthur reluctantly releases your hand.
The hesitant knock against the door pulls a groan from Arthur’s chest.
“Your Majesty…” Percival clears his throat, choosing to speak slightly louder once he is met with silence. “I’m sorry to disturb you and the Queen. However, we have a few matters to discuss before our meeting.”
Arthur’s sigh gets lost against the crook of your neck, a smile finding your lips as he remains silent for a moment. Letting his lips press against your skin, Arthur forces himself to take a breath.
“Gather everyone else,” he calls back. “I’ll be there in a bit.”
Percival’s response falls upon deaf ears. For the moment you move to detangle yourself from him, Arthur’s grip tightens around your waist.
“Where are you going?” He objects.
The look of confusion on his face brings a smile to your lips. “I’m getting up.”
Arthur shakes his head. The ground you managed to cover is lost as he drags your body back to the center of the bed. The giggles you release are muffled by his lips.
“You’re staying here with me.”
“Impossible because you have a meeting to attend.”
“I'm the King, it cannot start without me,” Arthur mumbles, his weight shifting to rest against you.
His words are true. No matter how late his arrival, no one would dare start the meeting without him. Maybe that’s why your fingers have already drifted into his hair. The gesture guides his lips back to yours. Your body instinctively welcomes the warmth of his touch as it ventures between his thighs. The grin spreading across your husband’s face is contagious.
“I am not going to be blamed for your unhappy guests.”
“I’ll take the blame,” Arthur mumbles, his lips soft against the crook of your neck.
“Then tell me, Your Majesty, what excuse do you plan to give?”
“I’ll say we’re working on an heir,” he chuckles.
if you want to be removed/added from/to tags just drop me a message
omg idk if you’re into size kink but you should totally write a one shot of thor with a MAJOR size kink 🤤. i’m thinking reader is somewhere between 5’0 and 5’3 and thor just LOVING to tease her about her size compared to him cause he just knows (emphasis) how much she loves it.
He’s careful with you. He knows his size - the span of his hands and thick fingers. He grips your hips and tugs you against him and he has to bend at the waist to nose at your hair.
“Little one,” he murmurs as he presses an indulgent kiss to your scalp. “I want you.”
You squeeze his wrist, your fingers unable to wrap around the width of it and so you lie the flat of your palm against the skin of his forearm and pet him gently. “Now?”
Something dark and hungry rumbles from his chest, his touch deftly gliding beneath the band of your pants. “Let me get you ready for it, lovely girl.”
You tip your chin and let him slide his tongue into your parted mouth.
***
“Oh,” you whimper - sweet and melodic as he slowly slips his fingers inside your pussy. He’s cautious - syrupy strokes to the knuckle as he uses his spit and your slick to stretch you open. You’ve got both of your hands on his cock - not enough for one to circle it and Thor is almost ashamed at his arrogance - at his dirty fantasies of him being far too big for you.
“Inside,” you pant against his tongue. His other hand cradles your face - combs your hair out of your eyes so he can watch you. He’d never push you - shove you to the edge where sex with him would be painful. He likes to make you cum as he sinks to the hilt - nudging the bud of your sex until you bloom around his length and swallow him easily.
He frames your head with his arms as he guides his cock into you - head snagging at your entrance. You breathe deeply - clutching at his biceps as he rolls his hips between your thighs.
“Ready?”
You nod and he kisses you eagerly - desperately - the crush of his desire expanding across the planes of his shoulders and swelling in his belly. He dips his tongue against yours as an easy distraction before he thrusts inside you and he feels it - when you clench and spasm and gasp at the absolute heft of his shaft splitting you open.
“Thor,” you wheeze and he’s only half-buried. He sweeps his thumb over the curve of your cheek - hushing you with quiet, soothing mouth sounds.
“It’s alright,” he coaxes. “It’s alright - just a little more. Hold onto me.”
You nod again - digging your nails into the hard planes of his back muscles. He steadily presses deeper before drawing back out. Not enough to leave you entirely but just to add friction and drag pleasure through the slick walls of your tight cunt.
He pumps his hips - driving you up the sheets and knocking a sharp cry from your pretty lips. He licks the pads of his fingertips before swirling them around the crest of your sex and it milks more pleasure from your body - juicing you up and allowing him to push and push until he pops into place.
You’re full of him - impaled on his cock. He almost wonders if he’d feel himself if he placed his hand on your belly. He fastens his grip to your waist - as you clamp and writhe - enjoying the feeling of your body attempting to make room for his girth.
“Good - good girl,” he mutters as he tries to concentrate on not completely wrecking you. “You - fucking hells - you took me so well.”
You blink up at him - nostrils flaring and he’s practically going cross-eyed at how violently you’re choking his length. He bites the inside of his mouth - gritting his jaw as he waits for your permission.
You curve your leg around his thigh and dig your heel into the giving flesh. “Fuck me.”
He growls before he starts.
He saws his hips honey-slow as he sheathes himself over and over again. He plants his knees and bends his back as he rocks into you - picking up his pace as each new spear of his cock punches a stifled whimper from between your teeth. The mattress squeaks and the headboard thwacks against the wall and Thor is deaf to it.
All he can focus on is your gorgeous face shuddering and dizzy with pleasure. All he can hear is the liquid-suck of your sex grasping him repeatedly. The wet slap of flesh and Thor’s own torn-up growls that are being ripped from him with each snap of his pelvis.
He’s never felt like this for anyone. He’s never been this out of control and consumed by sex with a single person. But - it’s not just the sex. It’s all the rest - it’s you and your sweetness and empathy and the way you fit him.
“Fuck,” he grits as he glances down to see where you’re joined. The glossy shine of his fat length disappearing inside you. “You have the tightest fucking cunt, my love.”
He’s not terribly romantic and he doubts that his words carry any of the poetic elegance that his brother’s would surely have. But - still - your eyes widen and glimmer and you arch into him - demanding more. So - he continues - rubbing his cheek against your own as he whispers praise into your ear:
He deftly moves from lewd remarks to far more serious statements - soft truths interwoven through the vulgarity.
Look at you - look at your body take me - swallow me - my dirty thing - those perfect tits - how does it feel? Do you want more? I’ll eat your cunt after this - fill you up and lick it out until you drench my beard - oh - oh you liked that? I felt it - felt you flutter around me - fuck - it - it feels so good -
my sweetheart
my beautiful one
you were made for me - there is no one else - no one else has ever come close - it’s you - it’s you - a thousand others but it’s only been you -
Synopsis: after getting stood up on a date, you go to Peters apartment for comfort, leading to more than one secret coming out
Masterlist
*contains greys anatomy season 6 spoilers*
“Will anyone else be joining you tonight?”
“Yeah. He’ll be here any minute. He’s just a little late.” You told the waitress as your eyes flicked to the empty seat across from you.
“Okay. I’ll check back with you in a few minutes.” The waitress gave you a smile before walking away. She returned five minutes later to refill your water.
“Thanks.” You smiled at her before checking your watch. It was 7:13 now. The plan was to meet at 7. You had gotten there five minutes early and your date had yet to arrive.
“No problem. Did you want to order anything while you wait?” She asked you.
“No. That’s okay. He’ll be here soon.”
“Okay. I’ll check in again soon.” She gave you another smile before walking away. Another ten minutes went by and you had memorized the menu at that point. Another ten went by after that and you were starting to get uncomfortable with the amount of people staring at you. Five minutes after that, the waitress came back over with a cupcake on a plate.
“Here. It’s on the house.” She said as she set the cupcake down in front of you. You tore your eyes away from the empty seat and gave her a weak smile.
“Thanks.” You said quietly and slid down in your seat, turning your face to hide the embarrassment you were feeling.
“I’m sorry, honey. But if you’re not gonna order anything, we really need the table.”
“It’s okay. I understand.” You nodded and gave her another weak smile. You thought the waitress would go away, but instead, she sat down across from you.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re not eating alone tonight. I’m not letting you.” She said as she unraveled the napkin and sliced the cupcake in half. She gave you half of it and took the another half for herself before holding it up.
“Thanks.” You clinked your cupcake against hers before taking a bite.
“So what was his name?“ She asked before taking a bite of the cupcake.
“Who?”
“The asshole who stood you up.”
“Jason.” You told her as you picked off the bottom of your cupcake.
“Ew. A J name? You agreed to go out with a J name?” She asked and scrunched her nose in disgust.
“He was really nice, okay?” You laughed dat her reaction. “And he was interested in me. And it’s been a minute since someone was interested in me.”
“There is no excuse for accepting a date with a man with a J name.” She shook her head and finished her cupcake.
“They can’t all be bad, right? What about Jim Carey or….um…damn it. That’s the only good guy I can think of.”
“See?“ The waitress smirked as she checked the time on her phone.
“My break is over soon. Do you have somewhere you can go?” She asked you.
“Yeah. My best friends house. He’ll take care of me.” You smiled sadly and got out of your seat.
“Good. I hope you feel better. Whoever this Jason guy is, he’s an idiot. And a loser. Don’t an idiot loser make you feel bad about yourself.” The waitress told you as she put her hand on your shoulder.
“I won’t.” You smiled, sincerely this time.
“All right. Get home safe.” She winked at you before walking away.
“Wait.” You called after her, and she turned around.
“What’s your name?”
“Jane.” She told you with a coy smile.
“J name.” You smiled in surprise.
“We’re not all bad.” She winked again before walking away. You blinked a few times before coming back to reality and leaving the restaurant. You told your parents you’d be out late back when you assumed you’d be going on a date so you couldn’t go home and face them. You started walking in the direction of Peters apartment and thought about what had happened tonight. A boy pursued you, got you to agree to a date with him, and then stood you up. Your bottom lip began to tremble and hot tears of embarrassment slipped down your cheeks. You passed a couple holding hands and picked up your pace. You broke into a run and ran all the way to Peters apartment as tears ran down your face. You knocked on his front door and wiped your face as you waited for him to answer. Finally, May opened the door.
“Oh. Hi May.” You smiled through your tears and wiped your face on the back of your hand.
“Hi, sweetheart. What are you doing here so late?” She asked with a sympathetic smile.
“I was looking for Peter. Is he home?”
“No, I’m sorry. He’s not. He’s out on….a walk.” She lied to cover for her nephew.
“Okay. I’ll just call him later. Sorry to bother you.” You gave her another teary smile and turned to walk away.
“Wait a minute.” She said and gently caught your wrist. She pulled you back towards her and put her hands on your face to wipe your tears away.
“I’ve watched you grow up. I’ve wiped your snot and dried your tears hundreds of times. You’re my baby. And I take care of my babies. Come in and tell me what happened.”
You started to cry again as she took you inside and closed the door behind you. Once you were both inside, May opened her arms to you. You let out a whimper before stepping into her arms. She hugged you tightly and stroked your hair to calm you down. You clutched her shirt and cried into her shoulder until you felt like you could talk.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” May asked as she grabbed you a tissue.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to get out of this stupid outfit.” You wiped your eyes before looking down at the dress you had put on for your date.
“Do you have any clothes here?” May asked you.
“Yeah. In Peters room.”
“Go get changed. I’ll get you some makeup remover.”
May squeezed your hand before sending you off to Peters room. You found that the only clothes you had in his room were a pair of Jean shorts and a fitted shirt, and you didn’t particularly feel like putting that on. You grabbed a pair of his boxers and slipped into those before throwing on one of his T shirts, the kind with the stupid science pun. May came into his room with a couple makeup wipes and helped you wipe off the makeup you had spent an hour on in an attempt to look perfect.
“Okay. All clean. Now tell me what happened.” She said once all your makeup was wiped away.
“I can’t. It’s so stupid.” Your voice cracked when you spoke.
“It’s not stupid if it brought you to tears.” May said as she tucked some of your hair behind your ear. You looked at her with a trembling lip before caving.
“I was supposed to go on a date with this guy tonight. I was so excited to go. I planned my outfit a week in advance and then changed three times and then went back to the outfit I had on in the first place. I did my hair and my makeup and tried on every pair of shoes I own. As if he would even notice the kind of shoes I had on. But even so, I made sure I smelled good and I painted my nails and I even wore a necklace that he complimented once.”
“And?”
“And he never showed up.” Your voice cracked as you started to cry again.
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” May said as she pulled you into her arms.
“It’s fine. I’m just mad that I shaved my legs for nothing.” You sniffled against her shoulder.
“It’s not fine. He had a commitment with you and he didn’t honor it. That’s not okay.”
“I know. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. So it’s not fine. But it’s okay.” You shrugged and gave her a sad smile. Just as May was going to respond, Peter came into his room.
“May, do you know how to get blood out-“ Peter stopped in his tracks when he saw you. Your eyes widened when you saw that he was dressed in the Spiderman suit. He had blood all over the crotch of the suit and what looked like the early stages of a black eye. Peter was looking at you with the same amount of confusion as you had. Leftover mascara had gathered around your eyes and was visible in faint traces down your cheeks.
“You’re crying?” Peter asked with sympathetic eyes.
“You’re Spiderman?” You practically screamed.
“You’re crying.” Peter rushed to you and put his hands on your face.
“Is your dick bleeding?” You asked as you wrapped your hand around his wrists.
“It’s not my blood. It’s some dudes. Why are you crying?” Peter asked as he wiped your tears away with his thumbs.
“You’re wiping my tears with your gloved Spiderman hands.” You said, mostly to yourself when you felt the material of Peters gloves against your face.
“Yes. I am.” Peter smiled a little. “But why are you crying? What happened? Did you watch that episode of Greys Anatomy where that doctor gets hit by a bus and then joins the army in the elevator or something? What did I tell you about watching that? You cried so hard you threw up last time.”
“Do not bring up George O’Malley to me right now. Do not talk about the elevator scene to me right now. Because if I think about the elevator doors opening to show his shaved head and his army uniform I’m gonna-“ You cut yourself off when hot tears started pouring down your face. You looked up at the ceiling and fanned yourself to try and stop them.
