#the belated and exhaled 'Thank you'

[tinchronicles]

OHHH BABY..Jesse sound SO tired lmao. Let the man rest!!!

#pens lb #he couldn't think #the belated and exhaled 'Thank you' #hes trying so hard

[mavrintarou]

[11:16 PM] Sakusa Kiyoomi

It's been a while since I last posted about Omi-Omi. Happy (belated) Valentine's Day!

Warning: mild angst but reconciled and happy smut (18+)

.

Kiyoomi set his gym bag in the usual spot of his apartment. Tonight, his home felt unusually cold and empty.

Switching the lights on, he is met with two floating balloons and a bag with red and pink hearts printed all over it.

He let out a chuckle and grabbed the bag, pulling out the tissue paper that was stuffed inside. He found all sorts of chocolate inside, his favorite chocolates.

Happy Valentine’s Day, jerk.

Y/n

Kiyoomi released a deep sigh. He and Y/n had gotten into an argument two nights ago, he couldn’t even remember what it was about. But it was 48 hours of silence from Y/n, 48 hours of emptiness.

The phone line rang repeatedly until it went to her voicemail.

He’s sent her three texts and they were left unread.

“C’mon…” he whispered, pacing around his place. “Pick up, please…”

A click came from the other line and he exhaled, “Y/n, thank goodness, where – “

“Hi, this isn’t Y/n but I’m her coworker!”

Kiyoomi frowned, and growled, “where is Y/n?”

“We are at a company dinner and she’s here… a little intoxicated…”

Kiyoomi could hear mumblings in the background, “… who is it…”

“Where are you guys?” he asked, heading to the shoe rack to put his shoes on.

He heard muffling but couldn’t hear clearly.

“… don’t tell him where I am…”

“… he’s mean and I don’t – I don’t wanna see him right now…”

His heart dropped.

“Hi, hello? Are you still there? Omi? Is this Omi with a white heart emoji next to your name? The Omi that is mean?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi answered defeatedly, “this is Omi.”

“Look,” whoever this person on the other line whispered, “she keeps saying you are mean and she doesn’t want to see you but I secretly know she does, women to women, she wants to see you… we’re… we’re at the XXXX restaurant.” She paused before whispering loudly, “come get your girl!”

.

Kiyoomi’s strides were only half their usual length, and he inserted a two-second pause between each step. Y/n, with a gloomy mood, followed four feet behind him.

Arriving at the restaurant, he discovered her sitting sadly at the end of the table, all alone. Her colleagues were accompanied by their partners, but Y/n was left by herself. Kiyoomi felt a lump of guilt in his throat; he should have been there with her.

Their most recent argument stemmed from this issue. Y/n had requested him to cut short his training if possible for one night, but he declined, emphasizing the priority of his training.

“I’m simply asking if you could leave an hour earlier, or even thirty minutes early to make it to dinner, if it’s feasible. Can you not even manage that?” Her voice was tinged with angst.

“No, you understand how important my training is. I can’t simply leave early for something like this.”

Something like this…

Now, he felt the full weight of guilt engulfing him.

He halted and glanced back, noticing that Y/n had also come to a stop, gazing into the distance. Following her gaze, he spotted a small shop with claw and capsule machines.

He is reminded of his snarky comment about her liking such stupid things.

Walking up to her, he waited until she looked at him. “Let’s go,” he said jerking his head towards the shop.

Her cheeks were still rosy from the alcohol, her eyes weren’t as lively as they should be. “No,” she grumbles, looking away with a pout. “It’s just stupid stuff,” she attempted to walk around him when he caught her wrist and began tugging her towards the store. “What are you doing?”

He ignores her question and tugs her gently along until they get to the change machine. Stuffing a few bills inside to exchange for tokens. “What would you like?”

She looked at the handful of tokens and then his eyes, and with a weary tone she asked, “why are you doing this?”

“Because you like it and it makes you happy,” his tone is gentle and careful, “and I want to see you happy.” He puts a handful of tokens in her palm. “Go, show me what makes you happy.”

Still pouty, she closed her fingers around the token and walked around him.

Kiyoomi smiled to himself, knowing deep down she was excited.

.

“Are you satisfied with your wins?” He stared at the bag full of plushies and capsule toys.

Y/n nodded, restraining a bright smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Seizing the opportunity, Kiyoomi extended his left hand, asking, “can you hold my hand?” He let out a quite breath when she placed her palm in his. They walked side by side in silence.

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

“Let’s go grab some junk food at 7/11 and... my place?” He prayed she would come over but instead, she looked at him as if he had two heads. Chuckling, he knew why she was looking at him weirdly. He was completely against eating any junk food, let alone anything from a convenience store. “A little junk food won’t kill me.”

“It might make you sick though?”

“Shh, don’t jinx me like that.”

.

Sure enough, it did make him feel sick.

All he ate was a cup of instant ramen, and within less than an hour, he started experiencing stomach churning.

“I told you,” Y/n scolded, yet concern was written all over her face. She quickly ushered him to lie down on the couch.

If it meant for Y/n to nurse him and show him affection again, the stomach ache was worth it.

He groaned, “it hurts…”

Digging through her purse, she tried to look for her pill box. “Here, take this medication. It’ll help with the tummy ache.”

He accepted the small pill and popped it into his mouth, taking it down with water. He grabbed her hand, “rub my tummy like you did that one time.”

Y/n hesitated, staring at him suspiciously before reaching to push his shirt up to reveal his abdomen. She ignored the ripples of muscles and put pressure on a certain area of his body.

Kiyoomi groaned, feeling instant relief.

She reached for his hand and placed it with hers, “when you have a tummy ache, always press this pressure point.”

She was about to stand up when he stopped her. Panicking he asked, “wait, where are you going?”

“I’m just going to make you some rice soup.”

He still pouted, watching her walk away to his kitchen.

A few minutes later, she returned with a bowl of steaming contents. “Bland, just the way you like it,” she mentioned, taking a seat on the edge of the couch. “How is your stomach feeling?”

“It’ll feel a lot better if you do it…”

Y/n scoffed and slapped his hand away, “you’re such a baby.”

“Correction, I’m your baby…”

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him, “who are you and what have you done to Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi’s lips turned downwards. “Omi…” he corrected quietly. When she doesn’t respond he bites his lips nervously. “I’m sorry.”

Her brow raised, and she looked at him as if she didn’t comprehend what he was saying.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, louder this time. “I have been a jerk and insensitive to you… I have not been compromising and mean to you and I’m sorry,” he bowed his head. “I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore. I’ll do better, I promise. Please don’t leave me.” His voice cracked at his last part of his sentence.

“Leave you? Who said I was leaving you?”

“But you didn’t want to see me?”

Y/n frowned, confused. “When did I say that?”

“Earlier on the phone, I heard you telling your coworker that you didn’t want to see me…” very quietly he added, “that hurt my feelings.” He felt childish but he wanted to be honest.

“I didn’t want to see you is very different from I’m leaving you,” Y/n clarified. She sighed, running a hand through her hair before reaching for the bowl of soup. She blew to cool the spoonful of soup before bringing it to his mouth. “I said that I didn’t want to see you because I knew I would give in and forgive you.”

He swallows the soup before asking, “please forgive me?”

“I saw your face so I already forgave you.”

He couldn’t ignore the cheering in his mind. “Do you really mean it? You forgive me for being a jerk?”

“Yes, you jerk.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you called yourself that too?” Y/n countered, shoving a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “Eat and feel better.”

Kiyoomi smiles, “… kiss me, that would really make me feel better.”

The corner of her lips tugged upward, “you sly jerk…”

He sits up, bringing his face close to hers. “Please, a kiss?”

She pecks his lips.

He pouted, “that’s not a kiss.”

“Yes it is, my lips touched yours.”

He blinked and then frowned, “that was hardly a kiss…”

Y/n raised a brow, challenging him, “then what’s a kiss to you then?”

And he showed her.

He cupped her face, tilting it before pressing his lips against hers. As soon as she gasped, he slipped his tongue in, meeting hers in a tango.

“Omi…” Y/n breathed, pushing him away to catch a breath.

His lips continued to her jaw and down her neck. “Please Y/n…” he begged, tugging at her tucked-in dress shirt. He pulls away and looks at her with dark pupils, waiting for her consent.

She launched at him, knocking him onto his back once more. Her mouth moved hungrily against his as she tugged at his clothes.

“I’m not going anywhere…” he chuckled.

“You will be if you don’t take help take our clothes off…”

Their clothes lay carelessly on the ground seconds later.

Y/n raised herself and straddled his lap. She rocked her hips, gliding her pussy along the length of his cock.

Kiyoomi hissed loudly as his hands gripped her hip tightly, nails digging into her hip bone. “Don’t –“ he choked, “don’t tease me…” He didn’t miss the smirk on her lips.

Having enough of not being inside of her already, Kiyoomi flipped them and shifted her underneath him. His hand found one of hers and threaded their fingers together, clasping tightly. He searched her eyes and she answered by lifting her hips.

“Haa, you’re going to be the death of me,” he sank his cock into her sweet pussy.

He waited a few seconds, savoring the intimate bond. Kiyoomi peers down at her before pressing his forehead against hers and without breaking eye contact, he whispers, “I love you.”

He doesn’t express those three words as frequently as he ought to, but he can observe the way her eyes illuminate when he does. “I love you, Y/n…” he repeated, rocking his hips slowly but deeply. “I know I don’t say it often enough for you but you are my everything… and I never want to be without you again…”

Y/n released a soft whimper and cupped his face, connecting their lips. “I love you too, Omi…”

It was soft lovemaking.

Each rock of his hips was gentle with care, with love.

“Let’s cum together?”

Y/n nodded, tightening her arms around his shoulders and soon their bodies trembled in release.

Kiyoomi pulls Y/n up and they sit down, still connected very intimately. He reached for the bag of chocolate, took a piece, and unwrapped it before placing it into her mouth. Then, he helped himself to a piece as well.

“Thank you for the chocolate,” he murmurs.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Omi.”

. . .

E/n: Going back to Teo now...

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

#haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #sakusa smut #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa fluff #sakusa angst #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x reader #haikyuu sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi

[daisyvisions]

Forget About It - (j.cm)

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Pairing: ex’s rival!Changmin x afab!reader

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Summary: After spotting your ex at a party, all you wanted to do was forget about him. And thank god Changmin is there to help you do just that.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Word Count: 2.7K

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), acquaintances to lovers, oral (f! receiving), face sitting / face riding, cum eating, dry humping, groping, panty sniffing, mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of male masturbation, mentions of cheating (but not reader or Changmin), use of weed (smoking and shotgunning), cumming in pants, pet names (sweetheart, good girl), cocky Changmin (but a hot one), reader is sad and Changmin is here to make it all better 😘

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. A/N: Belated happy birthday to our best boy kyu! Had the idea in mind before his bday but my brain decided to shut off so I'm happy that I got the chance to finally write this out! Proofread two times (loosely). Not me thinking about Kevin saying "Forget about it" 😭 anyway! Enjoy 💕

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Network & Tag: @deoboyznet

Out of all the things that could’ve ruined your night, it just had to be spotting your ex and the girl you caught him cheating with enter the party.

‘What the hell are they doing here?’ You thought to yourself as you nearly crushed the red plastic cup in your hands leaning against the wall. You didn’t even notice ten minutes had passed just mentally throwing daggers at them from across the room.

It had been just nearly six months since the breakup, a decent amount of time for you to move on from the heartbreak. But all you could feel was the deep ache in your chest as you watched them hold hands from afar, looking at each other like two fools in love. The look he never gave you.

And suddenly, all the bad memories from that time started flashing in your mind. Especially the day of the breakup when you had discovered the pair having sex in his room when you dropped by unannounced to surprise him. You wince at memory of their shared moans being heard from behind the door.

You always knew there was something fishy about their “friendship”. You were just too in denial to think otherwise.

You were starting to feel dizzy, mainly for drinking a little too much tonight but also just seeing them together and happy. So you decide to run upstairs to the guest bathroom, lock the door, and twist the faucet to splash cool water on your face and nape. You breathe slowly and deeply as you lean against the bathroom counter.

“A knock would’ve been nice.” The voice echoing behind startles you, making your body jolt as you let out a light gasp.

As soon as you look through the mirror in front you, you see Changmin’s fully clothed figure lying inside the bathtub, deeply inhaling a blunt before letting out the smoke from his mouth up in the air.

“S-sorry…” You reply as you turn around to meet his gaze.

You knew Changmin. Had the same friends as you, usually at the same events too. You’ve talked here and there long ago, that is until you started dating your ex and he was always insistent on reminding you to stay away from him.

You never understood why, but of course you did anything to keep your ex happy by listening to whatever he told you to do.