“Woah, woah, woah. Don’t cry. I got you. I’m right here. I got you.” Peter said as he wrapped his arms around you. You clung to him and buried your face in his shoulder as he held you as close as possible.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” May smiled knowingly and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Peter asked as he pulled away just enough to cup your face in his hands.
“No. Do you want to tell me how long you’ve been a super hero?”
“Since freshman year. Now tell me what happened.” Peter repeated, and you let out a shaky sigh.
“I had a date tonight.” You told him and watched his expression go from concerned to upset. He felt jealousy bubble up in his stomach but he knew he had to ignore it for your sake.
“You did? With who?” Peter tried to keep his voice steady to mask his disappointment.
“Jason Yang.”
“Ew.” Peter scrunched his nose. “A J name? Are you insane?”
“Apparently.” You laughed sadly.
“I’m guessing it didn’t go well? Unless these are happy tears.”
“No. It didn’t go well. It didn’t go at all.”
“What do you mean?“
“He never showed up.” Your told him, your voice cracking on the last word.
“What?” Peters disappointment changed to anger in an instant. He was still upset you had agreed to a date with another boy, but even more so he was angrier that the boy didn’t have the decency to show up.
“He stood me up. He didn’t even say he wasn’t gonna come. He just left me waiting at the restaurant for an hour. And then I met this waitress and I think she was my fairy god mother or my lesbian awakening but either way she and the entire restaurant were looking at me like I was the most pathetic thing they had ever seen.”
“Hey, hey hey. It’s okay, honey. Come here.” Peter said and pulled d you back into his arms. He pulled away after a minute to look at you.
“Do you want me to kill that guy for you?” He asked sincerely.
“Peter.” You playfully whined and rested your head back on his shoulder.
“I will. I will do it. I will go to his house and woop his ass. I will woop it until there is nothing left to woop.” Peter said as he rubbed circles on your back.
“Really? Will you? With your spider powers?” You pulled away to smile sarcastically at him.
“Yes.” Peter returned the smile. “With the power of a thousand spiders. I will woop him so hard he can’t stand anyone up ever again because he won’t be able to stand. Because he will have been wooped into oblivion.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I love you too much to let you do something that would land you in prison.” You chuckled and wiped your face with the back of your hand. Peter felt his heart yearn a little for you and couldn’t help but smile.
“Yeah. I could never leave you behind like that.” He said as he tucked your face behind your face ear. It wasn’t in your face, he just wanted to touch you. You stared at each other for a minute and his gaze dropped to your lips. He reminded himself of the situation and quickly cleared his throat.
“I’m still trying to figure out why in the chicken friend fuck that guy would stand you up. I mean, you? The most beautiful girl on the freaking planet? He’s lucky you said yes. He’s lucky you even looked his way. And I’ve seen him. I’ve seen this Jason Yang son of a biatch. He’s not exactly a panty dropper. He has visible ear wax in his ears.”
“Peter. Ew.” You groaned and playfully shoved him.
“He does. I don’t understand people who aren’t constantly cleaning their ears. The orgasmic feeling of putting a Cotten swab in your ear hole is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.” Peter stated, making you laugh. He smiled now that he had you laughing again hoped that meant you were feeling better.
“Don’t say ear hole. It’s called the earussy and you know that.” You said in a serious tone, making Peter laugh. When his laughter died down, he looked at you and let out a happy sigh.
“You know what I love about you?” Peter smiled. “In the rare moments you let someone see you cry, and I’m talking about when you are at your absolute lowest, your first instinct is to make people laugh.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but quickly shut it when you couldn’t find the right words. You felt your face heat up from the compliment and smiled shyly at Peter.
“I love you too.” You said quietly as you stared into his eyes. Peters entire face turned red and he let out a nervous laugh. You both felt the awkward tension from how real the conversation got and looked away.
“So, uh, how’d you get that blood on your crotch there?” You asked to change the subject and pointed to his bloody suit. Peter looked down at the blood before shrugging.
“A stabbing.” He said like it was the most causal thing in the world.
“Were you stabbed?”
“No.” Peter shrugged.
“So you stabbed somebody?”
“Also no. This one dude stabbed this other guy and I was kinda in the middle in a sorta Oreo situation. Me being the creme, of course.”
“Mm. Right.” You nodded. “I’ve always thought of you as the creme.”
“Wow. That sentence is definitely gonna come back to haunt me in my Peter on Peter time but right now, I just need to make sure my beautiful best friend is okay.” Peter replied, making you smile once again.
“I’m okay.” You shrugged. “He wasn’t the one.”
“I know. I promise you, your soulmate isn’t a man who has the kind of car he drives written in his Instagram bio.”
“Does he really?” You laughed. “What kind of car?”
“Ford Fiesta.”
“Damn. It’s a shame I’m missing out on all of that.”
“I know. My heart goes out to you.” Peter replied sarcastically. You threw your head back as you laughed and forgot all about the bad date.
“So did you make that get up yourself?” You asked and gestured to Peters suit.
“I did not. You know Tony Stark?”
“Shut up.” Your eyes widened when you caught on to what he was suggesting.
“Yep. He made it for me.”
“Are you serious? You’re friends with a billionaire.”
“I mean, he finds me incredibly annoying and won’t return my calls, but I’d say we’re pretty close friends.” Peter shrugged, making you laugh again.
“Just when I thought I knew everything about you, you show up in this.” You shook your head in disbelief and stared at his outfit.
“I thought I knew everything about you too. And yet my aunt knew you had a date with some other boy before I did.” Peter replied. You suddenly remembered the date and looked down at the ground.
“I didn’t want to tell you.“ You said quietly.
“Why not?” Peter shrugged.
“Peter.” You said with a sad smile.
“What? Why couldn’t you tell me?” He asked again. You gave him a look that silently pleaded for him not to make you say it. That’s when Peter realized the secret feelings he had for you were not a secret.
“Oh.” Peter said quietly as he eyes fell to the floor. He walked over to his bed and sat down on it as he went over everything in his head. Every time he thought he was being subtle or laid awake at night wondering how he’d ever tell you how he felt replayed in his mind. You sat beside him and stayed in silence for what felt like a full minute.
“You know?” He asked without looking at you.
“Yeah, Pete.” You said softly. “I know.”
“Who told you?”
“You did.” You smiled a little. “With the way you carry my books and pull out my chair for me whenever I go to sit down. And the way you sprint down the hallway to just open doors for me. I haven’t opened a door for myself since knowing you.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.” Peter mumbled, making you crack a smile.
“You also do this thing where you look at me when someone says something funny. It’s like, you won’t laugh unless you confirm that I also found it funny. It’s kinda cute, actually.”
“I just want to make sure you’re having a good time.” Peter said as he finally looked at you.
“I always have a good time when I’m with you. You’re my best friend.” You said and put your hand on top of his. Peter looked at your hands and felt his tears come back.
“I don’t want you like a best friend.” He said quietly.
“Peter.” You said, voice barely above a whisper.
“I think that if you gave me a chance, I could make you really happy.” He told you, still not looking at you.
“You already make me happy. That’s why we’re best friends.”
“I know. But I have this theory that if you let me do all the things I wanted to do for you, the things I restrain myself from doing because I don’t want to cross any boundaries, I think I could make you even happier.”
“That’s your theory, huh?” You chuckled softly.
“Yeah. It’s a theory I’m working with.” He replied, smiled a little as well.
“And what are the things you restrain yourself from doing?” You asked him. Upon hearing the playful tone of your voice, Peter looked up at you.
“For starters, I have to fight the urge to tell you you’re the most beautiful girl in the entire universe like, 100% of the time.” Peter began. “And that means something coming from me, because I’ve legit been to space. And trust me, not even the stars are as pretty as you. They can’t compete. It’s almost unfair. You’re just so damn beautiful.”
“Even now?” You asked skeptically as you internally screamed at what he had just said.
“Of course now. The crying makes your lips bigger and your eyelashes look longer.” Peter told you. “You actually look really good right now. The lighting could use some work but other than that, you look amazing.”
You laughed at what he said and gave his hand a squeeze. You both looked at your hands as Peter intertwined his fingers with yours.
“So what, uh, what other urges are you fighting?” You asked him as you looked into his eyes.
“The urge to beat the shit out of the idiot who stood you up.” He replied, making you crack a smile.
“Anything else?”
Peter looked at you and felt his entire face flush up to the tips of his ears. His gaze dropped to your lips and he gulped loudly.
“Most of all, I’m fighting the urge to kiss you right now.” He said, eyes glued to your lips.
“Peter?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop fighting.” You said before crashing your lips to his. Peter immediately cupped your face and kissed you back, the way he’d been wanting to for years. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, smiling into the kiss when you felt the material of his suit beneath your fingertips. The kiss was only interrupted by the sound of the door opening.
“I’m brought some more- oh. You’re kissing. I did not see that coming.” May said, mostly to herself.
“May!” Peter whined. “Get out.”
“Okay. I brought some snacks though. Since you didn’t eat dinner on your date because he never showed up.” May said, making you let out a little whimper.
“May! Don’t remind her.” Peter whined again and threw a pillow at the door.
“It’s okay. I found something better.” You told May, making Peter smile. She winked at you before shutting the door, leaving you and Peter alone again. Peter turned to you and used his gloved pinky to tilt your face towards his own.
Eeeek, I'm squealing. This was so cute and I love them. The way they tease each other, the way they hold each other, the way they are with each other. Urgh. It just makes me want to melt into a puddle.
congrats on the follower milestone dany!! for my request, can i have any combination or choice from “longing stares” “best friends to lovers” and/or “you clean up nicely” with santiago? can you tell i’m a slut for some soft friends to lovers action with some yearning sprinkled in there?
Part of Youvebeenlivingfictional’s 3K Follower Celebration
Thank you!! I threw in zipping up your love interest’s dress because it fit, hope that's okay!
Warnings: Two pining idiots, cursing, fluff
“Ho-ly shit,” You manage, looking over Santiago openly. He grins, straightening his sleeves and smoothing his hands down over his suit jacket.
“Like what you see?” He asks.
“You clean up nicely, Garcia,” You take a few steps back to let him in.
“Thank you. Are you attending the wedding in sweatpants, or…?”
“Shut up,” You laugh, “I was right about to get my dress on. Want a drink?”
“You’re pre-gaming before the ceremony?” Santiago asks, stepping deeper inside, “Sheesh. You’d think you were the one getting married.”
“If I ever get married somehow and you find me pre-gaming to the point of drunkenness before the wedding, then that should be your signal that I’m being coerced into marriage. Is that a yes or no to the drink?”
“I’ll take one, sure,” Santiago agrees, following you into the kitchen. You pour him a glass of prosecco, and the two of you lightly clink your glasses before taking sips.
“Okay,” You say as you turn down the hall, “I’m going to go get my dress on—and I’m gonna need you to zip me.”
“Holler when you need,” He nods, pulling his phone out of his pocket. You head down the hall, reaching your room. The dress isn’t…The worst bridesmaid dress in history. The style is vintage, and the color is a jewel tone that suits everyone in the bridal party. You take one more swig before you set the glass down on your dresser. It’s quick enough to get the dress on, and you walk over to your door, calling out, “Garcia!”
“Incoming,” he calls back as he rounds into the hall. You hold still, fighting your jittery feelings as you feel Santiago come up behind you. You bite your lip as you feel him take hold of the zipper, pulling it up. His knuckles brush the nape of your neck, and you hardly hold off a shiver.
“Thanks,” You mutter, glancing back at him. When he doesn’t walk away, you step back and turn to face him, arching a brow.
“Well?”
And you expect a tease, a joke about the style, or the color, but—
“...You look beautiful.”
He says it with a soft smile on his lips, a warmth in his eyes. Your stomach flips at his earnest words. You can’t bring yourself to thank him, so you just reach out, lightly punching his shoulder before you turn back into the room for your shoes.
--
It’s not surprising that Santiago is such a hit with the other single bridesmaids in the group, but what is surprising is the way that irritation and jealousy curdle in your gut. You have no good reason to feel jealous. Santiago is one of your closest friends, and was kind enough to come with you to this wedding. You knew when you’d invited him that this reaction was a definite possibility. You’re certain that Santiago will go home with phone numbers stuffed in his pockets. You’d told yourself that that would be no problem, but…
But you’ve had a nagging attraction to Santiago Garcia for a long, long time, and watching others flock to him, bat their eyelashes, giggle, push at his shoulder or rub over his forearm is…Starting to kill you a little bit.
“Hey,” One of the other bridesmaids waylays you on your way to the bar and hooks her arm through yours, “So gimme the lowdown on the hottie.”
“Hm?” You feign ignorance, and she laughs.
“The one you brought with you! He is so stinking gorgeous.”
The two of you look in the direction of Santiago where he’s speaking to one of the groomsman. There’s an easy smile on his face. His eyes are twinkling under the string lights; he actually looks like he’s enjoying himself. That’s a relief, at least. You knew that Santiago could talk to just about anyone and find a way into a conversation anywhere, but you were relieved to see that he might actually be...Happy.
You can hear your fellow bridesmaid speaking again, but you don’t really hear a word. You can’t take your eyes off of Santiago. People have been asking you all night if he’s your boyfriend, and you’ve had to force yourself to tell the truth: Nope, he’s just your friend!—No, you don’t think he’s seeing anyone, but they’d really have to ask him, you couldn’t say for certain—Yes! He is insanely attractive, and isn’t it distracting?
You see Santi’s head begin to turn toward you, and you hurriedly look away, pointedly looking to the other end of the room. Your heart pounds at how close you were to getting caught.
“Is it cool with you?” The bridesmaid asks, bumping your shoulder with hers.
“Hm?”
“If I ask him out!”