There’s an awkward pause between you too as his eyes scan you from head to toe, noticing your disheveled appearance and heavy aura.

“Need some help there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” You shake your head as you try to compose yourself.

“If you say so.” He shrugs before taking another puff, tilting his head up to the ceiling to exhale. Your breath hitches with the way he looks as the cloud of smoke slowly escapes his lips, making smoking appear attractive to you for a moment.

“I too would be pissed as fuck seeing my cheating ex in a party.” Changmin utters out as he stares at the ceiling.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “How did you-”

“You look like you wanted to strangle them from across the room.” He smirks.

“Oh… you saw that?” You feel your cheeks growing warm from feeling embarrassed. He nods at you in response.

“Want a puff? You look like you could use it.” He reaches his hand out with the blunt between his fingers.

“Oh uh. I don’t know how-” You look down as you try to hide your embarrassment from him.

“Hmm… If that’s the case then c’mere.” He motions you with his other hand.

Changmin adjusts himself to sit upright as you walk over to kneel beside him.

“Okay, I’m gonna take a puff then blow the smoke into your mouth. Cool?” He looks into your eyes as he takes the end of the blunt between his lips and starts inhaling slowly.

“Y-yeah. Sure.” You stutter as you nearly squirm in your spot. The thought of his face being close to yours making you feel all shy suddenly.

Changmin leans over the bathtub, his hand gently holding your cheeks together with one hand to slowly open your jaw. He leans closer to your face, keeping eye contact with you as he blows the smoke inside your mouth.

You try hold back the small whimper forming in your throat. His natural confidence making your heart flutter and the scent of his cologne making you feel lightheaded.

“All better?” He whispers as this thumb strokes your cheek.

You slowly nod in response, earning you small chuckle from Changmin before pulling away from you and lean his back against the tub once more.

“…Do you think I could hang out here for a while?” Your voice almost comes out as a whisper. “Not in the mood to bump into them anytime soon.”

Changmin’s heart slightly aches with the way your sad doe-eyes look at him. He wish he could do something right now that would help you forget everything your ex did to you.

He nods and swings his legs over the bathtub to make room for you beside him. He lends out his hand for you to grab as you get up and climb inside, sliding down to sit as you prop your legs over the bathtub as well.

You lean your head back and close your eyes for a moment, the muffled music behind the door playing as you control the pattern of your breathing.

“You know-” You turn your head and open your eyes to look at Changmin as soon as he speaks.

“It’s a shame what you ex did. Wanted to punch him in the face as soon as I heard the news.”

“Don’t you always want to punch him though?” You slightly smile, remembering that Changmin and your ex hated each other’s guts.

“Yeah well, even more so because he hurt you like that.” He turns his head to face you.

“You suddenly care about me Min?” You jokingly ask.

“Always have sweetheart.” He smiles back.

You feel your cheeks getting hot as you catch his eyes quickly flicking down at your lips. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he slowly swallows and soaks in every feature on your face, committing it to memory.

“I never understood why my ex would tell me to stay away from you.” You whisper back trying to break the tension.

“Yeah? What would he say about me?” He leans his head on the side of the bathtub, eager to know what you’ve been told.

“Many bad things.” You chuckle. “Like you’re a cheater, you don’t treat women right, you’re an A-class douchebag, the list goes on.”

“Kinda sounds like he was describing himself don’t you think?”

“Now that you mention it-” you both laugh with each other.

“And… Did you believe any of it?” Changmin looks directly into your eyes.

“N-no…” You whisper, not realizing your body is leaning closer to his.

“Good… Good girl.” His voice goes an octave lower as he brushes the loose hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear.

You feel your whole body is on fire. You’ve never had someone have this kind of effect on you, not even your ex when he was being incredibly flirty. The kind that just sends electric waves through your system, raging butterflies in your stomach, and not to mention the growing heat between your legs.

You try to subtly press your thighs together, attempting to relieve the throbbing ache in your core. But this little movement goes unnoticed by Changmin. He smirks to himself, amused with how reactive you are with him.

“I can make you forget about him-” Changmin suddenly speaks.

“W-what?” Your eyes widen at his vague choice of words.

“Just-” Changmin gently lays his hand on your thigh, slowly rubbing it up and down on your exposed skin. His touch making your core pulse harder than ever.

“-Let me help you forget. Do you wanna forget about him?” He reaches for your chin with his other hand and strokes your bottom lip with his finger, making you lightly gasp.

“P-please…” You whimper.

As soon as utter that one word, Changmin immediately presses his lips against yours. You’ve never felt such hunger in a kiss before, but it was something you wanted to always feel from now on. You kiss him back with the same level of hunger, focusing on how his lips move with yours.

And before you know it, you both move in sync swinging your legs back inside the bathtub. His eager hands holding you by your hips as you climb on top and straddle him. Both your bodies feeling the slight ache of the bathtub’s hard structure pressing but you don’t pay it mind.

His hands sneak under your skirt, placing them on your ass as you wrap your arms around his neck. You deepen the kiss further and smoothly insert your tongue inside his mouth.

Changmin groans at the feeling, squeezing your ass in his hands before mindlessly dragging your hips back and forth again this growing bulge. You moan into his mouth, the friction of his jeans rubbing against your throbbing bud making you so wet you’re sure you’re gonna leave a stain on him after this.

But Changmin would wear that stain proudly he thinks to himself. Any mark you would leave on him tonight he would wear it with pride. Truth be told, he had always found you so beautiful. The way his heart would beat faster every time he would see you, wishing one day that you’d notice him.

So to have you here on top of his lap, kissing him like this with your hands in his hair was more than he could ever wish for. Thank god the weed in his system gave him a bit of confidence to just play whatever cards he had with you tonight. And he was gonna play all of them as much as he could just to have you close to him for as long as he can.

“Wait-“ Changmin mumbles against your lips as he tries to pull away from you.

The way your eyes looked blown out and the sheen of saliva coating your lips was enough to have his cock stirring in his jeans.

“Is there something wrong?” Your eyebrows knit in confusion.

“What- No! Nothing could ever be wrong. Just- fuck-“ Now it was Changmin’s turn to stutter.

“Want you to sit on my face” he says so boldly.

“I-uh…are you sure? It’s just that-” You try to look away from his lustful gaze.

“Just what?” He holds up you chin to look at you.

“I’ve never been… You know…”

“Wait… you’ve never been eaten out before?” Changmin’s eyebrows raise.

“Please don’t laugh-“ you cover your face with your hands, embarrassed by your sudden confession. But Changmin holds your wrists pulls your hands away from your face.

“Oh sweetheart…” He strokes your cheek gently.

“I’d be honored to be the first one… Will you let me?” He asks with the most gentle voice. You nod in response.

“Stand up a bit.” As Changmin helps you get off his lap his hands go under your skirt to pull down your underwear, pocketing it for himself at the back of his jeans. He slides down his whole body, his back now fully laid against the floor of the bathtub. You could feel just how wet you’ve become with the cool air hitting your exposed cunt.

You adjust yourself and step over him, positioning your core right above his face before slowly kneeling down. Just as he was about to close his eyes and wait for you to sit on him you stop, leaving a gap between his mouth and your sweet sweet pussy. He could sense your nervousness already.

“Let me show you why he told you to stay away from me-”

Before you even get the chance to reply, Changmin hooks his arms around your thighs and presses you down against his face.

He immediately starts kissing your pussy lips before lapping at your cunt, the feeling of his tongue running through your folds and flicking your throbbing clit before taking it into his mouth and sucking on the bud.

Words are suddenly caught up in your throat as you let out whines and moans. You never thought being eaten out would feel so fucking good.

Your hand instantly finds it place on Changmin’s head, grabbing his short hair in attempt to keeping yourself balanced over him as other hand leans on the ledge of the bathtub. But the vibrations of his groan against your core as you pull on his hair makes it harder for you to keep your composure.

And somehow, best part about this is you can’t even see how Changmin is eating you out since your skirt is covering his face. Being unable to visually see his tongue licking between your folds as his nose nudges your clit heightens the sensation even further.

“Mmm so fucking sweet-” Changmin mumbles under you.

And Changmin is living his best life right now. He can’t believe your ex never did this to you and that he gets the honor of being the first one. He can feel how strained his cock is against his jeans as he continues on.

It doesn’t help that not only do you taste so good, but the pretty moans you give him are just as sweet. And if by some weird turn of events he ended up dying tonight, he would gladly die smothered between your legs.

“Feels so good…” You whine.

Your moans start to get louder and a bit more slurred, signaling to him that you’re close to reaching your high. And without warning, Changmin holds your hips down and grinds your cunt against his mouth.

“Shi- wait, Changmin I might cu-ugh!”

You yelp in surprise, both hands pulling his hair as you feel the knot in your stomach tightening further. The sounds of slurping and his grunting pushing you to the edge of ecstasy.

Your high hits you like a flash of lightning, making you involuntarily close your thighs together, squeezing Changmin’s face as your body squirms from the overstimulation. You hear Changmin moaning against your cunt as his hips involuntarily lift, indicating that he also reached his own high.

It’s the way your body convulsed as you orgasmed that made him explode in his jeans, the way your thighs squeezed his head had him nearly fainting from how hot that felt.

Oh he’s definitely replaying this moment in his mind from now on whenever he jerks off.

As soon as you’ve both calmed down from your highs you help each other freshen up, fixing each other’s appearances before heading out of the bathroom.

“You’ve got a little something there-” You point at the liquid at corner of his mouth, instantly knowing that it was a leftover smear of your essence on his face.

Changmin swipes it with his pinky, quickly examining it before sucking on his digit. Humming at the sweet taste of you as he keeps eye contact. He pulls you close by the waist, making you gasp as he leaves a small kiss on your lips.

“Wanna get out of here?” He whispers. You also give him a small kiss and smile, biting your lower lip as you nod in response. “Meet me outside okay? Lemme just freshen up a bit more.”

“Okay. See you outside-” You kiss his cheek before leaving the bathroom.

Changmin stays inside for five more minutes before heading out. As soon as he opens the door, he’s met with the face of your ex.

“Oh! What a pleasant surprise. Was wondering when I would be able to talk to you again-” Changmin smiles.

“About what exactly?” Your ex gives him an irritated look.

“About how sweet your girl actually is. Sorry, your ex-girl.” Changmin pulls out your underwear from his pocket and deeply inhales the wet patch left in front of your ex, staring into his eyes with a smirk on his face. Your ex’s eyes bulge out, knowing exactly what Changmin was implying.

“And by the way…” Changmin steps closer to your ex and leans close to his ear to whisper,

“She tasted absolutely divine. Not that you would know of course.”

#deoboyznet #ji changmin #changmin smut #tbz smut #tbz fics #tbz scenarios #tbz #tbz hard hours #the boyz drabbles #the boyz hard hours #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fic #the boyz smut #kpop smut #the boyz fanfic

[sanccharine]

blueberry muffins | sn

single parent au, christmas au

pairing: babysitter!sana x single parent!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 7.2k

warning: so sweet it'll rot your teeth ! ew that ryhmed, i'm sorry

summary: when your own life becomes a b-rated hallmark holiday movie (not that you're complaining)

a/n: finally, what was supposed to be last year's christmas fic and the sequel to pizza party! is here !! all thanks to this request !! this was co-written by @eternallyghosting (she wrote three (very important) sentences and the summary, which is easily the hardest part of writing fics) strangely, it was nice writing domestic fluff again and also i gave up on the banner :D also is this happy belated christmas bc this was for last year or is it early bc christmas is in five days ?? anygays, happy holidays !!

The moment the car stopped, a door was being shoved open. You didn’t have to check the rearview mirror to know that your son had sprinted out. Shaking your head, you shifted the gear to park before turning your gaze at your girlfriend. 

Minatozaki Sana was a confident woman. Or at least that is what you’ve gathered over the last year. She was never one to hide how she felt; it was she who had made the first move. So to see her eyes glazed over, trained on the raindrops collecting at the edge of the windshield was concerning, to say the least. 

“Hey,” was all you uttered, even quiet to your own ears. But Sana was attuned to your voice so she straightened before she turned to meet your gaze.

In the many years that make up a life, a year may be inconsequential. Between those three hundred and sixty-five days many things can happen. You can meet new people, spend time with them and get to really know their likes and dislikes, understand what truly makes and motivates them. During this time, you could gain lifelong friends, whom you instantly sync with only to lose them by the end of the year. Twelve months is enough time to drive you away from your family, to uproot your life and start anew, or perhaps return home to loving arms where everything remains unchanged. A year is a million moments of frustration and tears and happiness, a combination of beginning and endings, and gain and loss. But many years later, those instances would be fleeting at best. 

A whole year; a passing moment. 

Perhaps that’s why you were pleasantly surprised with how well things were with Sana. Having known each other for almost two years, from kind greetings building up to genuine conversations. The slow build of your relationship, from when you first asked her about her bad day to when she finally asked you out for a coffee date. There was not a moment you regretted, and to think that this was all the result of your son, the last shove the pair of you needed. 

Now Sana has moved in, you wake up to her running around your home alongside your son. She’d gone from his babysitter to someone who takes an active role in his life, someone who shapes him to be better. Someone he can learn from, grow with, and rely on, especially when you weren’t there for him. 

Simply put, you couldn't be more sure of your decision to be with her. Now, there were only a few more steps. 

Without saying a word, you reached for her hand, her fingers interlocking with yours instinctively. “I’m not worried, I just need a moment,” Sana said, the frozen glaze slowly dissipating from her eyes. 

Exhaling, you reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. Silky soft to the touch, even with her constant dyeing. How she managed to maintain the texture remained a mystery. From her natural brown to blinding orange to auburn to back to her brown, you’ve seen Sana’s hair shift faster than the seasons. Though in the dark of the night, your car was only illuminated by the lamppost a meter away, her hair seemed so depthless it was inky black.  

Sana leaned into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut as you held her. Just as you were about to assure her, a loud thump on the glass startled you both apart. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Your son asked loudly, though it sounded muffled since he had the side of his face and palms pressed flat against the glass. With another slap to the glass, he moved away but not before saying. “Open the trunk, I need to show grandma my chef’s hat and cookbook.” 

Sana had gone from clutching her heart to clutching her stomach as she doubled over with laughter. You, on the other hand, had to rest your forehead on the steering wheel to let out a long and exaggerated groan. 

“He will be the—”

Your son hit the car twice, yelling. “Trunk, please!” 

“Okay, okay, I’m opening it! It’s opening,” you stumbled to find the button. With a huff, you took out your car keys while Sana was still giggling as she got out to help with the suitcase. 

Your son had catapulted himself into your father’s arms as you headed up the porch, luggage in hand. Sana followed behind you, not necessarily hiding, but slightly obscuring herself from your parents. Smiling, you extended your free hand to take hers as you reached the door. 

“Oh, look who’s home!” your father exclaimed, as he swiftly lifted your son up and placed him on his hip. 

“Don’t do that! Who’s going to pay for another surgery?” you said, scowling while your mother slapped at his arm, trying to pry your son away. 

“With all that hard work, it will be you, of course,” your father said, before whispering at your son who then burst into giggles after peeking at you. 

“Well, if it's all the same, help me out with our bags—”

“Not happening,” your father said before walking into the house. 

“Here, let me,” your mother passed right by you and attempted to take the bag Sana was shouldering. Sana tried to decline politely, but your mother wasn’t having it. Soon the bag was in her hands and she took Sana’s hand in hers. Your mother gave you a smile as she guided Sana into the house. “She’s beautiful.” 

“I know, Mom,” you groaned, the smile hard to suppress. 

Home felt familiar. There was a smell, something you couldn’t pinpoint exactly. Of course, there were notes you recognised. A blend of your mother’s baking and your father’s obnoxious perfumes against the smell of rain. Something you’ve experienced so many times before and have long yearned to return to. As for furniture, nothing seemed to have changed. You spotted a few new frames, photos of your son now competing with numerous photos of yourself. Then one that really stopped you in your tracks. 

Your mother, artistic in all of her endeavours, had a growing collage of her favourite photos on a pinboard. You don’t come home often to notice all the small edits she makes, but this one was glaringly obvious. It was a picture that was clearly printed out recently. On normal paper it seemed, it lacked the gloss. It was cut to the shape of the three people in the photo, bordered with orange craft paper and stuck on at the very edge of the board. 

It was a picture of you, your son… and Sana. 

One night, when Sana decided it was time for her classic bright orange to return, she asked whether you wanted to dye your hair as well. 

Of course, in an instant, you answered no. Unfortunately, your son had overheard the question and practically begged you to let him dye his hair. So that night, both you and your son earned a few strands of orange hair that matched Sana. 

Almost on instinct, your hand drifted to the spot behind your neck, hiding a few stray strands of fading bright orange hair. When you had sent the image to your mother, you’d laughed at it because your face was barely in it to your mother’s disappointment. In fact, you were showing your back and looking over your shoulder so the orange was peeking through. Sana wore a blinding grin that also matched your son’s, who was pointing at the streak of orange in his fringe. But here it was, printed and cut out and pasted. 

The sight invoked a feeling you couldn’t place. 

Someone stepped to your right to observe the same picture. 

And then Sana turned to look at you, her eyes glassy. 

Even if it wasn’t said, you know what this means. 

The words were in your mouth when your mother spoke from your left. “I hope you don’t mind me putting up that picture there,” she said with scrunched eyebrows. “I really liked it.” 

Sana’s lips twitched upward as she shook her head. “I don’t mind at all.”

Introductions were quite brief, having heard each other quite a bit from you. Besides, you knew once your son tired himself out and was asleep, your parents could really get to know Sana. So, you decided to move your bags up to your scheduled room. 

Unfortunately for you, Sana stopped by another door. 

Gasping, Sana pushed the door open and took in every corner of your childhood room. 

The room was exactly as you left it. Except less messy. No furniture was moved, no posters torn down, no trinkets replaced—it was as if you had never even left. 

Sana moved to your study desk, her finger brushing the spines of textbooks that had made your high school years a living hell. 

“Did you study a lot?” Sana asked, her voice light as if she were absent-minded. 

“Not really, just enough to pass I guess,” Sana sent you a look over her shoulder, head slightly tilted in suspicion before turning her attention back to the desk. 

She poked the trophies and participation awards, smiling at your photos crammed to a side before picking one up. 

“Someone looks awfully upset here,” she brandished a photo of you standing on a podium, glaring holes at the person in front of you while you gripped your smaller award. “Sore loser much?” 

“I deserved first place! You weren’t there, alright?” you rolled your eyes, plucking the photo away from her while she moved towards your bed.

“I can’t imagine you’d ever have such a tidy room,” she chuckled as she took a seat by the foot of the bed, bouncing a little on the comfortable mattress. 

“Yeah, well, you have my mother to thank for that,” you smiled, as you leaned on your desk, facing Sana. Watching her. 

Perhaps, it was nostalgia. Or exhaustion. Who knows, maybe even the holiday spirit. But you liked staying here, being in your old room, surrounded by things you’ve long forgotten, from a time you don’t particularly miss, but now, with Sana. Someone who promised a new start. 

Sana watched you in turn, her lips pressed thin as she suppressed a knowing smile. 

Leaning back, she asked. “So, is this where we’ll be sleeping? In your old room?” 

Chuckling, you shook your head. “Not a chance,” you jutted your chin at the single bed, “you feel like being crammed into that?”

Sana shook her head as she turned around to feel the quilt, lips quirked up at the shark pattern.

“No, we’re taking the guest room,” you said, walking to your door. From here, you could just about see over the stairway railing and into the kitchen. Both your parents buzzed around your son like moths to a flame, grins on all of their faces. With a soft sigh, you said. “The one that will be coddled, pampered, and spoiled for the next week will be sleeping in here.” 

Content for the moment, you turned your attention back to Sana but she was already looking at you. An expression akin to worry was on her features. 

“They’ll like me right?” 

Sana closed in on herself, hands dragging down the quilt to feel it one more time before folding in front of her stomach. Her eyes darted around the room before settling back on you. You hated seeing Sana like this. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” you pushed away from your place at the door and took Sana’s face in your hands, helping her to look up at you. “They’ll love you.”

You leaned down, your nose brushing against hers as a chuckle escaped her. 

“Just like you do,” she giggled cheekily. 

You kissed her to stop her teasing. 

“Hmm, sure,” but still, you admitted. “Just like I do.”  

Once your son had tired himself out and you had unpacked your things, you decided it was time to put him to bed. With his blue set of pyjamas that matched your ancient shark-patterned bed sheets, he clambered and got under the sheets, tucking himself in neatly. You took a seat by him on the bed, hand reaching out to comb his unruly hair out of his face. 

“How are you feeling?” you asked, a bit slowly. 

“Good,” your son admitted, “it’s nice to see grandma and grandpa again.” 

The muscle in your jaw tensed. 

You wished you could visit home often, a long drive or not, it wasn’t too hard to come back home. However, work dragged you away and you didn’t even have time to consider a plan for the weekend. Even now, your ‘long’ weekend as an excuse for a holiday was extended into a week of freedom after you’d lined up your leave days and practically begged for the holidays. There was no shame in it, the end of this year was important. There were big changes ahead. 

“Good,” you parroted. 

“Grandma loved my hat and said we can bake some treats from the cookbook,” he exclaimed. You nodded as he continued. “I asked her if we could make a cake—a blue one!—like Percy!”

“Like Percy,” you scoffed as you completed the sentence with him. 

“She said she knows a trick so the food doesn’t come out green,” he added and you didn’t doubt him. 

Ever since his class was given free rein over the library, your son has been reading quite a lot. On top of his fascination with cooking, of course. This was the longest he’s stuck with a hobby or interest, and reading that his favourite character managed to eat special blue food, catered to him by his loving mother, only spurred your son more to mimic it. 

With your help, and Sana’s… mostly Sana’s, your son has mastered green pastries, desserts and sweets. Or ogre food, as you lovingly call it. For reasons that you couldn’t guess, no dye seemed to do the trick, perhaps you were buying cheap brands?

“Yeah, I’m sure she does,” you rolled your eyes before pinching his nose, at which he swatted your hand away. 

“So which book are we reading tonight?” Sana asked, walking into your childhood home with a book in her hand. You could guess which one it was. 

“The Lightning Thief!” your son squealed when Sana held the book up. 

“Don’t you get tired of reading the same one again and again?” you asked, watching Sana as she took a seat on the other side of the bed. 

“Nope!” your son said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. 

“Okay, but aren’t you curious about what happens next—?”

“Oh, don’t start this again,” Sana said, as she conspirately shook her head with your son, clearly over your grumbling. 

“I’m just saying—!”

“Oh look at the time,” your son pulled up his empty wrist. “It’s bedtime, we only have time to read a few pages, let's get started!” 

Scowling, you pinched your son’s cheek and he had the audacity to giggle. 

Sana had started reading the chapter you’d stopped on. Her voice was soothing to listen to, even if the story wasn’t too uplifting. Getting comfortable, you curled up next to your son over his quilt and watched his drooping eyes struggle to stay open. 

As Sana finished the chapter, she glanced over. A smile tugged on her lips when she found that your son was deep asleep. 

With a nod, you kissed him on the forehead and made sure he was comfortable. Following suit, Sana placed a kiss of her own on his temple. The pair of you exited the room on your tiptoes and slowly closed the door behind you. 

“I’ll take the book back,” you said, extending your hand out. 

Instead, Sana placed a kiss on your cheek, her eyes lidded. 

“What was that for?” you asked, surprised but you weren’t complaining. 

“Just because,” she shrugged and then handed the book over to you. 

“Are you stalling seeing my parents?” you asked with a smirk as your hand came to rest by her neck, your thumb tipping her jaw to face you. 

“Not at all,” Sana said with such conviction that if you didn’t know her better, you’d have believed her. 

“They won’t take much time, I won’t let them interrogate you. I can tell them we’re tired and we need rest,” you said tilting your head to the side. “Which we do, honestly.” 

Sana nodded with a sigh, her eyes shuttered close as she leaned into the warmth of your palm. 

You pulled yourself in for a kiss, a gentle one, on her lips. Sana hummed before pushing away. 

“I’ll see you in a second,” you whispered. “You got this.”

She nodded and turned towards the stairs. You waited till she reached the bottom of the stairs before making your way to the guest room. Staying for such a short time, there was no need to unpack completely, and for that, you were slightly grateful. That meant you could hide things without anyone being the wiser. 

Dropping the book down on the open suitcase, you kneeled to rummage through the clothes. Making sure to lift layers of clothes as it is, you find a small velvet box at the very bottom. The sight of it brought a smile to your face. It can only mean so many things, though you still have some things to complete. 

Leaving it in the same room would be a gamble. The guest room was basically empty, anyone would be able to find it. Every other room in this house had someone staying in it or had them frequent it often. Anything moved out of its place would ring the alarm bells, no, you needed to hide this somewhere no one was likely to check. 

So you walked back to your childhood room and entered as quietly as you could. Your son was sound asleep. The left door on your cupboard creaked when it opened, but if you applied pressure on the hinges as you opened, it made barely any sound. Locating the bottommost drawer, you pulled up your old clothes and shoved the box at the very back before hiding it under the clothes. 

Happy with your task, you exited the room just as stealthily and made your way down to join your family as if nothing were amiss. 

Even with the help of your mother, it seems your son had difficulty mastering blue food. 