Ah. That’s what she was saying. You slap a smile on your lips and nod, squeaking out, “Of course!” Before you excuse yourself to get a drink. You can’t help but run through the scenarios while you wait for your drink. She is, you think, Santiago’s type—very similar to previous exes of his. You scrub your hands over your heating neck, thanking the bartender and tipping him before plucking up your drink. You need a minute—a minute to calm your busy, hot, irritated, jealous head.
You step out onto the terrace, curling your arm around yourself and sighing softly into the cool night air. You take a few slow sips, swaying to the music drifting out from inside as you move further away from the building.
What’s the worst that can happen? He marries that bridesmaid?
You wince, raising a hand and taking a swig from your glass. Nope, not a path you’re going to go down anymore. You're being silly—
“Hey!”
You turn at the call, brows raising. Oh—god, what? Why is he out here? You smile.
“Hi,” You greet, “How’s—How are you, how’s…Having fun?”
Santiago quirks a brow, tipping his head to the side as he comes closer.
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Sure. It’s a really nice party.”
“Yeah, it is,” Santiago agrees, arching his brows, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” You lower your eyes to your glass, “It was just getting…Crowded in there.”
In the silence that follows, you realize that Santiago doesn’t believe you. You expect him to press, but instead, he reaches out, taking the glass from your hand.
“What?” You frown, watching him set it down.
“You don’t hear that?” He asks, nodding back to the reception. You listen closely, picking out the opening notes of It Had to Be You. You look down at his hands, huffing out a nervous little laugh as he comes closer with a smile.
“C’mon,” He wiggles his fingers. You hesitate before you take hold of his hand, resting your hand on his shoulder. Santiago steps closer to you,
sliding his hand around your lower back and beginning to sway the two of you. Santiago has a stunning, contented smile on his lips as the two of you dance.
“Are you having fun?” You find yourself asking. Santiago’s brows knit together a touch.
“You already asked me that.”
“I know, I just mean…You’re very popular,” You force yourself to tease.
“Am I?”
“Mhm. I have had many people come over to ask me for my blessing and find out whether or not you were spoken for.”
“Is that so…What’d you tell them?”
“That they’d have to speak to you themselves.”
“Diplomatic.”
“I try.”
“Did you vet any of them?”
“Well, I don’t know what you like, so, no.”
“...You don’t?” He asks softly.
“I mean—I can guess based on prior relationships and—and knowing you, but I wouldn’t want to be wrong.”
“Mm…And what would you guess?”
The question makes your stomach churn in panic.
“Well…You'd like someone…That can enjoy a night out as much as a night in…Someone that doesn’t mind sharing the kitchen, because you like cooking so much.”
“Mhm.”
“Someone that knows how to compromise, because there are days where you are second only to Ironhead in stubbornness.”
“I would resent that, but you’re not wrong.”
You grin, vindicated.
“Anything else?” He asks.
You hesitate before you shrug a little.
“I don’t know. You deserve someone understanding and passionate and…And…”
You trail off as you catch sight of Santiago’s tender gaze, and you swallow thickly.
“And someone that doesn’t ramble on like I do,” You laugh nervously.
“You’re not rambling.”
“Feels like I am.”
“You’re not.” Santiago is quiet for a moment before he asks, “You really think I deserve all of that?”
“I know you do, Santiago. You deserve someone who’ll be good to you.”
“Someone like you?”
Your heart rattles against your rib cage, and you manage a nervous smile.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t. I did,” Santiago looks over your face, “And I meant it.”
“...Sure, then,” You nod resolutely, “Let’s find you someone like me, I guess.”
You see something flicker in Santiago’s eyes before he presses just a little closer.
“Not willing to throw your hat into the ring?” He asks. You can tell that he’s keeping his tone light. You bite your lip.
“Would you want it? My…Hat?” You ask lamely. Santiago’s lips quirk with a smile.
“You really don’t know, huh.”
“Know what?”
“Will and Fish said you didn’t, you know—Benny was on my side, thought you’ve playing hard to get.”
“Santiago, I don’t know what you’re—”
Santiago’s lips are covering yours before you can finish your insistence. The two of you go still as Santiago’s teeth worry gently at your lip. Your eyes slide closed at the tender slip of your mouths, and you raise your hand from his shoulder to curl around his nape. Santiago draws away after a moment, nuzzling his nose against your as you take in what's just happened.
“You thought I was playing hard to get?” You ask, stunned.
“It crossed my mind.”
“Well that is just wrong.”
“I see that now,” Santiago insists. You hesitantly lean in before pecking his lips a few times. He grins, fingers curling in the fabric of his dress.
“You…Want my hat, huh?” You ask. He chuckles, nodding.
“Yes, I want your hat.”
Summary: Santi shelters you when you’re afraid of a storm. Honestly, there’s no better man for the job.
Rating: TEEN
Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs this week bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (I’m doing these quickly so I can complete as many as I can for you, so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!) I wanted to post this one yesterday but it wasn’t working and I was tired, and I hope I fixed it enough now for it to be okay!
Warnings: it’s fluff, sweeties. Swearing, and steam at the end but no smut. Theme of storms throughout, but they’re never in real dager or peril. Incorrect Spanish, probably (feel free to correct me, I try!). Wizard of Oz references.
GIF by @boydswan
Wind howls and rain lashes, rattling the windows and begging to be let inside, thunder rumbling and rolling like it’s hunkering down right on the roof of your house.
“Princesa, you’re adorable,” Santi coos as he holds you close beneath the covers, feeling you jump and whimper sweetly as pulses of lightning illuminate the room, the sky splitting overhead.
The tumult rages like two fists of God have reached into the sky to tear it open. You whelp as another fork blitzes through the dark, sending shadows skittering for cover across your bedroom. This room is usually your sanctuary, but right now it doesn’t feel that way at all.
Your hands -bundled against Santi’s chest- fist into his soft sleep shirt, and you bury your head in the crook of his neck, hoping he can shelter you from this storm.
Such a perfect balance between angst and fluff, sweet and the beginnings of spice. This had me smiling like a fool at my phone whilst I'm at the dinner table.
Pairing: Santiago Garcia x F!Reader | Summary: [a request from @avengers-fixation] The guys don't understand love languages, and they accidentally joke about it in a way they shouldn't, making Santiago's girlfriend get more upset than he expected. | Word Count: 5,246 (I got a little carried away, sorry) | Reading Time: ~19 mins.
A/N w/ *Warnings: Alcohol, insecurities, idiots not thinking through what they say. I love requests but rarely get them, so I was very excited when I received this notification the other day. I’m going to say in advance that my love language is NOT touch, so I apologize if I lack a competence for writing about this love language. But I loved this idea so I wanted to try my hand at it nonetheless. Gif credit to @beydameron as well ♡.
“Come on Santi,” I laugh a little as I wait on the sidewalk for him to fit his keys into his pocket.
“Not my fault my fingers are numb, it’s cold as shit out here,” he laughs back at me, finally coming down from the stairs that lead to the apartment building lobby.
“We really don’t have to walk, you know, we can take the truck.” I say softly as I set my hand on his arm gently before he pulls at my fingers gently and I take the que to hook my arm around his, hugging against him as he tucks his hands into his jacket pockets.
He shakes his head, his curls poking out from under his ball cap in a way that makes me smile all the more. “I know you like the walk, always sobers us up a little on the way back from the bar too.” He gives that sideways smile, the one that always graces his face when he feels a smug sense of accomplishment. Having a good reason for doing what I’d wanted instead of doing something that made more sense was likely the accomplishment this time, a reason beyond just being what I wanted.
“Plus, your fingers can’t even be that cold yet, you just kept missing your pocket, don’t lie.” I nudge him slightly as we walk, small clouds of condensation puffing out as we both laugh.
“Fine, but still.” He grins over at me as we walk, and I grin at his inability to just admit that he’d made an excuse for himself.
“It’s those skinny jeans, you can barely keep anything in those pockets,” I tease him a little more and he laughs out loud at that.
“They are not skinny jeans,” he kicks a foot out a bit more than necessary for the next step to show the style of his jeans and prove his point. “Plus, I know you like my ass in these ones,” he winks.
I laugh again at that comment, although it was definitely true. “Still too tight if you can’t get your keys in your pocket,” I grin and he rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah.” he shakes his head at me again and I smile as I lean into him a little more, the breeze kicking up slightly and pushing the cold air to meet us as we walk.
“Do you think the bar will be doing those special hot chocolates yet? I can never remember when they start serving them every year.” I lean my head against his shoulder slightly, smiling to myself at the lights lining the streets even though he’d been complaining about them for days now already. It’s not even December yet, he’d groan when they were put up each year, Can’t they at least wait til the first?
Santiago nods a little “Probably, I’d think they just wait for the temperature to drop to start serving them,” he says before nodding again “Probably.” He starts to huff out into the air to make little clouds of fog over and over as walk, making me laugh again.
“God you’re such a kid.” I joke and he stops suddenly, halting my steps as well as I hug his arm.
“You know you like it too!” He points out and pulls his arm from my grasp as he works his hands out of his pockets. “Come here,” he pulls me to the side of the walkway over the river, as if anyone else would decide to brave the southern cold and walk like we had. No one in this town could stand the cold, and neither could we if our shivering frames were any sign to go by.
“Santi-” another laugh escapes me in a clouded breath as he pushes his shoes between the bars of the railing, standing up and leaning over it. “Pope!” I laugh and grab his jacket to pull him back, “Stop it, we are already late,” he simply grins over his shoulder at me.
“Oh, the boys can wait, come here,” he repeats himself and pulls me to do the same. “Get up here Baby,” he grins and I narrow my eyes at him for a second before moving to hold the cold metal railing, pulling myself up and sliding the toes of my shoes between the bars at the bottom.
“Lean over with me,” he waves for me to follow along with him and I roll my eyes but do it anyway.
He laughs loudly, waving to our reflection on the water below and I hit his shoulder lightly. “Such a kid!” I repeat from before and he laughs even louder.
“Watch, you can see us but not the smoke,” he points down to our reflections again before taking a deep breath and letting it out dramatically to make the best cloud of breath that he can, laughing a little to himself as he watches for it on the water.
“We’re just not close enough to see it-”
“Just do it baby,” he deadpans and I laugh a little to myself before joining him in taking long breaths of air, trying to make the biggest clouds we can. It doesn’t take long before we are both falling into a fit of laughter, finally stepping down from the railing when he starts to cough from trying so hard. I hold my stomach as I laugh at him trying to catch his breath, groaning finally as he does and I catch my breath as well, from laughing instead of the huffing process of trying to see our breath on the water below the bridge.
“Alright maybe you were right, that was pretty dumb,” he admits with a half shrug and I smile as he offers me his arm again to hook my own around before we begin to walk again.
“You were right too though, it was kind of fun,” I grin even though most of my amusement had come from his running out of breath and having to fight to get it back. Santiago gives me another smile that makes the cold seem a little more bearable, and I smile back up at him, each step carrying us closer to the bar.
It was a weekly occurrence, meeting the boys for drinks at the small bar downtown. Every Friday since I’d first met them all, although at the time there had been a few other girlfriends there, but they hadn’t stuck around. It had happened slowly though, the way they would stop coming and for the last few weeks I had been questioning whether I was killing the mood by being the only significant other there now. And every time I’d brought it up, Santiago insisted that it wasn’t true.
I was honestly just grateful that he wanted me there as much as I wanted to be there. Wants me there, I remind myself as I look up at him, giving another quick smile as he lets go of my arm to hold the door of the bar open to me.”Thank you,” I say softly, looking around to find the guys at a table in the corner and we both smile and wave to them.
“There they are, took you long enough!” Will laughs lightly. Frankie hits Ben’s shoulder, leaning to say something to him quickly before the two of them look at us as well to wave.
“Hey guys,” Santiago hugs them all quickly, and I smile up at Will as he comes to me with open arms, smiling softly.
“How are you?” he rubs my back softly and I grin at the feeling before pulling away with my answer.
“I’m here,” I laugh a little, “Too cold to feel too good.” I joke, rubbing my hands together as I move to sit down before giving another little wave to Frankie across the table as he tips his hat at me again.
Santiago moves around the table greeting the guys before sitting down beside me again and I smile softly to him, setting my hand on his thigh as he pulls his seat towards mine and Will immediately launches into a story of a young recruit that had come to the volunteer luncheon for the veterans.
It doesn’t take long to work out the moods that each of them are in, William seeming to be in the best of the three. I give a slightly worried glance to Santiago as Frankie rubs his hand over his neck again, shifting it over and over as the pain slowly starts to make his expression change, cracking the facade that he’d put on for the night. He was tired, that much was obvious, but the aches and pains that were slowly becoming all too regular to him from his job were a bit worrying.
“Maybe you should take some time off soon, get a little vacation time in,” I say softly, and Will nods along with my words while Santiago is gone to get the spiked hot chocolates we had both talked about on the way here.
“Thank you Baby,” I whisper, kissing his cheek as he leans down to set the mugs on the table for the two of us, pulling my chair closer to the table as Ben begins to speak.
It was obvious that he’d had a few drinks before getting here too, and was already going strong on his second drink since we had been a little late, a fact that he’d been sure to remind us of a few times since we had arrived. He had apparently come to adopt the worst mood of the three of them, since boxing always slowed down this time of year, it was harder for him to get fights lined up like he liked. Granted, he had started another job too, realizing a while ago that fighting likely wasn’t going to make him the living he had hoped for, but he still liked to do it in his spare time. Taking fights meant extra money from something he was good at. Something he was good at and that he enjoyed was the real point.
“Why are you doing that?” Ben suddenly stops and points to my arm, hooked around Santi’s as we sit and listen to him explaining what happened, that someone had overscheduled and dropped him from the schedule all together somehow .
“What?” I ask softly, looking to Santiago as well.
“Nothing, nevermind.” He shakes his head, “But now I probably won’t even get the chance at another fight ‘til next month, at least not another good one.” he explains.