Somehow your mother managed to convince your son from an elaborate tiered cake to a classic sponge cake to plain old blueberry muffins. You’d hoped that maybe you could escape for the day, maybe with Sana, around your old neighbourhood. Unfortunately, you’d been roped in as assistant chefs and taste-testers instead. 

Seated on the couch, you watched three of the most important people in your family take a crack at making blueberry muffins which were actually blue in colour. Sana had been assigned mixing duty, which made no sense to you because you knew for a fact your mother had an ancient stand mixer lying around somewhere in the house. Though Sana didn’t seem to share your sense of justice as she was happy to do so. 

Your mother was taking her time going through the recipe book and teaching your son her own techniques. The sight helped you recall some of your own moments under her wing in the kitchen, though you were neither as interested nor skilled to be there. Oh but your son, he was completely enraptured. You’ve never seen him in school and struggled to attend parent-teacher meetings, but you guessed this is how he was in class as well. The swell of pride on your chest was an indescribable feeling. 

When Sana said that the batter was ready, your head perked up. Leaving your place on the couch, you made your way to the kitchen. Making sure your mother and son were distracted by the oven, you moved behind Sana. You had to be quick!

Rounding one hand on her waist, you placed your chin over her shoulder and at that, she chuckled while snuggling into your side. And then, you struck. 

Your free hand’s index finger dipped into the bowl to carry a dollop of aqua-blue batter straight into your mouth. 

By the time Sana had realized what you’d just done, you were already out of her reach. Her indignant shriek altered the other two chefs of your crime, though even they couldn’t do much now. 

When the muffins had been completed, you were surprised to see they were properly blue. Not some horrid inedible shade of green. 

Your first question after inhaling a few muffins alongside your father was to your mother. 

“How did you get them so blue?” you asked, staring at the dishes in the sink, looking as if a smurf had been murdered. “We never managed.”

“Well, depends if you bothered to buy the brand I told you to,” your mother showed an empty tube on the counter and you rolled your eyes at the dig.

“I did buy that brand!” you said, moving to pick up and examine the tube… only to find two more tubes hidden, flattened beyond recognition. 

“Well, then it depends on quantity,” your mother said as you turned on the balls of your feet, incredulous. 

“Is this much dye even healthy?” you asked, already reading the ingredients on the tube. 

“Guess we’ll find out,” your mother only shrugged as she looked at her husband, still scarfing down the muffins. You sent your mother another incredulous look but she just laughed at her own silly joke.

As the holiday came to an end, you finally got your chance to spend some time alone with Sana. 

Your father claimed he barely got any time to spend with his grandson. Of course, that was a complete lie. With how much time and money he spent, you’d even debated getting your son a gift at all. Though that was out of the question, you and Sana had already set your mind on what it was and had it ordered beforehand. You just had to go collect it. 

So your father said he’d take you all to the park. Once there, you let them go their own way. One moment, your son was accompanying your father and the next he was running at the nearest dog, eager to pet it. 

Holding hands, you and Sana watched as you made your way through the park. With every step, you were getting further away until you could see your son no more. Suddenly, the velvet box in your jacket pocket weighed you down, as if it had materialized into your jacket out of thin air. 

“Not going to lie,” Sana started, “I thought you’d show me more of your old home.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t know, something like your old friends? Your old school? Old hang-out spots?” Sana drew on. “Maybe how that high school enemy of yours and how they work at a general store, having never escaped this small town?”

“I don’t know what winter budget film you watched, but that’s not happening here,” you rolled your eyes at her imagination. “Also, what enemy?” 

“The first-place winner,” Sana said with a cheeky smile. 

“Oh please, I’m not that petty to be thinking about something that happened so long ago,” Sana watched you intently, nodding along almost in a mocking manner. “And besides, they’re a professor at the university across the city, I believe.”

Sana’s grin widened as you just realised what you admitted.  

“I wasn’t keeping tabs on them! I just saw a post of theirs recently, alright!” you cried, though it fell on deaf ears. 

The most important thing to come out of the walk was your destination. To and back, it was mostly filled with Sana’s inane questions (filled with imaginative scenarios to paint you as some egregious husk of a human, might you add) and you answering them with proper facts and maybe some anecdotes. Sana stopped by the crafts store to collect wrapping paper while you collected your son’s gift. 

It was the following series of his favourite books; Heroes of Olympus. 

Yes, he has yet to finish the last two books of the current series. And yes, you’d only just berated (teased) him about rereading the first book. But you could just imagine how his face would light up when he sees these books. In fact… you don’t even know if you’ll be reading these books to him by the time he gets to them, which was strange to think about but really, there wasn’t a better gift for your son. 

When you arrived back home, your son was taking a nap on the couch, which made it all the more easier to wrap the present for him and get dinner ready.

When your son woke up the table was already set and the first thing he did was take his seat. All eyes were on him, everyone was wearing smiles watching him practically bounce on his seat. He gets to have his dinner, the muffins that he made, and then open his gifts early. Your father, chuckling, ruffled his hair and took a seat beside him. 

Dinner, for the most part, was uneventful as usual. That's not to say you didn’t have any fun. You did, you really did. As you ate your meal, you took a backseat in the conversation, observing just how comfortable Sana was alongside your family. She had absolutely nothing to be worried about. Your parents adored her. Almost as much as how much you and your son did. 

“So when is it?” your father’s question filtered in and you looked away from your nearly clean plate. 

“When is what?” you asked before taking your final bite. 

“I asked when are you two getting married?” 

Sana had to rub your back so you didn’t choke on your food, or worse, spit it across the table. 

“What?” you tip a sip of water. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s a valid question, really,” your mother admitted, not really looking at you, but you could see the smile toying at the edge of her lips. 

“Yeah, when is it happening?” your son looked up at you, eyes wide and shiny. 

“Um…” you turned to Sana for some help. Instead, she took her hand from your back and placed her chin on it, leaning in and expecting your answer as well. 

The velvet box seemed to burn in your jacket pocket.

Somehow, you’d managed to get out of that dreadful situation. 

Once the plates were cleared and blueberry muffins disappeared. It was time for presents. 

As if aware of what he might get, your son gravitated toward the large box set you’d gotten. And you were right. 

Nothing could compare to the expression on his face when he realized what he’d gotten. 

Without hesitation, he jumped into your arms and thanked you a thousand times. You reminded him that Sana had pitched in as well and he was flying at her to give her the same treatment. 

Perhaps, you were petty. 

Because you took pride that no other gift earned the same amount of excitement. 

The night settled down and your family received one last gift from your mother. 

When all of you were out, she’d tidied up the backyard and made hot chocolate.

All throughout this holiday, every moment seemed to be building up to this one. 

Under the twinkling fairy lights, you joined your son on the steps to the backyard. He was sitting with his knees up, his hands toying with a small figurine of Poseidon. Sana had bought it for him the moment she laid eyes on it, having thrifted it from some store, you couldn’t help but smile at the memory. 

Seeming to be in deep thought, your son watched the sight before him. With steaming cups of hot chocolate in their hands, your parents conversed with Sana. You didn’t know what she said, but it had your father throwing his head back and letting loose a loud snort. Your mother’s eyes crinkled in amusement as she flitted her attention back and forth between them. 

Clearing your throat, you began to speak. “Your hot chocolate is turning into cold chocolate, you know.” 

You were sure that comment would earn a look from him, but instead, your son moved a hand towards his cup, the figurine still in the other. He sighed and brought the cup to his mouth anyway. But before he could take a sip, you switched out his for your own cup. 

“Here, have mine,” you said, carefully placing the warm cup in his hands. 

Your son mumbled his thanks and sipped the drink silently, his eyes back on Sana. There was something he wanted to say. You had something you wanted to ask him too. But you decided to wait him out, let him come to you first because you surmised both of you wanted to discuss the same thing. 

And so for a moment, on Christmas day, you sat in silence with your son, on the steps to your childhood backyard, sipping warm (and yours, cold) chocolate. 

When he was done halfway with his hot chocolate, he placed the cup back down. You followed him. His hands were fidgeting with the figurine again, spinning it round and round, only stopping from time to time to run his index finger over the trident. 

“Grandpa was right, you know,” you’ve never heard your son’s voice so small. Wavering, as if he were confused, nervous even. “Why haven’t you asked Sana to marry you?” 

He paused to bite his lip while his eyes flitted to the figurine, thumb caressing the figurine’s armour. 

“Is it because of me?” he asked. The utterance is almost like an exhale, light but onerous. 

It would be so easy to provide empty consolation, that no, it wasn’t anything to do with him. But he knows you too well for that to pass, he’d see right through your attempt. Your son is already quite wise beyond his years, especially at the most inopportune times for you, and was only getting older. For as long as you can remember, it's only ever been the two of you. 

Your dates, however rare, come and go. His babysitters, much to his distaste in the beginning, come and go. Having a partner at the start seemed so important, if not to share the burden of caring for a child, then to at least have another figure for your son to look up to. And when you questioned that sort of thinking, you’d figured that all that really mattered was that you were there for your son. With little time as you did have with him in your day, you fought to make time for him. You hadn’t even entertained the idea, that perhaps, you’d date just for yourself. When it came to your son or some romantic dalliance that would never amount to anything real, the choice was easy. 

Because at the end of the day, it's only ever been the two of you. 

But all of that changed when Sana arrived at your doorstep. 

You doubted that neither of you, all three of you even, expected this outcome. 

So you understood where your son was coming from, asking this question. 

And you decided to be honest with your son, as you always have. 

“Yes, in a way.” 

Finally, your son turned his full attention to you. His hands were still holding the figurine, but they weren’t fidgeting anymore. 

You also turned to face him. 

Round eyes had turned sharp, searching for something. Yet his face was a little less expressive, more difficult to read. There were lines of worry decorating his forehead, he seemed older. He’s always by your side, it’s so easy to miss. But this close, on this night, it was obvious. He had grown up. 

“Before I asked her, I wanted to ask you,” you confessed. The velvet box that was previously hidden underneath your old clothes in the third drawer of your cupboard was now heavy in your pocket. Your son tilted his head in question. “For as long as I can remember, it has been just you and me.”

You sighed. These words were harder to get out than you’d expected. 

“I know you like Sana, and I know she already stays with us, and I know you know how much I love her,” the corner of your son’s lips twitched up a bit. “But there’s a difference between being together and being married. I think it’s a big step. And I don’t want to take that step with your blessing.” 

It only took your son a fraction of a second to react. He nodded, eager to say yes. 

“Of course, I want this for you,” he said, grinning. “She makes you happy. You make her happy too. And that makes me happy!” 

And he was back. 

He was giggling to himself as he poked your side with a finger. You rolled your eyes as you tried to brave the tickling sensation. 

“But seriously, I want this,” he nodded before turning his attention back to his cup of hot chocolate. He was going to take a sip, but stopped and looked at you. “And… and thanks for asking me.” 

“Of course,” was all you could say as both of you went to take a sip from your mugs. 

“Ugh!” your son let out an ugly bleh! and frowned. Your parents and Sana turned to look over at you. “This is so cold! Is yours too?” 

Your mother chuckled and nodded. From across the yard, she asked. “Shall we go heat them up?” 

“Yes, please!” your son stood up and pocketed his figurine. He extended a hand for your cup as well. When you gave it up, he whispered conspiraterly before your mother could whisk him away. “Good luck! You got this!”

And then with a giggle, he’d skipped off into the house. 

Your mother stopped at the steps just as you got up and dusted yourself up. 

“What were you two whispering about?” she asked with an uptick of her brow as if she hadn’t had her guesses. You shrugged. 

“What were you laughing about?” you asked. Your mother glanced back at your father and Sana, then back to you. She shrugged. 

“Okay, be like that then,” you said and your mother only chuckled. 

Then, she turned back again and called out to your father. “Did you take your tablets?” 

“Shit, no!” your father excused himself and rushed over. 

“Language!” your mother said as your father zoomed past, though he was more hobbling. Then your mother looked back at you. “She’ll say yes.”

And with that, she followed your father in and closed the balcony door to shut away the cold air. 

You turned to Sana. She was already looking at you. 

Without a mug, she had nothing to fidget with, so she had her hands steepled in front of her stomach. Her eyes were wide, expectant, as you made your way over. 

“Hey,” you said, both your hands finding their place in your pockets. Of course, it was only a front to find the box they were hiding. 

“Hi,” she said, the corner of her lips twitching up. 

There was nothing left to do. Nothing more you were so sure of. 

So instead of stuffing up the moment with unprepared words and emotion, you pulled out the box. 

Sana didn’t gasp or squeal or tear up. She just raised her steepled hands to her lips, her cheeks pushed up so high, elated crinkles forming beside her eyes. 

You weren't a grand person either. No big dinner, no big celebration, no build-up. You’d considered it, you really had, merely for the sake of Sana. But everything else just felt so unlike you, well, unlike the pair of you. Your start had been so simple, so unassuming, only because there was already so much between you. And everything that had followed, with her, and her with your son, had been the same. Everything just made sense. 

But you did think, perhaps, you should get down on one knee. 

So you started lowering yourself to the ground as you opened the box. But before you could complete the pose, Sana grabbed you by your collar and pulled you into a crushing kiss. 

You surmised that was a yes and smiled into the kiss.

“Come on, come on,” your son was ecstatic, practically shooting off from his seat on the couch. Sana only smiled to herself as she set up the laptop on the coffee table, making sure the camera showed everyone and that she looked all right. “We’re in!”

Handing Sana the mugs in your hands, you seated yourself down and lifted your son onto your lap. Just as you were taking back your mug, a shrill voice shrieked. “Sana!”

Your son giggled while your eyes widened. Because Sana returned the greeting with the same energy. “Nayeon!”

You’ve heard of that one before, Nayeon, and seen photos of her too. Well, you couldn’t remember exactly, Sana had quite the group of friends but when Nayeon’s face appeared along with another person, you just smiled and waved awkwardly. 

“Hi! It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Nayeon said politely to you just as another screen popped up. You knew them, the newlyweds!

You parroted her greeting as more screens popped up with familiar faces, but none close. You’ve only heard stories or seen photos. The laptop erupted with voices, none of which you recognized, it was quite overwhelming. Though, Sana had no trouble at all catching the flow of the conversation and laughing along. Your son seemed to follow her, although silently. Someone with the name of Choi Tzuyu housed two people on their screen, they both waved at your son, who responded eagerly. 

“I think everyone is here!” one of the women said, her profile name read Jihyo. She was clearly wearing a suit, though her tie had been undone. “Yup, headcount done, everyone is here. How are we moving forward with this?” 

“Well, that depends on Sana, really,” a woman from Nayeon’s screen said, she’d just joined the pair that was already there. She was wearing a smug smile, and in response, Sana rolled her eyes. 

Both you and your son turned to Sana, expectant. 

Grinning at the ground, feigning bashfulness, Sana held up her left hand. And there it was, glinting in the light, your engagement ring. 

The audio lagged from how much volume erupted. Someone wolf-whistled, while the others laughed and clapped. You knew people were congratulating you, but you were too busy fending off Sana burying her forehead into your shoulder. Only your son seemed to delight in the revelry. 

And then, to your horror, someone yelled. “Show us your ring too!” 

Before you could even lift your hand, your son had taken your left hand and held it above his head, showcasing the matching ring!

Someone shrieked again, although this time around the celebration was a bit more subdued. 

“Damn, I thought we were all gonna scream again but okay,” the one with the profile name Hirai Momo said, while the person next to them swatted their arm. “What? It’s—”

“Please ignore Momo, congrats on your engagement,” Jihyo said, leaning forward, trying to look right at you. “I know Sana has been excited about this for quite a while.” 

“Oh,” was all you could say, as Sana pulled away from you, a blush coating her cheeks. 

“We knew this was coming,” the profile Dahyun said, “but I think this is the first child in our little group—hello!”

Your son perked up as all attention was on him. “Hello!” 

He was readying himself to be asked questions, to share his interest in cooking with a whole new group of people, though the conversation switched again. 

“He’s not the first child, we have children too,” Momo whined. “Look, Boo and Dobby are here.” 

And then she continued to make the most obnoxious noise to call over her dogs. 

“You did not just compare an adorable kid to your feral dogs,” said the person next to Momo, even though they reached out to a dog themself and picked one up. “I’m sorry for this one, kid.” 

Your son didn’t seem to mind, instead, he was absolutely taken with the two dogs in the hands of the couple. 

“Then, I guess I have children too,” someone from the profile Choi Tzuyu said and called over another dog too. 

“Oh, Tzuyu, you’re back home?” someone asked and once again, the conversation changed. 

Smiling at the sight, you were content with just seeing Sana interact with her friends. She’d been pretty adamant about staying with you for this Christmas, and she’d mentioned how horrid the one before had been. It was the reason this group had decided to call this time around. 

Then out of the blue, Jihyo asked. “So when is the wedding?”

“Why are you asking? So you can bring that plus-one of yours from last time?” 

The call erupted again. 

“Right, right, how long are you just going to be attending weddings? When are you going—”

“Jeongyeon, I’m going to stop you right there, you’re giving me traumatic flashbacks to my mom,” Jihyo said, holding up her hands. “And, that plus-one was a one-time thing, I’ll probably never see them again.” 

“They’ll probably be there for Sana’s wedding, let's be honest,” even the slightest mention of your wedding had you sweating. Sana seemed to notice. 

Muting yourself, Sana turned to you. “They’re going to go at this for a while, thanks for agreeing to meet them… they’re basically family to me.” 

“Yeah, no, of course,” you said, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. You ignored the one who whistled again. You were muted, not off-camera. You tried not to display your embarrassment. “I’ll get this one ready for bed then.” 

Your son was pouting, but Sana just nodded. “I’ll finish up this call, and we can finish up your favourite chapter.” 

At that, your son’s smile returned. 

“Come on,” you said, picking him up and giving him a boost to land across the couch. You took the empty mug from Sana’s hand and left as she re-entered the conversation as if her little pause never occurred. 

“Mina! Ask Mina, she’s single too—!”

“But we’re here to talk about you, Jihyo—!”

“What do you mean? You just got engaged!”

Their voices faded with every step you took away from Sana, your son in tow. 

Maybe it was the end of the year, maybe it was the communal holiday spirit, but every Christmas, you found yourself reminiscing about past memories. Watching your son take his first steps, to watching him become confident in his own skin, you were glad he was surrounded by people who loved him as much as you did. And now, that permanently included Sana. These holidays have changed so many things, all of which you were so deeply grateful for. 

Surged with a wave of emotion upon reaching the threshold of your childhood bedroom,  and unable to suppress your elation, you grabbed your son by the hips and lifted him into the air. You were sure the sound of his surprised giggles would stay imprinted in your mind for many more Christmases to come.

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: first and foremost, i am so very sorry dear anon for getting this to you almost two fucking years later ;-; and second, happy percy jackson day !!

tagging: @someone-who-likes-broccoli

#mala's collection #sanccharine #sana x reader #twice x reader #sana imagines #twice imagines #sana fluff #single parent au #christmas au #blueberry muffins

[hippolotamus]

Happy (incredibly belated) Birthday to mi amor, @disasterbuckdiaz 💙 thank you for your patience

honey, when you call my name | 12.6k | E (Buddie)

“I was at the bar, Buck.” Eddie’s voice is quieter now, dripping with uncertainty. “I walked in- and I saw the team. Then I saw you. At the pool table. Kissing someone.” Eddie inhales sharply and it feels like the air is being ripped directly from Buck. “And when I saw that I- I had to leave.”

The words play back in Buck’s mind in slow motion as he tries to piece them together. None of it makes any kind of rational sense. Eddie was there? He saw Buck and then had to–

“Did you have sex with her?” Eddie blurts out. 

That is not at all what Buck was expecting. Ever since Shannon died there’s been an unspoken rule between them. A silent pact to never inquire about or interfere with the other’s romantic life. And sure, Buck broke that with Ana, but only because Eddie was having panic attacks. What else was he supposed to do? This is completely different in every way. Because his best friend, man he’s hopelessly in love with, and star of every filthy fantasy, wants to know if anything more happened with a stranger at a bar.

The implication clicks, allowing something bright and hopeful to flicker to life in his chest. A wish Buck never dared let himself believe would be fulfilled. “Would it matter if I did?” 

Buck doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s nostrils flare slightly before he attempts to cover it with a mask of indifference. How he seems to be struggling not to look away again. 

“It’s not like it’s really my business anyway.” Eddie shrugs and begins picking at the label on his drink with his thumbnail. 

The flickering ember of hope draws from Eddie’s reaction, daring to glow the tiniest bit brighter. “I didn’t, you know. Do anything with her, I mean.”

Eddie pauses his fidgeting, just long enough for Buck to notice before starting again. The casual silence that had been there before is anything but now. It feels weightier, the ease replaced with tension and doubt, and Buck starts to wonder if he’s completely misinterpreted the situation.

“Did you want to?”

“No!” If this is going where Buck hopes it’s going he wants to be as clear as he can. He quickly adds, “Not with her.”  

Eddie jerks his head up, staring at Buck with equal parts curiosity and disbelief. It pins him in place, leaving him helpless to do anything but stare back. He doesn’t risk moving, his breathing rapid and shallow, too afraid of severing this potential new thread weaving its way into their well established connection. Another anchor point in their root system, twining them together.

“And if it had been someone else?” Eddie asks.

Not that Buck is the most effective communicator, but he kinda wishes Eddie would just say what he means already. However, he supposes, two can play at that game. “I guess it would depend on who’s asking.”

Eddie hums, shifting to set his bottle down on the counter. It lands with a semi-hollow clink and a gentle slosh as he maintains his hold, tapping one finger on the neck. As if he’s contemplating, trying to sort out a complicated equation. He briefly squeezes his eyelids shut tight, pinching his lips together, something warring within him. With a loud exhale through his nose, his body finally relaxes again and releases his grip, letting both hands rest at his sides. 

There’s something else, too, when Eddie faces forward again. A new aura of confidence rolling off of him in waves. It’s vaguely reminiscent of a different night in this kitchen when their roles were reversed and Eddie stood down, unyielding to whatever the fuck Buck thought he was doing. 

Not now though. 

Now he looks intently at Buck. He sees him. He sees him in a way that makes Buck feel stripped down and exposed. A raw vulnerability that intensifies as Eddie steps towards him, his boots echoing with each heel strike. Another and another until he’s standing in Buck’s space, effectively caging him in. 

Eddie takes the beer from his hand, placing it off to the side. It seems like a hallucination, some sort of wild fever dream. But then Eddie’s fingers are tucked under Buck’s chin, his thumb sweeping across Buck’s bottom lip and making him shiver. Christ it feels so fucking real. Please let it be.  

This close, Buck can make out flecks of green interspersed with warm golden browns. He can smell the oud and lavender cologne Sophia gave him two Christmases ago. Eddie swears up and down it’s not really his style, but Buck knows better. He only had to be tortured by it every time Eddie came home from a date. Maybe it can be his now. A scent from his person. A type of claim letting everyone know he belongs to Eddie. Even if it’s just this one time. 

“And what if I’m asking?” Eddie inquires, low and husky in a way Buck’s never heard from his best friend before.

“Are you?” Buck responds, barely above a whisper.

read the whole thing here

#hippo writes #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buddie fic #fic: honey when you call my name #well look what finally arrived #it's only almost a year later...

[genacity]

⌗ kazuha riding shotgun

cw. sub lean! kazuha x gn! reader. weed usage. stoners. high makeout session. no actual shit happens. probably modern! college! au. happy belated 4/20!!!

an. hi y’all. i thought. be aware i have little to no knowledge about the use of cannabis. for multiple reasons, this is legal, and consent was given beforehand by both parties. thank you.

shotgunning. the act of inhaling cannabis smoke and exhaling it directly into a recipient’s mouth.

the perfect way to spend april 20th with your beloved person of choice. your person of choice, in this instance, is kaedehara kazuha.

the haze wafting through the air fogged your brain like a cloud stuck in your skull. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you huffed, pools of gray vapor spilling from your nose as you exhaled.

you and kazuha sat silent in your room, windows propped open as you sat against your bed on the floor, passing a smoking blunt back and forth.

kazuha’s head fell back onto your bed as he sighed, licking his dry lips while he stared at the ceiling. you took a quick hit as the smoke dragged from your lips, turning to look at kazuha and his tired expression.

“hey,” you murmured. kazuha looked over at you, eyebrow cocked as half-lidded eyes locked with yours. “you wanna try something?”

“like what?” kazuha said hazily, propping himself up to sit in a criss-cross, leaning his elbows on his knees.

you shrugged, exhaling smoke out of your mouth. “you ever shotgun before?”

kazuha’s eyebrows shot up, lips slightly parted as he stared you down. “yeah. i think so.” he shrugged as you dragged another hit from your shared blunt.

“you wanna try?” you proposed the question, watching as your boyfriend looked around your room for a moment before nodding slowly.

assured, you leaned over to cup kazuha’s jaw and pull another quick breath from your grass and pressing your lips to his.

kazuha immediately gasped, feeling as you exhaled the smoke into his lips as he greedily sucked it all up. his eyes squeezed themselves shut as he grabbed onto your sleeves to balance himself as you finished feeding the vapor into his mouth.

he whined as you pulled away, immediately losing the remnants of your embrace by a breathy exhale.