I nod, reaching forward to touch his arm gently with the back of my hand to get his attention. “I’m sorry Ben, I hope they get the schedule fixed.” he nods a little before taking another swig from his beer, Will cutting in then.
“I don’t get how you can fuck up a schedule that badly in the first place.”
“Any other job, shit, any other gym and they’d be catching shit for it, whoever did it.” Francisco adds and the guys all nod together.
I lean into Santiago’s side a little more, sipping from my mug softly, knowing the conversation is a bit out of my depth since I didn’t know much about anything behind the scenes of the fights and the gyms that hosted them. After a while I finally turn my head up slightly, whispering to Santiago, “Hey, I’m gonna run to the bathroom really quickly,” I say gently and he nods, smiling to me before I go.
“Alright Pope, you gotta tell me man, why does she do that shit?” I hear Ben , glancing back as he leans forward across the table and I feel my stomach drop a little before Pope answers simply.
“She’s going to the bathroom?” I laugh a little to myself as the other guys laugh as well and I turn my head again, going into the restroom.
-
“No I’m serious, why does she do that?” Ben says again after glancing to make sure he won’t be heard.
“Do what?”
“The touching you, the always touching you!” He laughs incredulously as he says it, as if what he’s talking about is the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe, to the other guys, it is. But not to Santiago. Maybe when it first started, when the first few touches bled into the constant closeness that the two of you shared, it was new to him. He hadn’t been with someone that liked to touch this much, liked to be this close.
And at first, sure, he had been a little caught off guard by it. He hadn’t known how to respond at first, but was met with nothing but respect and understanding when he voiced it, as well as an explanation to why it happened so often. He’d never heard the saying before then, never heard of a ‘love language’, so he didn’t expect the guys to understand it either as he said it.
“It’s like-” he finds himself at a loss for words when he tries to explain it, “Mine is acting. I like to do things for the people I care about. And you like hearing it, that has a name too.” He thinks on it for a second as he points at Ben, “Words of- of affirmation maybe? I don’t know I’m not good at-”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Ben doesn’t even try to hide the way he laughs slightly. “You’ve got different kinds of love now? Other than like sex and actual love?”
Santiago rolls his eyes, knowing it was going to be something that the guys would tease him about the moment he had started trying to explain it. Ben’s was just going to be worse because he was in a worse mood and he had gone through more drinks than anyone else already.
“Shut up Benny, we’ve all got our own ways of showing it anyways, and I have no problem with it.” He huffs plainly at the younger man and the other two laugh a little to lighten the mood. It was true he had no problem with the closeness, he loved it honestly. He wouldn’t want it any other way now that it was a part of this relationship, simply enough it was just a part of the person he loved. Why would he ever want to change that?
“Oh come on Pope, he’s just messing-” Frankie laughs and shoves his friend’s arm slightly.
“You’ve got to admit, Love Languages do sound like something from a bad rom-com.” Will joins in with the joking and Santiago can’t help but laugh, because they were right. It was funny, in a way.
-
“-I just don’t see why she’s got to be hanging all over you all the time.” I blush slightly as I catch the last of what Ben is saying as I come back, the whole group a circle of smiles even though the comment makes me wonder what they’d said while I was gone.
I sit down slowly, putting a smile on my face anyways “What’s up?” I ask as I lean into Santi again and he gives me a quick hug before reaching for his drink and I smile when I see two new mugs full of drinks in front of us.
“Just talking about you two,’ Will laughs a little and Frankie nods.
“You’re gonna make the rest of us jealous by bein’ in love.” He teases and you grin. Frankie had always been the one to tease you about how in love you and Santiago seemed to be most of the time, all of the time if you were less nervous to admit it.
“Now I’m getting us more drinks!” Ben announces, slamming his hands on the table as he gets up and turns quickly to walk to the bar, the bartender greeting him with a wide smile.
It doesn’t take very long for the few drinks to turn into a few too many in my opinion, especially when Ben’s attention is pulled form another story again as I lean my head on Santiago’s shoulder. I’d been tired before we came, but the warmth from the hot cocoa was definitely lending itself to the pull that sleep was having on me until he looks at me like that again.
“Seriously, you can’t just- sit up?” He looks at me and I pick my head up again instantly.
“What?” I feel my stomach drop again, just at the way he had said it so pointedly, and I watch as everyone else’s attention turns to s around the table as well.
He gestured between Santiago and me before laughing a little, “You’re always hangin’ all over him, might as well be in his lap.” Ben doesn’t hold back on the laugh this time, “Go on‘head, hop over there then,” he waves his hand asif to direct me where to go and I glance to Santi who stares at his friend with a surprised look on his face.
“I don’t understand what-”
“I mean you two are always touchin’,” Frankie nods as he cuts me off, gesturing between the two of us as well and I hate the way my eyes begin to sting lightly just because of the sudden attention that seemed less friendly than it had before.
“Is it really not annoying?” Ben looks at Santiago and I almost flinch at the way he says it so simply, practically calling me annoying and I swallow thickly, trying to push down the emotion building in my eyes.
“No, it’s really not,” Santiago laughs it off, shaking his head and reaching for his drink again, having switched over to something other than the hot chocolate earlier in the night.
I get up, picking up my jacket from the stool I’d been sitting in.
I wring my hands for a moment before looking at them, clearing my throat and putting on a small smile “I’m going to go ahead home boys, have a good night.” I say softly, having wanted to go home a little while before, when the sleepiness had begun to hit me, but enjoying seeing all the boys too much to actually go. But since the mood had seemed to shift, it felt right.
“No, no Baby,” Santiago reaches for my arm and it almost makes me smile a little before he looks at the guys again. “Leave her alone, I told you guys already,” he laughs under his breath a little, “It’s a ‘Love Language’,” the mocking voice and the air quotes he throws up make it impossible to ignore the burning in my eyes now, and I pull my arm from his grasp. I stare at him for a moment before shaking my head, blinking quickly when I feel the heat of a tear rolling down my cheek, clearing my throat again.
“No no, I am,” I nod and throw another wave in the boys’ direction “I’m going home.” I say simply before turning to walk to the door, not bothering to pull on my jacket until I’m already outside, walking down the sidewalk as quickly as I can.
It takes a moment before I even notice Santiago calling after me, “Baby, Baby-” his hand is on my upper arm again trying to pull me to turn around and I pull away from him again.
“What?” I step away as I turn to him, not wanting to grant him the full satisfaction of getting me to stop like he had wanted.
“Baby come back, we didn’t mean it like-”
“Like what?” I wipe quickly at my face, the frustration I feel with myself at being so upset only makes me tear up even more. “Like it’s annoying? Pretty sure that’s exactly what he said,” I throw a hand back to gesture at the bar again before turning to start walking again.
“Stop it-”
“No, I told you I could stop coming around if I wasn’t welcome. I told you, you guys could have your boys night back if it was weird for me to come when there were no other partners there-” I almost hiccup when my breath catches as I try to talk. “But I didn’t expect to suddenly get picked on like that.”
Santiago sighs and it only manages to make me more frustrated with the situation, “They were just teasing Baby.” He says softly and I finally turn to face him dead on.
“And you? Were you teasing when you mocked me?”
His mouth falls open and shuts again quickly like he isn’t sure what to say and I can’t help the scoff that escapes me. “You know what I meant,” he tries and I shake my head.
“No Santi, I really don’t. Unless you were saying that it’s annoying, or that I’m too clingy, cause I got that message pretty clearly from the others,” I say, my voice shaking as I wipe at my cheeks again wishing the tears would stop coming.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I shake my head and start walking again, and he sighs as he tries to fall into step beside me again. “Just go back, I’m not staying tonight.” I say flatly and he scoffs back at me.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going home Pope.” He finally stops then, hands shoved in his pocket as his mouth falls open one more time but I look away before he can do anything else and I keep walking, shivering even more now from the wet cold covering my face.
-
Benny: I’m really sorry, I was just in a bad mood and it wasn’t what I meant.
Delete.
Benny: Seriously, if anything I’m jealous.
Delete.
Benny: Okay that was a stupid argument, I know. But it’s true and I really am sorry.
Delete.
Benny: At least talk to-
I don’t even finish reading that one before deleting it and finally just backing out of the conversation, deleting the whole thing.
I glance at the notification bubble beside Santiago’s messages as well, not even having the heart to click on it to make the number go away whether I read them or not. “It’s been a week, can you please just answer the…” is the preview I can see from the notification banner, and I slide it away.
Half of my reason for ignoring them all came from embarrassment. At what they had said, and at how I had reacted to it. I couldn’t blame the drink either, I hadn’t had enough for that.
It was simply because of the topic.
I’d worried so many times that I would come off as too clingy for Santiago. Hell, we had talked about it whenever I’d first started to let myself lean into him more or reach for his hand more often than he’d reached for mine. But he’d never made me feel like I had been too much, which was the best feeling that he possibly could have given me.
“Can I ask you something?” his voice had been so soft as we sat on the couch, the credits rolling from a movie we’d been waiting weeks to watch together.
“Of course you can,” I’d laughed as I looked up at him, and he lifted our hands slightly from where I’d held them, softly tracing shapes over his skin with my fingertips without even really realizing it.
“Do you do that on purpose?” He had asked so sincerely, like he was really curious.
I blushed at the time, shaking my head and pulling my hands away as soon as he’d brought it up. “No, I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was doing it. If it’s annoying I can-”
“It’s not. I like it.” His eyes held mine with the softest expression. “I’ve just noticed you do it a lot.”
“I just like to um, to have the touch.” I’d said so softly I had been surprised he’d heard it. “It’s a love language, it’s my love language.”
“Your what?” the pure confusion that was thrown across his face when I’d said that had made me laugh before I began to explain it. The way I liked to lean into him and feel him close to me. The way my hands always seemed to find his even when I wasn’t thinking about it. I liked the physical reminder that he was there and that he was close enough for me to touch. My own way of reminding him of the same thing. That I was there, and I wanted to be there, and that I loved him.
“But if you don’t like it I can try to stop-”
“No,” he’d repeated softly, pulling at my arm gently until I gave him my hand again. “I like it. Like you said, it’s a reminder that you love me. Which is nice to have. I just didn’t know that’s what it was.” He’d smiled softly before laughing a little. “Now I know that if it ever stops is when we have a problem,” he’d joked with a wink.
It had felt so perfect then, the way he had asked and I had gotten the chance to explain the little habit of mine. And the way that he had dismissed my every worry so easily.
It hits me then, and I stop finally. I had gotten the chance to explain.
I sigh a little at how much I found myself not wanting to give him the chance to explain the other night. At how quick I had been to let my insecurities return to me even though he had done so well to make me forget them until then. That he had so easily made me feel like I shouldn’t have them when it came to the way that I expressed my love to him like this. He’d never made me feel like I was too much, so why did I let myself believe so quickly that he had meant it that way when that had happened at the bar? I blush a little, knowing the answer even as I think of the question. Because the way it had happened had hurt.
I lift the phone to my ear slowly as it rings, and before I can even hear the next tone, it stops.
“Can I come over?” his voice comes instantly, as if he’d been waiting for me to finally give him a chance to speak.
I nod as if he can hear it, “If you want to.”
“I’d love to.” he says just as quickly. “I’ll be there soon.”
Santiago is true to his word, as always, the knock on my front door coming not even twenty minutes after I’d hung up the phone. I go to answer slowly, embarrassment weighing me to the floor as I move towards the door.
The moment I open it, his eyes are on mine and his shoulders relax slightly as he looks at me. “I’m sorry.” His voice is soft, and I feel the weight of what I’d been feeling for the past week ease just slightly.
“I didn’t mean what I said the way that it came out, and I never should have let Ben speak to you the way he did.” He shakes his head “But shit, he’s an idiot. And so am I sometimes, I can’t deny that.”
He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and I wonder if they’re as cold as he claimed them to be every time he had to go out of the house this time of year. “Do you want to come in?” I ask softly and he nods, his eyes meeting mine again.
“If I can.”
“Of course you can.”
He comes in, standing awkwardly as I shut the door before moving to take off his shoes in the entryway like I always do.
“You can talk Santi, I can see it all over your face that you want to.” I laugh a little as I move to sit on the couch.
“I don’t really know what to say other than I’m sorry.” He says softly again and I nod. “You didn’t see me trying to explain it to them though, the way you did. You made it sound so easy that time when you explained it to me but when I tried, it sounded so stupid so I was annoyed with that, not you.” He starts to ramble, never really being all that good with words when it comes to things like this anyways.
“-That’s why I said it the way I did, not because I was mocking you.” He pauses for a second, “And I didn’t know what to say to him when he brought it up again. I thought we were done with it and I just wanted the joking about it to stop because I know how you worry about it. That’s why I’d tried to just go with it to make it stop.”
It made sense, what he was saying. It was just like him to try to make it stop as soon as it started, even if the way he had tried to stop it at the time hadn’t been the best choice. He had just been trying to get it to stop. I nod a little again as he explains and I look at him.
“So I don’t annoy you?” I can’t help but ask and he shakes his head instantly.
“Not at all I promise, and it doesn’t annoy them either, it's just, it’s more obvious now that they don’t have someone they\at they’re acting like us with, y’know?” He says and I nod again. It was true, Ben used to always have his hands on whoever he brought to the bar with him, not in a sexual way, but in the same way I liked to have Santiago close, the same way that Ben would sometimes come off as doting just because he liked to talk about them. And he liked for them to talk about him. It was his own thing. Mine was touch, his was verbal.
“You know I don’t mean it to be clingy-”
“I know, and even if you were, I wouldn’t want it to stop. I like being close to you.” Santiago says seriously.
I can’t help the smile that begins to spread across my face when he says that. “I’m sorry I got so worked up about it,” I say softly, wringing my hands again and he reaches over slowly, offering his hand for me to take and I smile at the way he lets me decide whether or not to take it. I do, sliding my hand into his softly and I smile softly at the slight chill that lingers on his skin from outside.