“kazuha,” you snickered, looking into his pleading eyes as he gripped onto your arms for closure. “you were supposed to keep it in.”

“‘m sorry, couldn’t help it.” kazuha said, pulling you in to plant soft kisses along your jaw. you couldn’t help but smile, leaning into his touch as you wasted the night away; clouded with haze and love, all the same.

#@ genacity ☆ #@ kazuha ☆ #sub kazuha #kazuha smut #dom reader #sub character #emo xiao coming SOON!! #if this flops im deleting it #TRUST #i hope i dont get sued for making this #i have no money

[fayes-fics]

Call Me

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: When you are parted from Benedict, he guides you through pleasuring yourself....

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, use of sex toy.

Word Count: 3.5k

Authors Note: this is a very belated request fill for the talented and lovely @broooookiecrisp from her ask HERE, where Benedict guides the reader through masturbation. She also chose the pic above, which looks very modern Benedict in Tuscany :) I hope you enjoy this story, my lovely. Thanks to @colettebronte for reading this through & @eleanor-bradstreet for the title. Enjoy! <3

The Facetime call connects as you recline, wearing your noise-cancelling wireless headset.

“Hello darling,” that familiar smooth voice greets, “I've missed you.” His sigh is deep and heartfelt. With the volume up, it sounds like he is lying right with you, but then it's in both ears; the stereo effect makes your tummy feel warm. 

“I've missed you too,” you hum, toying with the corner of the duvet you lay under. You are so happy he secured an artist retreat residency in Tuscany for the week, but you miss him terribly. He's only been gone a few days, but it feels like forever.

“I'm sorry this has to be an audio call; the wifi here is shockingly slow and the phone reception non-existent; I thought it better to sacrifice a blocky video for crystal clear audio,” he explains. “You will just have to imagine my face,” he adds with a soft laugh.

Indeed, your mind fills with images of his handsome face; you can even picture the gentle, lopsided grin you can hear in his tone.

“Are you somewhere private?” you ask, a little nervous.

“Yes. Why do you ask?” his question shifting into that lower cadence that fires all the butterflies.

“I miss you,” you offer again, hoping perhaps he can intuit what you are asking for, drawing your knees up, the cotton sheet catching on your heels as you do so.

“I miss you too,” he echoes again, “but I don't think that needs to be said in private,” his tone laconic. 

He knows exactly where your thoughts have slid, but he's playing innocent. He always goads you into pushing to speak your mind, to voice your desires, and tonight is no different—gently coaxing you to profess what you want.

“I want you to talk to me,” your voice with a slight waver that betrays a hidden meaning in the words.

“I am,” the timbre makes the little earphones in your ear almost vibrate, and a frisson runs down your spine.

“No…” you hesitate, “talk to me,” emphasising the word.

“If you want something from me, darling, all you have to do is ask,” his tone a dark lilting tease now.

“Talk to me like you do when we are intimate,” you rush out on an exhale.

His rich chuckle makes your nipples pebble without so much as a touch. “Now we are getting somewhere….” he buzzes. “Are you going to touch yourself for me while I do, hmm?”

You bite your lip but can't disguise the whimper that escapes. You close your eyes and flick the volume up two notches on your phone, throwing it aside so both hands are available. 

“I want you to tell me what to do,” you breathe, pushing the duvet down your body, feeling heated.

You hear the noise that catches deep in his throat; it's thick and desirous, and you thank the technology gods for headsets with this level of quality.

“What are you wearing?” he rumbles.

“Nothing…” you confess, knowing it's breathy and wanton.

“Oh god, yes,” his rushed response, a reflex that makes you clench your thighs together, loving how affected he is just by that simple statement. “Where are you?”

“In our bed.”

“Under the covers?”

“I was, but now I'm feeling hot, so I've pushed them aside. It's just me… naked… uncovered… alone… resting on your pillow…”

With each little phase, you can hear his breathing getting more pronounced. “Why my pillow?”

“It smells like you,” you answer.

“Does that turn you on?” his voice going tight.

“Yes, oh god, Ben, yes, it does.”

He growls lightly when you say his name, the noise in your ears so loud it makes you squeak, a hand straying to your breast.

“Guide me, please; I need to imagine it's your hands on me. “Draw me a mental picture as clear and evocative as one of your beautiful paintings.”

“Hmmmm,” his thoughtful hum runs right through your body with the volume up. “How about we take this slow, build to something? I have a painting I worked on earlier today. Would you like me to describe it to you? Describe how I would paint you into it?” 

“Yes! Yes, please,” you enthuse quickly, desperate for his artistry in all senses of the word.

“It's Tuscany, a sun-drenched summer’s day,” his storytelling is always spellbinding, so you settle back into the pillows as if listening to a private audiobook made just for you. “The sky is azure blue; the fields are bright, verdant green. Olive trees dot the rolling hills all around. Right in the middle is a small vineyard. A gentle slope of neatly rowed vines, the leaves canopying bunches of ripened grapes, drooping heavily, ready for harvest.”

As he speaks, you spider your fingertips over your collarbone, imagining the heat of the sun on your skin. 

“The grass between the vine rows is lush and thick, a balm from the heat,” his sonorous voice continues at a lush pace. “That is where I would paint you, lying on that hillside. The cool blades tickling your back as the sun bakes your skin.”

“What am I wearing, Benedict?” you inquire, gently biting your lip as your hands stray lower onto the swell of your breast, so enchanted by the picture he paints.

“Exactly what you are right now,” he responds with a slight hitch.

“Nothing?” you gasp, the idea suddenly so risque but more beguiling.

“That's right,” he rumbles. “I would paint you utterly nude.”

You brush lightly around your own areola, writhing gently under your own touch.

“Are you with me, Benedict? In this vineyard?” your breath quickening.

“How else am I going to paint you unless I am there too?” he teases gently. “And guess what I would be doing while I'm painting?” 

“What?” goosebumps on your arms with anticipation, your fingers moving concentric circles.

“I would tell you to touch yourself, just as I am now. There is nothing I want to paint more than you in the throes of ecstasy,” he exhales raggedly. “You are beautiful, wild, glorious….”

“I want that too,” you rush out. “Why have you never done it before?” 

He chuckles richly; the sound feels like a shimmer over your body. “Because it would be impossible to be near you when you are naked and not to touch you,” his admission is almost rueful. 

“I wish you were with me,” it’s wistful.

“I am,” he assures. “just remember hmm? Sunny hillside, naked, the sun on your skin and me there with you. Now, darling, I can tell you are already doing something; I can hear the quirk in your breath. Tell me, tell me in detail.”

“I’m..” you hesitate, “...I’m touching my nipples,” you rush out, finally letting your fingers trail over the nub, pebbling hard as he moans lightly.

“Oh yes,” he stutters, “don’t stop. Give them a gentle pinch for me. Between your finger and thumb…” he waits for your little hiss, and then he hums, “Mmm, does that feel good?”

“Yessss,” you hiss.

“Imagine it’s my fingers, darling,” he requests, and you do. 

You think of how it feels when his hands cup your breast, as you do now, and tease your nipples until you beg him to stop. You hear his breath catching in his throat as you make tiny little needy noises and tilt up a fraction off the bed, teasing yourself as he does.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Now wet your fingers, suck on them…” 

You know he can hear the wet, suckling noise right in his earpiece as you do as commanded, returning your fingers and painting the dampness over your skin as it puckers heavily under the sensation.

“Now pinch yourself just a little harder; imagine it’s my tongue and teeth; I know how much you like it when I suck hard and just a gentle bite….”

“Ben…” you murmur his name as you move, your head rolling on the pillow, eyes fluttering.

“Fuckkk,” you hear him mutter, losing his composure. It makes something inside you catch fire, a tingle between your legs buzzing harder. 

“What next?” you beseech, wanting this to go quicker but at the same time to never stop.

“Slide your fingers down over your ribs, my love,” he stumbles a little, and you hear a squeak as if he is changing position.

“Tickles,” you giggle, and Benedict laughs softly with you.

“I know. I love to run the tip of my nose there,” he divulges, “or I may use a firmer touch. Do that, darling. Sweep your whole palm down, and feel the rise and fall with your breathing as you go.”

You do as asked, the heavier touch centring you somehow as your hand slips onto your tummy.

“Take your time, but don’t stop moving lower, darling,” he lectures. “You know I never do.”

It is so low it echoes around your whole being. Your thighs fall open, a trickle escaping your body.

“Oh god, I’m burning for you, Ben,” it’s out before you can stop it.

“Where?”

“You know where,” you obfuscate.

“I'm not there, remember? I need you to paint me a picture. I know you can do it. Don’t worry. No one can hear us; it’s just you and me. Missing each other.” His gentle, loving reassurance is the push you need.

“Between my legs,” you stutter under his coaxing.

“Are you wet for me?” he queries, panting a little.

“Yes,” you disclose quietly.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Not yet,” you swirl your fingers through the patch of hair, almost as if waiting for his permission to touch.

“You want me to tell you exactly what to do, don’t you?” He intuits.

“Please,” you croak.

“Okay. I just have one condition…” he tapers off, temptingly, knowing he has you on tenterhooks.

“What?” the question is breathy, impatient.

“You have to be loud for me,” he petitions. “Don’t you dare hold back; I want to hear it all.”

“Okay, I promise,” you whisper, your clit pulsing, aching to be touched.

“Alright….” He begins as you hear more sounds like he is getting into position in bed himself, a slight rustle of cotton. “Bend your legs, bring your heels up high right near your bottom…”

You do as instructed.

“Now, splay your knees out wide.”

Again you follow to the letter, feeling the cool air swirling around your exposed, damp slit. 

“Reach behind your head and then slide my pillow under your hips…,” he continues in that sinful tone.

“Why?” You check even as you do as asked.

“Because I want my pillow to smell like your pussy when I get home,” he snarls. The untamed way he says it, so loud in your ears, makes you squeak. He has no shame in being explicit, even if you often flounder to do the same. 

Now, with your hips raised, it’s easier to touch yourself; likely, he thought about that, too.

“Mmm, are you comfortable again?” he checks.

“Yes,” you confirm, hand slipping to where it was before.

“Good, now take your middle finger and slide it lower,” he instructs. “Keep going until you find that little clit of yours,” you swear he has entered an even throatier register now, each word like dark silk cloaking you.

As your finger pad slides over that spot, you can’t help the little ohhhh that escapes your lips.

“Oh yes, you’ve found it, haven’t you? Now slide a little lower, hook that finger, and pull back up.”

You do as told and moan as your finger immediately snags the most sensitive spot.

“Oh fuck yes,” you can hear the shudder in his tone, how affected he is, making you fizz too. The self-consciousness melts away as his precise instructions root you into your body, letting your mind shut off all the thoughts and worries—just focussed on the present.

“Swirl that finger gently for me, baby,” he compels, “anticlockwise.”

Instantly, your body responds as if it were his touch. You breathe deep as you keep moving, the slickness of your desire easing your motions.

“Are you swelling just a little?” he sounds more urgent now.

“Yes,” you confirm, your clit swelling under your touch as you picture him, his face hovering over you, imagining his fingers teasing you as his lips slid hot over your neck.

“Oh god, I love when you get all swollen and puffy and flushed right there for me,” he groans lewdly, and it’s a beeline straight to your pussy. It convulses around nothing, leaking over your bottom cheeks and onto his pillow. You call his name louder, squirming bodily, something tugging inside. Your body craves him—to be fucked, invaded, pushed open, pounded until it aches from that delicious stretch.

“Fuck I need you, Ben,” you moan as your fingers move faster, sliding over that little pearl. “I need you to fuck me so hard.”

“I want that, but not yet,” he grits out, your declaration seeming to fuel him. “Imagine it’s my tongue, darling, lathing against your clit, drinking up all that beautiful juice. You always taste divine, like a slightly tart peach, sweet but sharp.” 

Your mind supplies images of just that, his slightly stubbled jaw rubbing against the sensitive skin of your labia as he has to use both hands to hold you open to his onslaught, your legs reflexively wanting to close up around his head at the powerful sensations you feel, your fingers running into his lush head of hair, nails scraping along his warn scalp, praising his skill.

“When I tell you to, you grab your vibrator, baby.” he interrupts your reverie.

“Yes,” you comply, knowing it is tucked safely under your pillow beside you. 

“For now, keep rubbing for me; go faster,” he implores. “Let me hear you, your beautiful voice….”

You speed up, changing motions as he guides you to do so. Softly chanting his name as you notch higher up that invisible ladder. But he knows your body so well—knows with absolute precision when to shake things up, as he does now.

“STOP!!!” he instructs harshly. 

You instantly halt ministrations, whining, hearing his laboured breaths loud in your ear, your fingers frozen inches above your folds.

“Oh, are you pulsing baby? Are you so close to coming?” he sounds proud, almost smug.