“You don’t have to be sorry for feeling.” He says gently. “He shouldn’t have said all that just cause he wished he had someone like you.” He teases slightly and it pulls a small laugh from me.
“You’re really laying it on thick with the flattery aren’t you?” I tease him slightly and he laughs.
“At least til I’ve forgiven myself for upsetting you like that.” He says, half jokingly as I pull at his hand a little to make him come closer, and he takes the queue to move closer, wrapping his arm around me. I smile a little at the feeling, leaning my head against him like I’d grown so used to.
_____
Tag List: @phoenixhalliwell @biblioworm @kesskirata @codenamewife @xsadderdazeforeverx @crushallofthetears @fangirl-316 @sizzlingcloudmentality
Warnings : Fluff, mild angst, mention of blood, mention of canon style violence, mention of food, some innuendos and spice
Summary : You offer to help Marc and Steven relax a little after a long night
Prompts - “Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.” + "Your back is so tense. Would you like a massage?"
Gif by salome-c
~~~~~~~
The night drags out in the winter, long and dark as you toss and turn in a cold empty bed. It's not the first night you've been alone, and you know it won't be the last, but every night they are gone ends this way — restless and sleepless. You know eventually the sun will rise, the moon will disappear again for another night, and you hope that then, they will come home to you.
Sitting up, you run your hands over your face, the movement stirring up the lingering familiar scent of them from their sweater. You'd thrown it on as the wind had rattled the window panes, the cold breeze sneaking through the gaps to bite at your skin. The smell brings a soft familiar warmth to you, as though you could imagine them here, their arms wrapped around you.
Technically it's Marc's sweater, a point Steven likes to make continually since he hates it, preferring his patterned shirts to Marc's usual wardrobe of darker colours, but it's still a comfort that reminds you of them both.
Swinging your legs out of bed, you let the cold wood floor ground you for a moment, pulling you from dark and depressing thoughts. They always came home to you, there's no reason tonight should be any different, and yet the restlessness won't cease.
Giving up on sleep, you make your way into the kitchen. A drink and a snack would help pass the time and distract you a little while you wait. The wind howls again, rattling the windowpane, and you bite your lip in worry that they are somewhere out there, in the cold night, getting into who knows what trouble.
Grabbing a packet of crisps, you reach up to grab a glass from the cupboard when a noise at the door stops you in your tracks. Lowering your arm, slowly you step quietly back into the middle of the flat, giving you more space to run if you need it as there’s another rattle of the lock. Your heart beats wildly as the door suddenly swings open.
"Oh! Hello, love. Why are you up so late?" Steven asks, wide eyed with surprise the moment he sees you standing frozen in the middle of the flat. It takes a second for your heartbeat to slow and for your nerves to calm down in order to answer. Of course, it was them, who else would be letting themselves in.
"I couldn't sleep," you answer distractedly, taking in his dishevelled appearance as the remainder of his white suit disappears. His curls are damp with sweat, hanging messily over his forehead which is smeared in blood, there's a rapidly healing cut on his lip and a bruise on his chin.
"Are you ok?" You breathe, dropping the packet of crisps onto the counter and making your way over to him. You lift your fingers to softly trace the bruise, but even as you do, it disappears under your touch.
"Yeah," Steven assures you softly, reaching out to rub your upper arms in comfort, sensing your distress. "We are always ok. Marc just got into a bit of trouble. Didn't mean to scare you coming in.”
You nod, your fingers softly gliding over the patches of dried blood where cuts and scrapes would have been, trying not to let your fears get the best of you. It was still hard to adjust to everything about the situation, and the very real dangers that they faced during the night. Even though they always seemed to come back safe, sometimes a little worse for wear but safe, it still sent your stomach twisting.
"Love?" Steven repeats gently, blinking you out of your fear fed daze.
"Sorry, what?"
"I asked if you are ok?" He asks again gently, reaching up to stroke your hair as he looks you over. Typical Steven — the man who just stumbled home from a fight, probably still having the lingering pain from the bruises and cuts, asking if you, who have been safe at home curled up in bed, are alright.
"I'm just glad you're home," you smile, leaning into his touch as he cups your cheek gently. "Let me go get you some water and clean your face up."
He nods, letting you go so that you can pad back into the kitchen. The switch happens in seconds, silently Steven steps back and your only alert to it is Marc's accent when he asks his next question.
"Why are you wearing my sweater?"
"Because it smells like you. Both of you," you clarify with a shrug, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard. You probably should be embarrassed about your constant need to feel close to them, but judging by the glint in his eyes when you look over, Marc enjoys seeing you wearing his clothes just as much as you enjoy wearing them.
"Smell that good, do we?" Marc grins, folding his arms and leaning against the bookshelf, watching you as you pour the water and grab a damp cloth.
Walking back over, you hand Marc the glass of water before you carefully start to wipe the blood from his head.
"Occasionally you do. Maybe not right now, though," you tease.
Marc placing down the glass on the table should have been your first warning of what was about to happen, but it still takes you by surprise when he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tightly, rubbing his damp curls across the side of your face. He smells of sweat and aftershave, of desert sand and blood. It shouldn't be as arousing to your senses as it is.
Laughing, you try to scramble out of his arms, if only to save yourself the embarrassment of becoming a panting mess just from the damn way he smells.
"Thought you wanted to smell like us?" He teases. "I'm just helping. I'm scenting you."
"Marc!" You giggle, giving up and going limp in his arms. He squeezes you hard before he finally lets you go, picking up the glass of water to sip it innocently while you straighten yourself out.
"You want a snack, Spector? Food!" You clarify quickly as Marc raises his eyebrows, the beginning of a smirk curling his lips. He always seemed to be riled up after a fight, and more than once you'd let him have whatever he wanted from you. But tonight you can see the tiredness in the way he holds himself, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever. Tonight, you had to let him rest, even if he thought that wasn't the best for him right now.
"No, thank you, baby. I'm gonna take a shower then we can go to bed," he winks, finishing the water before he kisses your temple and disappears into the bathroom.
You don't try to follow him. You've learned after long nights like this they need some time alone, to process the events and to discuss between themselves. You leave them to it and sit down on the edge of the bed, relieved to have them home safe.
~
"Feeling better?" You ask, jumping up and opening your arms as they leave the bathroom, dressed in Steven’s oversized pyjamas.
"Much better," Steven smiles, wrapping his arms around you and cuddling you tightly. You lean into his embrace, letting your head fall to his shoulder as you hold him tightly.
"Your back is so tense," you frown, letting your fingers trace the stiff muscles gently. It can't be easy what they do, and with all the power that Khonshu gives them their body still seems to always pay the price. "Would you like a massage? Might help a little?"
"Oh, you really don't have to do that! We’ll be alright by the morning," Steven protests, giving you a gentle squeeze. Smiling, you brush your fingers through his wet curls, pulling away from him just far enough to give him a soft kiss, enjoying the way he smiles against your mouth.
"Or, you know, we could give you a massage?" Steven whispers softly, his fingers ghosting up your ribs as he leans forward to kiss you again. You roll your eyes, reminded once more that Marc and Steven can sometimes be very much the same.
“Later,” you smile, nudging your nose against his as his fingers creep under the hem of Marc’s sweater to brush against your bare skin. “Let me do this one thing for you. It’ll make me feel like I'm doing something useful,” you admit.
“You’re always doing useful things, and you don't have to do anything for us,” he kisses your hair softly as he cuddles you.
“I know, but it still makes me feel like I can help a little bit.” You press another lingering kiss to his lips before you gently push him towards the bed. "Come on, shirt off."
"You really don't have to," Steven protests again.
"I know, and I still want to. Now get on the bed before I'm forced to put you down on it myself.” You fold your arms stubbornly, watching his expression change as Marc fronts.
“Oh, yeah? How you gonna go about that? Because I’d love to see it,” he grins. When you open your mouth to bite a response at him that in the state he’s in you could absolutely take him down, he jumps in, no doubt knowing what you are about to say.
"No, you couldn’t. Don't even try. You’ll just hurt yourself, baby," he laughs, pulling his shirt up over his head and throwing it to the floor. Rolling your eyes, you point to the bed, watching as he climbs on it and lays down on his stomach, wrapping his arms around the pillow.
Grabbing some lotion off the side, the one that always makes Steven nuzzle your skin with the most contented inhales of breath, you carefully straddle his waist. Warming the lotion on your hands first, you carefully start to rub it into his back, feeling the tension of his stiff muscles under your fingers. Starting with his shoulders, you carefully work your way down, pressing your thumbs against his spine as he hums contentedly under your fingers. Ever so slowly you feel him start to relax, the tension he’s been carrying dropping out of him as he starts to breathe slowly and evenly.
"Mmm smells amazing. You're too good to us," Steven mumbles softly, clearly already half asleep, boneless, and relaxed under your hands.
"Yeah, probably," you tease with a laugh, leaning down to press a soft kiss between their shoulder blades. "You deserve it, though. You look after so many people with no thanks, this is the least I can do.”
Steven falls silent for a long moment, and you feel the shift this time. It's the slightest stiffen of his posture under your fingers that alerts you to Marc.
"He’s right, you know? You are far too good to us, to me,” Marc mumbles into the pillow, his voice taking on an edge of sadness, “You deserve better than having to sit awake all night waiting for us to come home, worrying the way you do.”
Pausing in your massage, you climb off him to sit on the bed, gently pressing against his bicep to force him to turn on his side. When he finally does, you lay down beside him, pressing your hand to his cheek, so you can meet his eyes at his level.
“Marc Spector, I would wait up a thousand nights for you without a single regret. My worrying is not your fault. Remember, I chose you just as much as you chose me. I knew what I was getting into, and it was my choice, it still is.” You gently stroke his cheek with your thumb as you talk, your eyes imploring him not to go down this route of self-hate again. "I love you, and all the nights and worry in the world won't change that."
At that, he gives you the ghost of a smile, turning his head to kiss your palm, changing the subject before your conversation gets too deep into serious territory, the same way he always does.
“Just wait until you let me return the favour. Gonna massage you everywhere.” Even though he’s clearly trying to distract you from questions of his own self worth, you can't help the bolt of desire that runs through you at the thought of his hands caressing your skin. Your thoughts are not helped in any way when he slides his hand across your thigh, licking his lips.
"Could start now, baby?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. With a giggle and a lot more willpower than you thought possible, you gently remove his hand and shuffle back.
“Later, let me finish your massage first. Please,” you add as he looks like he's about to argue. His expression softens and he presses a quick lingering kiss to your lips before he lays back down on his stomach.
Climbing back over him, you press soft kisses down the back of his neck before you resume the massage he’d interrupted, rubbing the remainder of the lotion in.
“Thank you,” Marc mumbles quietly. “Honestly, you’re far too -”
“Stop talking and just enjoy being taken care of,” you cut in and scold him gently. He mumbles something about taking care of you later, but thankfully quietens down.
He’s so quiet after a while that you can't help but become suspicious of the silence. It’s not that you’re exactly expecting him to throw you over and return the favour, but….it wouldn't be the first time silence spelled that sort of trouble.
"Marc? Steven?" You question softly, leaning over to look at them. Their eyes are closed, mouth half open as they breathe deeply, completely fast asleep. Smiling, you carefully climb off them and snuggle down beside them. You do your best to keep your movements as small as possible to not disturb them, but both of them are light sleepers after everything they’ve been through, and even the slightest movement makes them stir.
"Come here, please." Steven sighs sleepily, his voice gravelled and only half awake, reaching over for you and pulling you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you to secure you in place. "I’m sorry. We’ll return the favour in the morning when we are more awake, I promise."
“I’m sure you will,” you smile, reaching down and tugging the covers up over you both. Steven hums a mumbled "we love you," into your hair and within seconds he's snoring peacefully, just as the sun starts to stream in through the window, and the countdown to the night begins again.
------
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Seven Minutes in Heaven Hell (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader)
Summary: the boys lock you in a closet with Santi for the game “seven minutes in heaven”.
Author’s note: this is a quick and short and quite silly little thing. It’s another one that has been sat in my drafts for an age, and I thought I’d share it since I’m still working on my main WIP 😅 Maybe some of you will enjoy it?! Who knows!
Warnings: making-out. Confined spaces. Not proofread, probably mistakes.
Gif by @zoriis 🧡
You are locked in a closet with Santi. This is your reality.
The rest of the boys had decided, that if you two insisted on continuing to skirt around this Thing between you, you would pay for it. They had decided that if you were going to be immature with regards to your feelings, you could play a game from high school. Fitting, in a way, you suppose.
They had also decided, that if seven minutes locked in a closet together didn’t get you together, that by this point, nothing would.
Well, you were starting to believe that they were right about that.
You were also starting to wonder whether this game has been missold. You swore it used to be called Seven Minutes in Heaven.
It was seven minutes in hell, so far.
Minute One
“Can you not?” you complain as Santi turns around in the cramped space, his round ass backing up against your crotch. You tut loudly.
“Sorry, Princesa” he apologises, with little genuine regret. “There’s not a lot of manoeuvre room in here for all this ass.”
You try not to think about that ass. “Then stop manoevering!” you hiss, throwing your hands up in the air, despairing at the clattering noises and trying to squint through the dark to se what the hell he is doing.
Why can’t he just lean back serenely against the opposite shelf, like you, and wait for this whole nightmare to pass?
“These knitting needles are sticking into my back. Shit - I didn’t make it through war zones just to be killed by Benny’s Grandma’s craft emporium.”
His round ass bumps you again and this time you can’t help but laugh.
Christ. How do you get yourself into these situations again?
Ah, yes. Benjamin Miller. Sounds about right.
Minute Two
“Can you believe this, huh? I mean, what are they actually expecting?” you complain to Santi, now settled opposite against the shelf, your thighs pressed together in the tight space.
You bang on the closet door, yelling, “What do you expect to happen, mother fuckers?”, the sudden noise causing Santi to jump, and then you hear an unfortunate bang.
“Jesus, Princesa. Warn a man if you’re going to do that, huh?”
“Shit, did you hit your head?” you say in a lightly mocking, babying tone.
His voice is about an octave higher. “I don’t really like confined spaces, alright? Excuse me if I’m a little tense.”
“Aww, poor thing. Are you bleeding?” you half-mock, reaching your hand out in the dark until you find his grizzled curls, as if to pat him better. You weren’t expecting to find his face first though, and his hand settles over yours to prevent your thumb from poking him in the eye a second time.
“Honey. You’re killing me here. I’m starting to think I’d be better off with baby Miller.”
You feel the rasp of his stubble against your palm as he speaks, his jaw animating under your hand. Then, he grips your hand firmly in his and lowers it down to your thigh. “Just behave, will you?” he scolds, growing exasperated, and so you respond with a silky “Yes, sir,” which is intended to come out as a joke.
Really.
However, in the dark, pressed up against him, with the memory of the warmth and the textures of him fresh on your fingertips, it hits different. Even if you had been the one to say it.
Santi clears his throat, and you feel his thighs brace against yours as if he’s squirming in place, widening his legs.
You try not to think about why.
Minute Three
You had thought this would be easy, but oh boy. The time is dragging. Santi had insisted you just stay still. Stay quiet.
Fine, in theory.
But also… there’s nothing else to focus on here in the dark except… him.
The smell of his cologne. The sounds of his breathing. The press of him against you. The warmth suffusing from his thigh to yours.
“Holy shit it’s getting hot in here,” you announce suddenly, unable to beat it any longer. “I’m gonna have to take my sweater off.”
“Do you have to?”
“Yeah.”
You stand, which presses your torso closer to Santi, but apparently, you didn’t think this all the way through, because as you arch to lift your sweater over your head, you realise he didn’t stand up, and your breasts - part-exposed due to your low cut vest- therefore brush against his face.
Oh fuck. That felt… good. His stubble rasping over the sensitive skin at your cleavage?
“Shit, sorry. That was my tits.”
“No shit,” he bites, his breath warm against your bare skin.
And oh fuck… great. Because now your sweater is tangled above your head and you can’t seem to get it off, especially in this tight space where the triangles of your elbows seem to be bumping off everything (not) in sight.
So, as you tug and struggle, and try not to whip poor Santi in the face with your tits again you simply wish this could all be over soon.
“Shit. Don’t tell me I have to help strip you.”
“Doing my best.”
He grunts.
“Okay, but… do you have to make those… little noises? I’m doing my best but I’m only a man, honey. You’re fucking killing me here.”
Were you? Yeah, you guess you were making some… little noises. Maybe some little grunts and whimpers and groans as you struggled with your clothes. Which… in the dark, with your tits bouncing in front of his face…
Oh god.
Still, you can’t resist teasing him a little. “Sorry, sir.”
“Cariño,” Santi warns, his voice deeper. “Space is already tight in here without you encouraging certain things to take up more room,” he purrs, and he stands, as you are dumbfounded by his innuendo, peeling your sweater off you with ease.
He throws in some of his own little noises for good measure when he takes it off you.
Thank god you’re wearing fewer layers, at least, because it’s starting to get very warm in here.
Minute four
Are you still in here? Really? When will this end?
You bounce your foot agitatedly against the floor.
This… silence is awkward now. There’s a… tension?
Would you call it a tension?
I mean, why not. You’re only trapped in a small space with the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. Not to forget that only moments ago, he implied your noises were giving him an erection and now you can think of nothing else.
Is this a… sex dream? A sex dream you’re trapped in? Because if it is you definitely want to skip to the part with the sex. And if it’s not? Then you really ought to stop thinking about his…
Ahem.
“What are you thinking about?” you ask, harshly puncturing the silence, and you hear Santi dispel a light chuckle, then release a gust of held breath.
“Benny’s grandma.”
He can’t see it, of course, but you crinkle your nose in confusion. “What? Why?”
“I’ve found thinking about Benny’s grandma to be… calming in the current situation. You know, since I’m locked in a fucking cupboard with a stone cold temptress.”
You scoff. “Please, Pope. Hardly. I couldn’t tempt you even if I wanted to. I’m not your type.”
“Who in the fuck told you that?” he asks, without missing a beat.
You fold your arms around yourself. “Well, nobody… I just…”
There is a pause, and you think he has dropped it, until his voice comes back, smaller than before, but filled with seeming sincerity.
“Cariño, you could tempt me even if you weren’t trying.”
You make a series of unintelligible noises, in disbelief, your brain losing the ability to form words.
“And for the record, you’re exactly my type.”
Oh Jesus.
This is it, right?
It must be.
This is how you die.
Minute Five
There is another silence, mainly as you try to process what on Earth Santi just said.
It seems to take forever for the cogs to turn, but at the same time, it doesn’t take you long. He likes you? Then why in the hell have you two never…?
It dawns on you.
The answers obvious really, as soon as you think about it.
You’re both idiots. And this is precisely why your friends have resorted to locking you in the closet.
You should say something, right? This is your chance? To tell him how you feel.
You think about saying something, but in the end, Santi beats you to it. “Hey, temptress. What’s behind you?”
“What?”
“What’s on the shelves, behind you? Spiky? Soft? What we got?”
You reach behind you automatically. It all seems soft. Plush.
“Why do y-?”
“-Just answer the question, baby girl,” Santi says, and with his voice dropped lower in his chest it just… hits different.
“Bedding, or something like that,” you croak. “Why?”
“Because my side’s fucking lethal, and if we’re gonna make out, I need to know what we’re dealing with over your side.”
“Fuck,” you respond, in a breathy voice.
Is this really happening?
There is a beat. You wish you could see him, but you think it’s probably a good thing he can’t see you, as you are a mess right now.
Your composure is so far out of the window it’s travelled across three states.
“Well?” he asks, ever so casually. “Wanna make out?”
Minute 6
You respond affirmatively, and the moment you do, Santi surges forward, his hands leading to find your position in the dark. He plants them at your waist, much more smoothly than when you had tried to touch him, and you allow him to guide you to standing.
“Which way?” he asks, his thumbs caressing the flesh at your hips, his breath close enough to be felt fanning over you. His cologne wrapping around you.
Your heart is fluttering wildly in your chest, and all you can think about is his hands tenderly folding your body into his, and his lips slanting against yours.
“Wha-“
“I don’t want to butt heads with you. Which way are you going to lean when we kiss?”
“To the right,” you whisper, practically breathless with nerves and anticipation. Your legs shaking.
“To the right?” Santi asks, and he slowly, ever so slowly, inches one hand up your body until it comes to delicately cup your chin, and then, he is moving in, his head tilting and your lips magnetising towards one another’s in the dark.
When you make initial contact it is soft, and tentative, and when you moan at the feel of him his tongue licks into your open mouth, melding deliciously with yours.
This definitely is not a sex dream.
You know because it feels way way better.
Minute 7
The lock turns in the door, and Frankie has the courtesy to loudly announce himself, at least. He probably figures he doesn’t want to risk an eyeful.
Before it can crack open you push Santi off you however; much to his disappointment, judging by the loud groan he emits.
Benny and Will appear behind Frankie as you and your secret make-out partner shield your eyes from the sudden influx of light.
“Don’t tell me,” Benny says with a shit-eating grin. “Nothing happened?”
“I told you,” you say smugly, but your three captors laugh.
You’re unsure why they’re so disbelieving until you risk a look at Santi, and you realise the dead giveaway. His face and neck are covered in your lipstick, and he’s sporting a (rather appealing) bulge at his crotch.
You swear you even see him mouthing “Benny’s grandma” under his breath.
“Fine,” you concede. “But it was just a little bit of kissing,” you insist, determined not to give the Boys the satisfaction.
“Uh, sweetie?” Frankie leans in. “We’re all totally buying it. Lapping this shit up. But you might want to do something about your breast?”
Shit.
You look down and your face heats as you realise that your vest top is tugged down, exposing one rather lacy bra cup to the room. Oh, and not to mention the seething marks Santi has bitten and sucked into the meat of your chest.
You exchange a self-satisfied look with your partner in crime as you tug up your top, and he looks more than a little pleased with himself too, one thick brow ticking up suggestively.
“Oh fine,” you admit, folding your arms against yourself. “We made out.”
And, even though you’re stating the obvious by this point, the boys erupt with chatter and jubilation and… did Benny just howl?
Yeah, figures.
All of them are animated except for Santi, who is still. Staring serenely at you, his eyes glowing with something between admiration and heat.
“What do you say?” he asks you tentatively, reaching for your hand to hold in his.
“Say to what?” you question, searching his eyes, and a smile dancing at the corners of your mouth.
“Well,” he winks. “I can give you a whole lot longer than seven minutes in heaven, if you wanna.”
Well. Now there’s an offer.
You practically drag him by the hand, and you head upstairs to finish what your meddling buddies started.
You might be idiots, but at least you figured it out eventually. Besides, you now have the joy of making up for lost time, and you have to figure -if that make-out session was anything to go by- that Santi will be nothing short of exceedingly good at that.
You’d definitely take seven minutes in hell for a long stint in heaven, and, as Santi dips you to the bed and settles his mouth over yours, you know it’s more than a fair exchange.
“One word from you and I will jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby.” - First Love / Late Spring (Mitski)
Pairing + genre: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader. Hurt / comfort + angst.
Summary: Santi is the sorta man who keeps his promises, and he promised to be there for you always and forever. All you have to do is say the word.
Author’s note: this one hurt me. Word count: 6k (SORRY!)
Warnings: panic attack / aftermath = a major / central theme. Allusions to prior trauma (non-specific). One mention of blood. ANGST.
“This is a man who keeps his oaths, his promises. To his country, to his friends. One word is all it takes, and Pope will be there for you in a heartbeat. He isn’t the kind of man to let a team member down, and, believe me, once you’re on his squad? You’re on it for life. Forever and always.” - Frankie Morales
Years of cruel awakenings in the military had made Pope an especially light sleeper. Luckily, out here in the suburbs, he was significantly less likely to be awoken with a grenade through the window. So, when his cell phone rings, wresting him rudely from slumber, he almost allows himself to be blasé about it. To just hit the red button and turn over.
But it’s still pitch dark. Too late -or too early- for this wake-up call to be something routine. So, Pope’s arm pokes out from beneath the covers as he fumbles blindly for his phone. He brings it to his ear wordlessly, voice still grogged by sleep. If he expects anything at all, it’s for the caller to be Catfish - drunk and checking-in on his sorry ass again.
“Santi?”
Instead, it is your panicked voice -swaddled in tell-tale signs of danger- which slices through the dark like the blade of an enemy combatant, yanking Pope harshly from his haze. Flinging off the coiled ropes of sleep, he is instantly firing on all cylinders, his body responding in much the same way as he might to enemy fire; preparing to counter a threat. To eliminate whatever is hurting you, with as much speed and precision as possible.
Summary: You get what you want eventually, even if it means you have to be a good girl for it.
Request: Can you do a genneel x reader where they make the reader call them both mommy please?:)
Warnings: mommy kink, fingering, butt plug
“Are you going to be a good little girl?” Danneel’s perfectly shaped brow arches as she watches you. Crossing her arms over her chest, she hums, giving you the non verbal command to get on your knees for her.
You don’t dare say a word, only nod overzealously as you lower yourself to the ground. Biting your lip, your eyes flicker from the tall redhead to the petite brunette, awaiting their instructions.
“You can answer, baby.” Gen says, a gleam in her eyes as she sits back in her chair across from you, pulling up her flowy skirt to rest at her slim hips.
“Yes, I promise, I’m going to be good. Gonna be a good girl.” Your reply comes out fast, you want them so bad. But you know that you’re not going to get them straight away. You have to play their game and give them what they want in order to get what you want.
Tsking, Gen shakes her head. “You’re missing one word, baby.”
“Sorry, mommy. I’ll be a good girl.” She gives a satisfied grunt, leaning back in her chair and spreading her legs. Your eyes flicker once more, your breath hitching as you catch sight of Danneel uncrossing her arms to palm her tits in her hands. Her lack of bra sends shivers down your spine and travels to your core. Wet and waiting.
There are so many filthy thoughts flying around in your mind about what you want from them, what you want to do with them. Fuck. Your hips flex, pussy clenching around nothing. You can smell the arousal dripping out of you, seeping through your panties. God, you don’t know what you want first. Sucking on Danneel tits? Rubbing your pussy against Gen’s? Having Danneel ride your face? The possibilities were endless with the women that were looking at you like you were the woman that they had to destroy to save themselves. What a way to go.
“You look so good for us, sweet girl.” Danneel murmurs, crossing the room in a few steps to settle herself behind you, whispering in your ear. “You’re going to watch mommy play with herself.” You nod before she finishes. “You have your plug in, sweet girl?”
You nod once again. “Do you want me to show you, mommy? I listened, like a good girl.”
“Panties. Off. Now.” It’s Gen’s turn to speak. “Wanna see that pretty pussy, baby. I just know it’s wet for us.”
Whimpering at her words, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and lean forward as you drag them down. Your ass on display for Danneel, now on her knees behind you instead of standing. Her eyes twinkle at the sight of the end of the glimmering plug that is pushed inside you.
When the fabric gets caught on your knees, you shuffle so you’re sitting on your butt instead of your knees. It gives Gen the perfect view of your soaking wet cunt. She groans. Gen’s fingers begin to rub circles on her clit, sliding down to her pussy to gather her slick to rub her clit again.
You forget how to breathe. Engrossed in her movement, you mewl when Danneel’s hands close around your thinly covered breasts. She harshly yanks the material down, her middle and forefinger pinches your puckered nipples. Fuck. It feels so good but you need her slender fingers elsewhere. Somewhere much more wet, more sensitive.
Gasping, you’re pulled back against Danneel’s bare chest, one of her hands reluctantly leaving your nipple to travel down your sternum, down your stomach, down to your soaking pussy.