“Yesssss…  please let me continue,” you plead, lungs heaving.

“No,” he menaces as your hand wanders over your thighs to stop the temptation to defy him, feeling the quiver in your muscles.

“Where has your other hand been?” he quizzes.

“Gripping the sheets,” you admit as he huffs a laugh about your honesty.

“Now swap. Touch your clit with that hand,” he tutors.

“What about my other hand? It's soaked,” you confess abashed.

“I know, baby, we are going to put it to good use. Slide two of those soaked fingers inside your pussy for me,” he instructs, so low that every word buzzes in your bones.

You call out his name as you slide two fingers deep into your own soaked pussy, rippling around your touch, a lewd, squelching sound as you do so.

“Oh fuck… I think I heard that,” he inhales sharply.

“You,” you assert, “you did this to me.”

He makes a feral noise in response, breathing in harsh gusts.

“Fuck yourself,” he growls, “fuck yourself with your fingers.”

Your movements are instinctual now, following his words to the letter. Shame melted away under the heat of desire. For him, for this. To come so damn hard you scream the walls down. Plunging your fingers as deep as you can reach, over and over. Your hips are pushed high off the bed, shoulder blades and feet taking your weight as you race greedily towards your peak, forehead and the back of your neck dewy from the exertion. Thinking of his fingers buried inside, of how, when it’s him, he holds you down with a solid quad muscle over your thigh, doesn’t let you buck up as you are now. 

“Please, Ben. I need your cock,” you bumble, uncensored, whimpering that you can’t quite reach as deep as he can, reach that spot that makes you babble utter nonsense and white out with pleasure.

“Grab that vibrator y/n. Fuck yourself properly,” he orders gruffly.

You release your clit and fumble under your pillow for it, a slight sound of victory catching in your throat as you do so. 

Without preamble, you thrust it inside yourself, just as he would with his cock when he knows you are this mindless. The stretch isn’t as good as him, not the same weight and heat, but it still feels like a heavenly sensation in your heightened state. Your noises staccato as you take it all on board, pausing slightly to get used to the invasion.

“Did I say you could stop?” he interrogates.

Without riposte, you scramble to obey, withdrawing the vibe then sinking it back in, attempting to ape one of his rhythms, the sense memory of him moving inside you making you moan loudly.

“That’s it. Does that feel good?” his voice practically a purr.

“Yes, but not as good as you,” you answer, missing the feel of him surrounding you when you are fucking. Skin, sweat, scent,  weight, the feeling of another body covering or moving under yours. 

“I know, darling. I promise it will be me soon. I’ll be home in a few days,” he pledges, breathing hard.

“Will you fuck me as soon as you are home?” you implore, wanting nothing more in this moment.

“Yes, baby. I’ll take you in the hallway if you want,” he vows, his cadence desperate.

“Please…” that word is all you can stutter as the hand controlling the vibe becomes a frenzy, your pussy clinging to its mass as if it were his cock.

“Don’t forget that engorged clit,” he reminds. “I need you to rub it as hard as you can with that other hand,” his voice is becoming more broken. “Im fucking you right now,” he avows roughly, “It's me, darling, fucking you so hard. And you feel so so good clenching around my cock…” 

You belatedly realise he may be touching himself, may have his cock in his hand as he walks you to orgasm. It makes your thighs tremble and clamp around your hands.

“Are you touching yourself too, Ben?”

“Yessss”, he hisses. Below the sound of your joint panting, you can hear the faint sound of skin slapping lightly as he fucks his fist.

It’s that image in your mind - him sprawled naked on a bed, skin sunkissed against the crisp white sheets, in a thick stone-walled Tuscan villa, the scent of wildflowers and the lush sound of crickets wafting through the open shutters - that hurtles you towards completion. Imagining yourself right there with him, gripping the wrought iron bed frame as he fucks so deep you can’t help but scream his name and shudder as it is his fingers snagging over your clit rather than your own.

The next few moments are a frenzied blur as, after some last gasps, you emit a long, loud scream as you come so hard, convulsing around the facsimile of his cock, your clit jumping under your touch, dimly aware he is still streaming filthy, needy encouragements that descend into gruff noises as he follows you over, the tell-tale sound of that final moment when he comes so loud against your eardrums as if he is right there slumped around you, his lips hot on your neck.

There is nothing but gulping breaths as both recover, feeling no shame, just a bone-deep satisfaction that makes you languid and heavy, not wanting to move, just curl up and sleep, a t-shirt of his you grabbed earlier your companion in his absence.

“Fuck I came so hard,” he sounds almost sheepish as it sounds as if he is cleaning up his torso.

“Me too,” you concur, little ripples of fire still running down your legs and arms, oversensitive to any stimuli; even the bedding feels almost too much.

“I want you to come again, but you sound sleepy,” he assesses correctly, and you hum in agreement.

“Too sleepy,” you slur the words as you turn onto your side and fling away the toy to be dealt with another time.

His amused sound is rich and warm. “Curl up, my love,” you once again find yourself carrying out his bidding without conscious thought.

“How long until you are home, Ben?” you mumble after a stifled yawn.

“Thirty-three hours,” you can hear the affectionate, lazy smile as he says it.

“Too long,” you lament gently into his t-shirt, the citrus-woodsy scent of him a comfort.

“Next time, come with me; it's beautiful here,” he murmurs ardently.

“I may love it there too much,” you jest, “I may never want to leave.”

“If you were here with me, I may never want to either,” he imparts softly.

You just hum contentedly. “Will you stay on with me?” you ask quietly, “until we fall asleep?”

“I never planned for anything but,” he responds fondly, a warmth blooming behind your ribs at his words.

And that is how you drift off, whispering sweet nothings as you slip into a restful slumber. The call only disconnects hours later when your batteries run out as you both sleep soundly.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @0x1harmonia0x1

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader

[tackytigerfic]

Drarry ~ E ~ 10k ~ Blacksmith Draco ~ Unspeakable Harry ~ attractive adventurer Teddy Lupin

Written for the @drarrymicrofic song prompt Who We Are by my countryman Hozier. "Oh Christ, hold me like a knife" inspired this one.

A gift for my dear friend @sitp-recs who means so much to me and who inspires me to look beyond my own drarry-centric brain and see the beauty in Teddy Lupin other characters. Happy belated birthday, Livvy!

Love and thanks to @maesterchill and @sweet-s0rr0w who lend their brilliant brains to me and always make things so much better.

Please check tags and author's notes for warnings!

Wield Me

You’re not an easy man to track down,” Harry said from the doorway, where he was leaning like he was meant to be there. Draco hadn’t heard him arrive over the greedy roar of the flames in the forge, the measured exhaled rhythm of the bellows.

Harry was sweating already, top lip shining, cheeks pink with heat. His t-shirt had damp patches under the arms, a dark spreading vee across the chest.

“You have to really want me to find me,” Draco told him, taking a lazy sort of pleasure when Harry smiled at that, as Draco had known he would. “And anyway, you saw me last week at the pub.”

“Doesn’t count,” Harry said, succinctly. “That was pleasure, not business.”

Pleasure, Draco thought, the word rolling over him, something physical in it, like the memory of spilled beer and low lighting and, much later, Draco’s mouth swollen from the feel of Harry’s stubble, and then he remembered himself and cast Harry a chastising look.

“Are you just here to distract me, or do you have a purpose for this visit? Only I’ve got a lot on, so…” He gestured at their surroundings, the low fervid light from the forge, the fat-bellied leather bellows, the anvil sitting squat, backlit against the flames. Harry followed his movement, his eyes catching on the faint gleam of tools sitting on the workbench and beyond that, the display shelves where metal winked through the faint haze of smoke.

“I need to commission you,” Harry said.

Read the rest on AO3

Image: Octavian Dan on unsplash

#drarry #drarry fic #rowing and writing #i actually wrote myself out of covid with this one #had to take a break from the final scene of my long wip as my brain wouldn't work #had started and abandoned this one already #but then it spilled out while I was recuperating #v satisfying #brain clearly needed a change of pace #and by change of pace i mean kissing teddy lupin

[gojonanami]

Sab, I just saw that ask asking if you ever wanted someone to write something for you (i.e., a request), and I just thought, since it was Valentine's Day yesterday and you offered us such a fantastic day, maybe I could offer you (albeit somewhat mediocre & cheesy & cliché) belated Valentine's Day gift in return!

You notice Megumi sitting alone, his dogs by his side. He looks a little lonely.

Your hands feel clammy. 

You sigh, exhaling, breathing in and out, forcing your lips into a friendly smile. “It’s okay,” you reassure yourself. “It’s fine.”

You look down at the ground, then at Megumi, then back at the ground, and finally, you gather the courage to approach him, a warm smile on your face. “Megumi?”

At first, he doesn’t look up. So you try again. “Megumi?”

He looks up at you then. Your grin widens. “I got your dogs something.”

He furrows his brows, unimpressed. “My dogs?”

You just nod, trying to contain your cheeky smile. “Yeah. For Valentine’s Day. Since they’re my Valentines.” With a casual gesture, you reveal two bags of treats from behind your back, extending them towards the dogs. “Ta-da!”

Megumi looks dumbfounded. “You... my…”

He pauses. “My divine dogs are your Valentines?”

“Yeah.” 

You say it like it's the most natural thing in the world. Megumi looks even more confused.

Kneeling, you offer the treats to the dogs, giggling as you feel their big, wet tongues lick your hands.

Glancing up at Megumi, you can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry,” you say, your grin turning a little sly. “I got you a gift too.”

His eyebrows raise, curiosity piqued.

“You did?”

“I did.” 

That doesn't ease his worries. If anything, it just adds to them.

Your grin widens. “Will you be my Valentine?”

omg this is so cute??? I love it so much 😭😭💕

I too would ask his dogs to be my valentine (and megumi too) — this is far from mediocre — it’s so perfect and sweet and lovely. Thank you so much love 🥹💕🫶

happy belated Valentine’s Day to you too!! 💖 love you babe 😭🥰

#sab [asks] #sab [anons] #megumi fushiguro x reader #this is adorable #sab [favs]

[literary-motif]

Hey girl your writing is AMAZING and so CHEFS KISS.

Could you please write an NSFW of Isaac and listener on listeners birthday? (Tots not my birthday 🫣) and Isaac being the dominant one and all 🤭

Happy (belated) birthday. I hope you had a lovely day. Thank you for the request!

Birthday Gift (NSFW)

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

The door to the bedroom falls shut silently. Isaac is on you in an instant, cupping your cheeks and connecting his lips to yours in a soft kiss. The gentleness he pours into his movements catches you off guard, not expecting the infinite care you feel in his touch when the heat between you two is so palpable.

Isaac has been teasing you with soft squeezes and lingering lips all day, riling you up until you could not take any more and demanded that he follow up on his whispered promises. After all, it is incredibly unfair to tease you like that on your birthday. Judging by the tent in his slacks, he has run out of patience as well.

Slowly, he backs you towards your shared bed, keeping his lips locked with yours. His steps are slow and measured. He seemingly has all the time in the world to guide you backwards as if caught in a dance, until your legs hit the bedpost and a moan escapes you, muffled by his lips.

Your eagerness makes Isaac smirk. “I think you’ll like the surprise I have for you,” he whispers, looking at you with dark eyes. His pupils are blown wide with lust, the sight of his already disheveled state causing a thrill of excitement to shoot through you. With his gentle push against your shoulder, you fall onto the bed.

Isaac ravishes you so well, that the knot in your stomach tightens just thinking about what he will do to you.

“Is it really a surprise though?” you tease, backing up on the bed to lay on the mattress properly. “I already know what you— you will—” Isaac smiles mischievously before joining you on the bed, propping himself up to lean over you, his face mere inches from yours. His closeness and the intensity of his gaze make you stumble over your words, suddenly nervous. His proximity has that effect on you, especially when you can feel his soft breath fawning across your face.

“Yes?” he tilts his head to purr into your ear. “When you already know what?”

“When I—” you begin, caught off by his mouth on your neck. He places open-mouthed kisses against your sensitive skin, one of his hands finding itself tangled in your hair while the other trails down your clothed chest, teasing you with soft touches. When Isaac finds the spot that has you squirming under him, he nibbles on it, encouraged further by the moan that escapes you. “When—” He sucks on it gently, making you lose your train of thought again. Isaac moves his lips to your pulse point, humming in satisfaction at your elevated heartbeat against them.

“When you what, Pickle?” he asks, ceasing to leave marks on you for a moment to raise his head and look into your hazy eyes. The pleasure clouding your thoughts was his doing, and he took pride in seeing you so undone beneath him. So needy for him. He places a knee in between your legs, nudging them further apart.

“Fuck,” you curse, exhaling shakily as his movement went straight to your core. “When I know what you’ll do next,” you finish. That idea was already disproven. You weren’t used to Isaac being quite so teasing.