God, please let her put her fingers in me! I need them so fucking bad.
As if she can hear your thoughts, she whispers. “You want mommy’s fingers in that sweet little pussy? That thick plug not enough for you?”
“No, it’s not enough. I need you. Please. I want you to fuck me with your fingers, while I watch mommy. Wanna watch mommy come. Please.” You pant, clinging onto Danneel’s wrists as you watch Gen pump her fingers inside of her pussy. You can hear how wet she is, how soaked her fingers are when she pulls them back out of her cunt. The squelching of her arousal becomes more prominent when she quickens her pace and you see her start to crumble as her palm hits her clit with every flick of her wrist.
Without warning, Danneel gives you what you have been begging for, but instead of only one of her fingers she shoves three of them inside you, making you scream at her abrasive actions. Your orgasm is almost instantaneous. The way Danneel touches you just sets a fire inside you, making your skin burn against her. The way Gen touches herself, teases herself in front of you to get you all hot and bothered and fuck do you know how it works. All it takes for you to fall over the edge is Danneel’s fingers plucking at the sensitive buds of your nipple then your clit as she continues to finger you.
Gen enjoys the way your mouth falls open as you come, as you writhe, as you convulse. She comes not a moment later, her juices drenching her fingers as she pulls them free from her pussy. It takes all of her strength to crawl over to you, pushing her digits to your bottom lip so you can taste her. Happily, you suckle at the arousal on her fingers, tongue swirling and gathering the slick she scooped from her core.
When you’re sure that you've sucked all the wetness from her fingers, you release them with an overexaggerated pop. You press your lips to Gen’s in a soft yet hungry kiss. “I think mommy needs to come. Can we make her come?”
“Make her come with your tongue, baby. Go get on your knees so I can play with my baby’s pretty little pussy. You’re going to come on my face next.”
💌for peter cumming in his pants while giving you head
also happy 2k followers bae you deserve it!
AHHHHHH
18+ only!! mdni
the two of you have just barely been dating -- you like to think of it as a fling that’s developed over the past month, peter likes to think that you're just being nice, if being nice usually meant having sex twice a week after studying in your apartment.
he was too shy to admit that you'd been his first, but you wouldn't have believed him if he hadn't told you. he carried himself with that lovesick eagerness, hell, he was fucking obsessed with you since he met you in line at the fucking dining hall.
and now he’s here with you and his knees are on the floor of your bedroom while you’re bent over kissing his mouth.
“can i give you head? please?” he mumbles into your mouth.
“if you really want to,” you chuckle.
“i’m-- i, uh, i’ve never done this before.”
“it’s okay, i’ll guide you, baby,” you coo softly.
his mouth is practically watering at the sight of your bare thighs, plush in his warm hands. he yanks down your underwear with so much fervor that you’d think he was seeing you naked for the first time, but he tends to look like you like that every time. eyes wide like ecstasy had just hit him.
you lay back down on your bed while he teases you with small love bites to your inner thighs, thumb circling your bud above your wet heat. peter can’t get over the fact that he’s the reason you’re wet.
slowly, he sinks his mouth onto you and his heart leaps the same time that you suck in a breath. you’re sweet on his tongue. he wants to lap up the whole of you, moaning almost louder than you are after you encourage him with whimpers of his name. he’s rutting against your mattress like a dog, the poor thing.
“does this feel good for you?” he asks, his brown eyes wide.
“mhm,” you sigh dreamily. “really good, pete. try using more pressure with more of a constant rhythm.. and a little lower-- fuck!”
you don’t know how he does it. it’s a strange feeling, one that makes your hips buck up and he groans at your warmth, the dripping sweetest of your cunt on his tongue while you pull his hair. his cock is throbbing so hard in his sweatpants that he feels like he’s going to dizzy himself trying to concentrate.
“oh my god, are you sure this is your first time?” you chuckle breathily. your encouragement makes him grin, makes his dick twitch as the blood rushes not only down there but to his cheeks.
with one hand, he reaches up to massage circles into your stomach until you interlock fingers. with his other hand, he slips two fingers into your cunt slowly, carefully scissoring them in the way he’s been able to perfect it over the past few weeks. the sensation mixed with the stimulation of your clit makes you feel like you’re about to short-circuit.
“fuck, right there!” you squeal once his fingers hit the spongy side inside your walls. “peter, ‘m gonna cum soon.”
he groans in response, eyes heavy in bliss as he licks you up. he lets go of your hand to give you an experimental slap on the ass and you’re delighted at his sudden eagerness (as if he could possibly be more eager than he’s been for the entire time he’s been alone with you today) and a boost of confidence.
peter lowers his hand to adjust his crotch, but he ends up palming himself just to relieve himself of the pressure that was building up. he’s amazed at the sounds that fall out of your mouth, how this might be the loudest you’ve ever been.
“i’m-- i’m gonna--”
you can’t even finish what you’re saying because your orgasm hits you like avalanche. peter looks up with you, tongue still licking at your pussy as he feels your thighs tremble and your hips grind into his mouth. the slight bounce of your tits from above him makes him feel feral as he watches you cum that he has to rub up and down his shaft even harder for relief.
even through your slight convulsions, peter sucks harshly on your clit once more and the overstimulation nearly tears you apart. your moans are so fucking obscene, your brain swimming in pleasure that you don’t even notice that peter’s grunting along and trembling along with you.
you have to physically remove yourself from his mouth because it’s all too much, and his head falls back, cheek pressed to the the flesh of your thigh as his chest heaves his deep breaths.
“holy shit,” peter murmurs.
“holy shit.”
when he stands up to join you back on the bed, you immediately notice the dark stain on his sweatpants.
“did you-- did you cum, too?”
he nearly twitches from the realization, looking down.
“um, i-- i was really turned on. sorry.”
“don’t be embarrassed, baby,” you giggle. your dopamine levels are through the fucking roof. you pull him towards you. “that’s so fucking hot.”
“really? i--” you interrupt him with a kiss, one that’s heavy and has him panting within seconds already.
“better clean yourself up so we can go for round two, yeah?”
in honour of the end of this shitty year, i’d like to recap on all the fics i posted in the last year <3
total works: 22 , total word count: 150.6k
━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━
[ january ]
brightside - tom holland
summary: a sudden and unexpected turn of events with your little boy, leaves him in the hospital with an unknown diagnosis. tom has to fly home and the two of you have to face each other, properly and civilly, for the first time since your breakup. will this negative experience turn into a positive one, in more ways than one?
[ february ]
mini valentine - tom holland
Summary: Your valentine’s plans with your fiancé get slightly set back when you get called in to work, leaving Tom to spend the day with your daughter.
birthday girl - tom holland
Summary: you just wanted to spend your birthday with your boyfriend, but when that isn’t possible he has a lot of making up to do.
[ march ]
never knew the proper story - harrison osterfield
Summary: He thought they had a love like Verona's, too bad he never knew the proper story.
[ april ]
just like momma - arvin russell
Summary: The Russell boy with the bad reputation is completely smitten with the girl who’s just as angel-like as everyone remembers his momma to be.
my rapunzel - tom holland
Summary: being a college professor means tom’s working from home in these difficult times, spending a lot more time with his angel of a daughter and his beautiful girlfriend, who by the way is definitely his favourite princess.
our song - tom holland
Summary: When your girl has a very restless night, Tom plays both you and her a sweet, familiar song on his guitar to lull you both to sleep.
[ may ]
hide and seek - tom holland
summary: tom is like your live in nanny at this point in yours and scarlett’s life. so when he’s taking care of her again and the pair decide to play hide and seek, what happens when he can’t find her anywhere?
i like it when you hold me - harry holland
Summary: the three times you needed harry to hold you and the one time he needed you to hold him.
who would’ve thought - tom holland
Summary: Who would’ve thought that the frat boy with the concerning reputation would actually be a big softie with a thing for romance? All it took was the right girl.
[ june ]
sensory overload - peter parker
Summary: with peter’s senses always dialed to 10 it’s difficult for him to function from day to day, but some days are worse than others and the boy goes into complete sensory overload.
call me when you get this - tom holland
Summary: you knew it’d be difficult for your relationship when you and tom went away to seperate universities. but now you were missing each others calls, your only form of communication, living off of the sound of your lover through a voicemail.
[ july ]
natures the only way to stop the tears - tom holland
Summary: Tom’s little girl has never cried like this and after hours of it he no longer knows what he’s supposed to do to make it stop. He takes advantage of the girl’s fascination with nature in hopes it’ll stop her crying, and there he meets you.
lover boy - tom holland
Summary: when you and tom get in trouble at work for all of your flirting you decide to go in a real date that ends up being one of the best you’ve ever been on.
[ august ]
circles - harry holland
Summary: You and Harry Holland are sworn enemies after an incident that happened many years ago. No one really knows why but the pair of you. but once you overcome that with a very heartfelt apology from him, you actually fall in love.
[ september ]
best man i ever knew - arvin russell
Summary: Arvin feels he needs to let you know that he loves you more than just some housewife, even if that includes taking on typical wife duties for the afternoon.
knockout - tom holland
Summary: you meet tom when your friend recommends you take boxing lessons, leading to a small mutual crush that blooms after tom celebrates the success of a big fight with you.
[ october ]
ghost stories - tom + co
Summary: When their plans get cancelled last minute on Halloween night due to an out of control thunder storm, the group of five decide what better way to spend their evening dressed up in costume telling old campfire stories to really spook each other. The only question is, which of the scaredy cats, Tom or Sam, is going to cower away first?
[ november ]
married the wrong man - tom holland
Summary: Your wedding day is meant to be a joyous occasion, but you can’t help but feel as though you’ve made a horrible mistake. You should be marrying your best friend today, and his friends and brothers believe so too
slipping through my fingers - tom holland
Summary: it’s the happiest day of her life and possibly the worst day of his. how does tom cope knowing his daughter is growing up and getting married? reminisce on her entire life.
[ december ]
sugar cookie kisses - tom holland
Summary: Tom is a very busy man and juggling his job and a toddler is never easy. so when his baker neighbour next door offers to babysit, how can he say no? free baked goods and a free, very pretty babysitter, what else could the young, single dad want?
no fighting at christmas - tom holland
Summary: You and Tom get into a fight right before your family are due to come and stay for Christmas. But all is quickly resolved when your emotions finally topple over and lead you to make up
Prompt: The Way I Said I Love You #11 - With a shuddering gasp.
Warnings: 18+. Sex pollen. Dubious consent due to pollen. Minor angst. Fingering. Oral sex (f receiving). Unprotected PIV sex.
A/N: So I got a little bit carried away with this one but I also apologise if it's not my best work, I had a baby a month ago and my brain is still mush.
You feel feverish.
A savage burn flaring to life in the depth of your bones. It's in your blood, your lungs - jumping along your body like the spread of a wildfire before it settles hot and heavy in your gut.
It rips a gasp from your mouth as something wicked pierces through you - a feral need - legs buckling like toothpicks at the cramp that swiftly follows and nearly sends you crashing to the ground if it wasn't for Santi being right there.
"Woah, what the fuck." He curses when he has to dive to catch you, the shadow of a frown creeping over his face when you practically swing from the cradle of his arms before you manage to regain your footing. "What's the matter with you?"
Beneath the harsh clip of his tone you can hear it - his worry, his concern - packed tight around every word he grits past his teeth as you sway. It's in his eyes, the streak of dark that bitters their natural warmth and narrows them to slits like that will help him peel back your layers until he can find the cause of your distress.
You want to tell him you're fine but you can't. You can't lie, not when his touch is on you. Not when every nerve in your body is single mindedly attuned to this strange tingling stemming from his fingers sweeping up your back - circling around your arms and holding you firmly to his broad chest. He's too close but also somehow not enough, and it's all scrambling your brain, your eyes screwing shut because this is Pope.
Because as much as you try to deny it and bury it way fucking deep down, your best friend is gorgeous and maybe the reason you went anywhere he asked isn't just the fact you're knitted together through blood soaked loyalty and trauma - but also the fact you're just that little bit in love with him.
And right now every less than innocent thought you've ever had about the man is crashing against the wall of your skull and making the ache between your thighs pulse hotter. If you don't move away you could ruin everything.
Clawing feebly at his hands to release you, "It's the powder." You whimper. "It has to be. Probably one of those chemical weapons we heard about in training."
That makes him go rigid. Alarm sublty bursting across his face as his eyes rake over your body, no doubt measuring your symptoms against the ones he could remember from the stories - the tremble in your legs when you escape his hold and stumble back over a gnarled root, your soft grunt of pain as your back hits a tree and you sink in a heap to the floor before he can reach out and snatch you back to his chest.
His brow furrows deeply but then he's shaking his head. "They were just myths. Made up shit to scare new recruits."
"Does this look made up to you Pope?" You growl. "It fucking hurts."
You curl in on yourself - fingers dragging through your hair and head hitting your knees as a fresh bloom of agony slashes through your belly and radiates out to the far reaches of the rest of your body.
There's silence. A beat, then two - then the vicious crunch of leaves under heavy boots. You glance up and Pope is pacing - the tense set of his shoulders and furious tick in his jaw making you swallow hard as he mutters to himself in rapid spanish before dark eyes snap to you.
"You fucking idiot." He hisses.
**
You were an idiot. One with good intentions you could argue but definitely an idiot.
It had only happened because you'd both been distracted, because rather than paying attention like the seasoned soldiers you are, you and Santi had been bickering - like always.
We're wasting our time here.
Shut up Pope.
Why do you never listen to me princesa? I already told you this place is a dead end.
And I already told you there's something fucking suspicious about it, now shut the hell up.
You'd been in the middle of whirling around to flick him in the forehead - the way you know he despises - when you'd heard it. The quiet little clink of metal rolling over the floorboards behind you, the sound sending ice slashing down your spine before you'd burst into motion.
You'd snatched at Pope in a white knuckled grip, ignoring his surprised look and shoving him with all your might back through the doorway you'd both just entered through. He'd hit the ground hard and when his eyes found yours again you witnessed every emotion that flared across his face - confusion, understanding followed by anger. Horror.
The widening of his eyes as the fear pierced through and turned his movements wild.
You'd smiled at him sadly, a look that only made him lunge harder to reach you before you'd kicked the door shut - slamming your entire weight against it so he couldn't get in no matter how hard he pound his fists against the wood and screamed.
There'd been a moment of stillness, your forehead resting against the door, the beginnings of an apology on your tongue.
And then the canister exploded.
And you were so fucking confused.
There'd been no searing heat, no force that burst you apart like confetti. Instead you were covered in ocean blue powder - the sweet scent of it shooting up your nose, clogging your throat and making you splutter and choke whilst you glanced down stunned. It was fucking everywhere. Your hair probably resembled a cotton candy disaster and your lashes were caked, bright little particles fluttering around your face everytime you blinked.
Santi had been furious when you'd opened the door. Meeting your meek offering of a soft hey with a look like you'd committed the ultimate betrayal - like he'd been ready to explode and slice you to ribbons for even thinking of sacrificing yourself for him. His nostrils flared - the brown of his eyes sparked to pitch black with rage before he'd blinked and they'd clouded and softened with confusion.
"Why the hell do you look like a fucking smurf?"
**
It had itched first.
Barely coming off despite both yours and Popes efforts to dust you off once you'd got deep enough in the jungle to be considered safe. You could feel it with every step you had taken, like a chalky film coating your body, mixing with your sweat and making your fingers clench with the desire to claw at yourself until you bled.
Then you burned.
And you'd tried desperately to hide it. But Pope is so acutely observant that from the very first gnarled root that seemed to suddenly appear on the jungle floor with the sole intent of tripping you up, his eyes had been unflinching trained on you.
He'd watched your legs grow weaker - stumbling over nothing whilst they struggled to hold you weight - watched as the sweat beaded on your skin when the powder became acid in your veins and your expression turned dazed and nervous.
He'd murmured your name, soft and low in his suspicion. "You okay there cariño?"
It's a far cry to the way his tone spits at you now, the fury leeching into his eyes when he shoves a rough hand through salt and pepper curls and points accusingly at you.
"You knew." He growls. "You knew something wasn't right with that powder and you didn't say shit."
"Didn't want to slow us down."
He scoffs, incredulous. "How's that fucking working out right now?"
"Jesus Christ Pope!" You spit, an explosive shock of pain racking through your form and snapping the last fraying nerve of your patience. "What the fuck do you want from me - an apology? Is that it? You want me to say sorry for trying to save your ass, for dragging you in there in the first place? Or maybe I should apologise that this weird ass powder trying to kill me is such a fucking inconvenience for you. I'm so damn sorry Santiago, there, you fucking happy now?"
Your voice cracks on a sob at the end - a pang of horror flooding through you when your vision blurs and salt spills down your cheeks. How fucking embarrasing. But it stops Pope dead - the violence of his rage burning out in a blink replaced by a frantic worry.
He's right in front of you in seconds, knees hitting the dirt harshly and you almost scold him for it, your concern for his pain beating back the sudden longing you feel to climb into his lap and press yourself in deep. But then his fingers are on you, sweeping back the hair plastered to your cheeks and snatching at your chin to force your eyes on his.
"Hey- hey don't cry, I'm sorry okay." He breathes, eyes darting over your face before he swallows hard. "You're gonna be fine cariño, just tell me how I can help - tell me what you need."
His words curl warm in your chest, dripping down like syrup and gathering low in your belly as your thighs clench. When you gaze at him - drinking in the thick girlish lashes, the shadow of stubble framing full pout, rosebud lips - your fingers are exploring before you realise you've even lifted your hand, palming the rough scratch of his jaw and pressing tentatively against the swell of his bottom lip whilst your teeth sink down on your own.
"You don't know what you're asking Santi." You husk.
There's no ignoring the way his throat bobs, the hitch in his breath as he watches you watch the slide of your fingers over his mouth. Pupils expanding and petal pink tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin as he wets his lips.
"Tell me."
**
It's so much. Overwhelming yet somehow not enough. You're torn between shoving him away and yanking him closer and begging more. Each stroke of his tongue is molten - desperate and messy as he seeks to soothe the ache ravaging your body.
He hauls you to your feet, buries you into the rough bark of the tree beneath the relentless press his hips - fingers digging in your jaw and fisting your hair, pulling sharp until it spills a ragged moan from your lips to his as the spark of pain shoots straight to your needy cunt.
You can feel his grin - the brief flash of smugness that is so Santiago you're almost tempted to knee him in the groin. You don't. Instead you wrap your arms around his neck - suck the plump flesh of his lip into your mouth and score it with your teeth whilst you rock shamelessly against him. There's a lewd pop when you release it - swollen and slick - that makes you both shudder.
"Santi." You rasp. "Please, I need you."
He chokes - a low growl rumbling from his chest. His grip on you tightens and then it's gone - hands moving down, palming at your breasts whilst his mouth works its way down your jaw with soft kisses and stinging nips of his teeth.
"I've got you princesa." He murmurs. "Gonna make you feel good, I promise."
There's a sweetness to the way he says it. Mixing with the heat, the lust. You hear it - the thing he always tries to hide, tries to run away from - the simple fact that Santi cares. Deeply. Enough to give you himself to save your life despite the fact he sees you as nothing more than a friend.
It makes your heart hurt.
But you can't focus on that right now - your unrequited feelings can wait. The powder is changing again. The flames morphing to feel like knives beneath your skin - jagged and piercing - forced harder through your system now Pope's touch has ignited your need.
You'd crumble if he pulled away. His name is already on the tip of your tongue ready to burst forth and beg him for more, more of his fingers, more of his mouth - more of him.
And it's like he can sense it - that chaotic desperation sweeping through your chest. Because suddenly his hand has slid inside your pants - peeling away the drenched fabric of your underwear and then oh. Santi slides a knuckle through the dripping folds of your sex and your mind goes in a tail spin, your body jolting like a livewire in his arms.
"Fuck." He groans. "You're so wet."
He sinks his fingers inside you - curls them nice and deep so he can stroke a part of you that makes you shake as your eyes roll back - your knuckles turning white with the iron grip you have on his shoulders. He rubs at the aching peak of your clit and pinches your nipple - his mouth lapping the sweat from your throat as you cry out when your pussy floods his hand.
Every spark of pleasure he drags from you is a balm - the blades beneath your skin turning blunt and coated in cotton wool. There's still a fire in your veins but it's twisting, morphing into something you're desperate to chase rather than run from and it's like you can't get there quick enough.
"Santiago." You plead.
He knows. You don't know how - but he understands immediately, like he already knows your body far better than you do. He pulls back to look at you - drags his lips away from the seal they've placed upon your neck so near black eyes can stare directly into yours.
"You need more baby?"
It hits you low in the gut. His eagerness to please when you've always known him to be so stubborn - the boldness of his hunger, his want streaked across blazing eyes and swollen lips - the erratic mess of his curls where your hands have raked through.
You must nod because his easy smile shifts wicked and he's on his knees before you can blink, yanking off your boots and dragging your pants down your legs before he presses them apart. He sucks in a breath and looks up at you for just a moment - a brief slash of awe in his gaze as his fingers trail over your bare thighs, his hands squeezing the globes of your ass.
Then he winks and he's shoving his face between your legs - his tongue sweeping through the slick of your sex before you can properly brace yourself. Your back hits the tree with a sharp knock and you squeak - the noise swiftly dissolving to a broken moan when he hitches your leg over his shoulder and buries his mouth deeper into your cunt.
It's feral the way he eats at you - laps hungrily at your arousal before he seals his mouth to your throbbing clit and sucks. You almost buckle when he presses his fingers back into you, when he rubs at your walls and worries your bundle of nerves between his teeth until you're practically soaking his face.
It feels like your entire body is clenching. Your pussy aching and stomach drawing tight - hips bucking up into his mouth whilst you snatch at his curls to press him closer as he groans into your soaked flesh. He must be able to feel it - the way you're winding up like a tightly coiled spring, raw energy building in your centre just waiting to burst.
"That's it cariño." He urges. "Cum for me."
You choke when it slams into you. His name a strangled scream in your throat as the pleasure swells and swells until your orgasm rips through you and your pussy spasms and gushes into the warm cup of his mouth. He doesn't stop until you're shaking, the hand buried in your thigh encouraging you to rock against his face until every sensation but pleasure is stripped from you and there's hot tears sliding down your cheeks.
When he pulls back your cheeks flame. He's a mess - hair in disarray and the lower half his face coated in you. He wears an expression you've never seen before - something dazed and proud and soaked in longing - it makes you reach for him, makes you give in to the trembling muscles of your legs so you can sink down into his lap and drag his mouth to yours.
His hands come to cup your cheeks, thumbs sweeping the curve of your jaw whilst his lips glide bruisingly sweet over yours. "Good girl." He murmurs tenderly, the rasp of it making you shiver. "How do you feel?"
"Better." You whisper. "Thank you."
His mouth quirks slightly. Eyes turning endlessly warm, drifting down to where his thumb is pressing against the swell of your lip, rubbing at the spit slick shine. "My pleasure."
There's a charge in the air when he glances back up at you - it swells with something intense, something that makes your heartbeat break out in a gallop when he breathes your name and swallows hard.
"Pope -"
You have no idea what you want to say but then you're gasping, your stomach seizing from the piercing force of another cramp. His arms close around you when you drop your face into his neck, nosing at his throat in an attempt to douse the flames licking at your insides with the musk of his scent.
"Hey." He soothes a hand over the back of your head, sweeps his fingers over your neck and down your sides to massage the muscles that have bunched tight with agony. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay."
"Santi - it hurts - I can't..."
"I know cariño, let me help - baby...fuck."
He inhales sharply when you roll your hips over the thick of his clothed cock - your body shifting and rocking until he's pressed hard against your swollen sex - the gloss between your thighs sticking to his pants.
"I need you inside me Santiago...please." You beg, teeth scraping his throat, heart lodged somewhere in your own when he grasps your thighs and ruts up into you.
"Shit, okay." He hisses. "Come here pretty girl."
**
You can't catch your breath, the burn of it stuck in your chest making you light headed with every punch of his cock slamming up against your sweet spot.
His pants are shoved down around his thighs - the golden warmth of his skin glistening in your slick as you clench and burst sweet and wet around him. You're beyond words, half delirious with need and pleasure as your best friend fucks your brains out in the middle of the jungle whilst there's people possibly looking for you and you just can't fucking care.
Instead your hands are clawing at his tac vest, a desperate whine building your throat - closer, Pope please...I need you closer and he goes without a fight. Hauls you up until you're crushed tight against chest and hitches your thighs higher over his hips whilst his fever hot mouth seals around your breast.
"Jesus christ." He grits into your skin. "You feel so fucking good."
You cry for him when he drops a hand to stroke at your clit- torturously slow circles timed with each deliberate circle of his hips and the heavy grind of his cock. There's blood roaring in your ears, the sound of wet slapping flesh painting the air as Pope drowns out the effect of the powder with every climax he rings out of you.
"Santi - oh my god." You gasp as you press your face to the heated skin of his neck. There's molten liquid pooling in your gut again, thighs shaking and pleasure swirling in the cradle of your pelvis when he uses his hands to lift you and pull you back down to meet his intense thrusts.
"Look at me." He urges, a gruff rumble through his chest as his cock pulses. He grips the back of your neck and squeezes - shoves his brow against the side of your face to nudge his nose at your cheek as his voice hinges on a rough plea. "Look at me baby, please - let me see you."
You can't deny him - not when he's overwhelming you so perfectly. He's coaxing you from your hiding place in his neck with the soft drag of his lips over your shoulder and the deep, honey-slow rock of his hips.
You're must be a mess when you peel back - hair plastered to your sweat damp and tear soaked face. You feel chafed raw, an exposed nerve being plucked like a guitar string and maybe you'd be embarrassed if Santi wasn't looking at you like you've somehow slammed through the hard shell of him and cracked him open straight down to his most vulnerable centre.
There's that feeling again. The air swelling warm and sweet and electric when your gazes lock. Tentative fingers drift over the swell of your cheek, his thumb drifting to press into the pillow of your lower lip and it feels like you're choking. Words rushing to the tip of your tongue that you desperately try to swallow before they burst free and change everything.
Only just as you think you've managed, Santi changes everything for you.
It shudders out of him, his admission a choked gasp as the pleasure builds and your movements turn frantic. "I love you."
It takes you both by surprise, your mouth dropping open and his eyes blinking wide. You're rendered incapable of responding because you're suddenly shaking apart with the hot burst of a climax - the soaked clasp of your pussy dragging him along with you as his cock stiffens and spits deep.
When he trembles against you, you can see it past heavy lidded eyes. The bloom of fear snaking through the pleasure. That part of him that tells him to run - because he doesn't know how to handle the possibility that he's ruined one of the last good things in his life - morphing his expression into something nervous and it's your turn now to soothe him.
You do. You comb your fingers through his dishevelled curls, kiss him until he moans and goes soft and slack in your arms and the whole time you press the truth of your feelings into him like a promise - an oath that brands you both.
He knows it well, he’s used to the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth, the smoke he can never fully push from his lungs, the way flames lick at his fingertips as his blood boils in his veins. He’s used to the sharp bite and unrelenting sting, he knows the exact sound his fist is going to make when it meets drywall, can hear each bone crack on impact and can feel the sensation of his knuckles splitting open, can visualize the black and blue bruises that will mark his skin for weeks to come.
They might as well be permanent, he never feels like himself without those damn bruises anymore. They’ve become an integral part of him, just like the scar on the back of his neck and the weight he carries on his shoulders day in and day out.
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