“Oh,” he says, amusement coloring his tone as he bends down to pepper kisses on your face, “and you think I’m only going to do the usual and fuck you into the mattress until there are no thoughts left in that beautiful head of yours? On your special day at that? Not a chance.” His filthy words contrast so starkly with his soft kisses that you can’t help but blush, but before you can look away, his fingers take hold of your chin, gently forcing you to keep looking at him. “Today is all about you. I will take my time.”

“Isaac,” you whine, not at all interested in the drawn-out teasing he has just promised you. The need burning within you makes you buck your hips against his knee, running your fingers through his hair and pulling just the way he likes to make his resolve crumble. “Come on, just fuck me already.”

In a heartbeat, Isaac pins your wrists above your head, chuckling at the pout you give him. “None of that,” he says, kissing and sucking on your neck again. “I want you to stay still and relax for me. You don’t need to do anything right now, alright? Can you do that for me?”

His lips on your skin make your eyes flutter shut. “Yeah,” you breathe, resigned to your fate and battling your impatience in favor of just feeling the moment and enjoying Isaac’s touch. It is significantly harder to suppress the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, scratching his back as you turn into putty under his hands. 

“Good,” he praises between kisses, “so good for me. So Good. I love you.” His touch trails from your wrists down your arms, moving slowly across your neck until Isaac reaches your chest, working the buttons of your shirt open with skilled fingers. 

His words of praise make you shudder, pleasure coiling within you as your shirt falls open and Isaac kisses a trail down your chest until he reaches your stomach. “Love— Love you too,” you sigh, trying not to move your hips against him. 

Isaac teases you relentlessly, making you squirm as he caresses your hips with a touch so feather-light it could be imaginary. “I thought I told you to hold still,” he says with a smirk, looking up at you as he places another kiss against your lower belly, hands brushing along your inner thighs in a movement that has you whining in frustration.

“And I thought you wanted to surprise me with a birthday gift,” you say breathlessly, glancing at Isaac kneeling between your spread legs, the sight alone making your mouth water. His hands are still resting on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles into the hollow of your inner thighs. “You are torturing me instead! Come on, please.”

He raises an eyebrow, hands freezing their motion. “Torturing you?” he asks in feigned disbelief, his voice carrying a dangerous undertone. You moan quietly. “We can’t have that now, can we?” Isaac smiles darkly at you. “Spread your legs, then. Further.”

It takes him less than a minute to be buried to the hilt inside of you, stretching you so deliciously it makes you mewl. He barely gives you time to adjust before moving, picking up the pace immediately. “Shit, Isaac—” you gasp, moans tumbling from your lips as he snaps his hips against yours, filling you up and stretching you out.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he groans, placing his hand on your stomach and pressing down slightly, feeling himself move inside of you. “Didn’t you want me to fuck you like this? Were you not begging for it? Well, I’m sure you feel me now.” 

You hold onto his arms, trying to anchor yourself through the brutal pace he sets in rolling his hips against yours. “Yes,” you breathe, your grip tightening as he hits a spot that makes your toes curl. “Yes, right there. Please.”

Isaac stops moving and you nearly sob in frustration. He reaches toward something by his side and tilts forward, towering over you. “I told you not to move, I believe,” he says darkly, pinning your wrists above your head again. “Guess I’ll have to use my tie to keep you where I want you.”

You glance upwards, watching him wrap his tie around your wrists. The sight of the red fabric tying you up makes your breath hitch, eyes falling shut briefly to savor the feeling of it against your skin, Isaac himself trapping you beneath him. You will never be able to look at that tie without thinking about him inside you again.

“Is this alright?” he whispers suddenly, your eyes opening again to gaze at the soft expression on his face. “Not too tight? How do you feel?”

The genuine concern in his eyes makes your heart melt, warmth spreading across your chest that has nothing to do with the heat curling in your stomach. Isaac makes you feel safe and sometimes that thought alone is enough to bring tears to your eyes. You trust him with all of you, and you know he does the same. “Perfect,” you answer, smiling brightly at him. There is so much you want to tell him, your heart already overflowing with affection for him. Still, you settle on a teasing, “But I’d feel better if you kissed me right now.” 

He complies because of course he does, propping himself up on his elbows to kiss you deeply. One of his hands moves to your thigh, shifting it to spread your legs apart before his cock claims you again.

The new angle allows him to reach further into you, tearing even more moans from you as you slowly succumb to the rising tide of pleasure. Isaac increases the pace, fucking into you faster as he can feel your thighs trembling against his sides. 

“You’re doing so well,” he says, breaking the kiss to murmur against the skin of your cheek. “Beautiful. You’re so beautiful, I wish you could see yourself like this. All fucked out— just for me. You’re mine. Mine.” 

“Isaac—” you moan, feeling yourself reaching your peak of pleasure, “I’m gonna— I need to— please!”

He grabs your waist, keeping it steady as he moves his cock inside you with renewed vigor. “Me too,” he pants, placing his lips on yours again, “It’s alright, let go. Come for me, beautiful. That’s it. Happy Birthday.”

You shudder against him as your high crashes over you, gasping his name as you come on his cock. Isaac bucks his hips a few more times, following soon after with a cry of pure bliss. He pants heavily for a few moments, pulling out slowly before reaching up and freeing your hands from his tie. 

Lying down next to you, he observes your heaving chest for a moment. “How are you feeling?” he asks, taking your hand and massaging the spot where his tie had dug into your skin.

“Good. Thank you,” you answer, leaning your forehead against his. “A very special birthday gift, Isaac. You outdid yourself.”

He chuckles, his hand coming to rest on your hip again. “Catch your breath, Pickle. The day isn’t over yet.”

#sakuverse #isaac rhoades x reader #minors dni #y'all have smut requests which I respect but it takes me a lot of effort to write them so pls bear with me #isaac rhoades

[softlyspector]

Then and Now

Summary: The boys want a second pass at that fucking money. They need your help. The only problem is that you and Santiago aren't talking, not anymore, not since everything went so sideways.

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Reader

Word Count: ~15.5k

Warnings: angst, pining, canon level violence, lots and lots of cursing, PTSD and assorted metal health issues, smut (p in v), best friend Benny Miller (yeah it needs a warning), reader has a nickname (Blue) in the same way the others do (Pope, Fish, etc.) sparingly used

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please forgive anything that is militarily inaccurate/inaccurate to the ravine location, I changed some things to fit the story better. I am so very aware I'm basically writing in what is probably a dead fandom for a meh movie. That doesn't matter to me, what matters is all that Oscar Isaac ass and the fact that this is genuinely my favorite movie at the moment. That, and when @velvetofyourheart asks for something, I can't really say no.

Tanya, thank you so much for your wonderful idea and always encouraging my aquarius god-complex. This is your fic, you own it. This is your Santi, never let anyone tell you any differently. I love you. Happy very belated birthday.

Now

Fog is still rolling over your front yard when Benny Miller’s familiar jeep swings into your driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. 

You sit down your cup of coffee, the many rings lining your fingers clinking against the ceramic, and huff out a breath at his audacity, showing up at your place so early in the day. 

The morning is muggy but cool, condensation beading along the porch railing where your feet are propped up, booted feet crossed at the ankle. 

The jeep’s headlights go out and the driver’s side door pops open. Benny smiles at you when he climbs out, giving you a big, exaggerated wave before he lopes over, all sweetheart golden retriever energy.

Benny is big feelings and big gestures in a body that would never be enough to trap it all inside, that could never cage all that wild energy. 

“Well, fuck,” you say when he climbs the porch stairs. “Look what the cat dragged in.” 

You haven’t seen him in a couple weeks. 

Benny, who you used to see daily. 

But not anymore, not since he came home beat to hell and looking like a lost dog. Not since he told you everything that happened in Colombia.

Not since he told you how Tom died, how everything they did was so fucked. 

Wouldn’ta happened if you were there. You keep our heads on straight. He had told you that day, crying like you were kids again on your back deck in the setting sun. 

Benny laughs and leans against the banister, a brown folder held in one hand. You eye the folder as you flick open the pack of cigarettes in your lap, knocking out a smoke and lighter. “Whatever it is,” you nod at his hand, “The answer is no.” 

“You don’t even know what it is,” Ben says innocently. “And you know they say those things will kill you.” 

“Fuck you, Miller, this is my one indulgence,” you say amicably as you light up, blowing smoke away from him. 

Coffee and a cigarette on your front porch each morning before work, before driving half an hour into town to serve bitchy local teens still half coked out of their minds from the night before and surly truck drivers just passing through town - that was your indulgence, that was all you could allow yourself, all you could afford most days. 

Benny reaches up to pull off his ball cap, runs a hand through his hair and replaces the hat backwards, before he sighs. “We’re going back for that money. We need you there. Can’t do it without you, obviously. First time you aren’t with us and everything goes to hell.” 

You scoff, taking a long drag on your cigarette, holding in the nicotine for a long moment before you exhale through your nose, “You’ve gotta be kidding, Benny.” 

“Not a chance,” Benny says, weirdly serious, “Not with this. Someone else is gonna find it and then what?”

“Suppose it goes to the next drug lord in line,” you raise a brow at him. “Y’all are really going back for that money? That got Tom killed? Didn’t you fuck it up enough already? Leave it lie, it's cursed.” 

Benny winces and straightens, moving to drop heavily onto the wooden porch swing hanging from the ceiling. It creaks beneath him as he leans back and sighs, sounding more exhausted than you’ve ever known him to be. 

“Redfly wouldn’t want that money falling into the wrong hands.” 

“Yeah he’d want it in his hands,” you snap, feeling only slightly guilty about talking ill of the dead. “Or did you forget what happened down there?” 

Benny doesn’t say anything for a moment, cornflower blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, he won’t be there this time.” 

“So why go back? Pope’s greed eating at him again? You know you guys don’t have to do everything he says.” When Benny doesn’t say anything, you glance over at him, watch the way he sighs lightly and the circles beneath his eyes seem to deepen in real time. “Hey, I’m sorry, Ben. That was cruel of me.” 

You stub out your near finished cigarette and grab your cup of coffee, crossing the porch to slide down next to him and knock your cup into his leg. “You look like you could use this.” 

He takes the mug from you, drawing a long swig of coffee before he hands it back to you. 

He eyes your hands, taps one finger against yours. “You still wear Santi’s ring.” 

Santi’s ring. 

It wasn’t an engagement ring, no, you’d have to be in a relationship for that to have happened. He’d picked it up at a flea market somewhere, polished it up himself and presented it to you like it meant nothing. 

I know how much you like rings, he had said simply, nodding at the many rings that lined your fingers. 

You never take it off. 

You sigh and lean back, your shoulder brushing Ben’s as you both stare up at the cobwebbed ceiling. “Just because he hates me, doesn’t mean I feel the same way about him.”

He doesn’t comment on that and the silence stretches between you for a long time. 

Ben eventually says your name and you roll your head toward him to meet his eyes. You can tell he’s thinking exactly the same thing you are - that you both look exhausted. You’ve known Benny since forever and reading him is like looking at a jumbotron at a Marlins game - so fucking obvious it was painful sometimes. 

“You really wanna keep doing this forever? Stay in this shithole town and do nothing? Serve the fuck ups at that diner?” Benny pumps you, poking your sore spots. He knows you hate being trapped, hates the stupid town you live in. “Treated like shit? Making no money? No thanks for the sacrifices you made?” 

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Pope. Save it, Ben.” 

“Maybe he’s right about some things. Listen, we paid our dues to Tom’s family. We went through hell and everything is still the fucking same. Maybe we deserve that money.” When you don’t respond immediately, he continues, “Think about it. Hard part is already done. Money’s already stolen, we just gotta go pick it up.” 

“Actually got a plan this time though?” You ask, knocking your knee into Ben’s. “Shit went so sideways last time.” 

He looks away from you, bangs a fist against his thigh and stands, pacing around your porch as you watch, the Florida heat finally starting to creep in for the day. “It’s gotta be easy. In and out.” 

“Aren’t Lorea’s men still in the area? Or whoever’s running the place now? Didn’t half the fucking town see your faces?” 

“Who says we need to go into that town at all?” 

“Ah. So there is no plan.” 

“There is,” he nods at the folder he’d left on the swing next to you. “Santiago’s got something started.” 

Santi. 

An image flashes through your mind, of him standing on this very same porch, the roar of thunder and rain in your ears as a midnight storm passed through, the din of it so loud as Santiago stood there and hollered at you. 

“You really won’t do this with us?” His voice had been harsh, a lingering accusation on his tongue. “When one of us bleeds out and you aren’t there, that’s going to be on you.”

You had recoiled, felt that sting like a slap. “Fuck you, Pope.” And you saw him flinch at the use of that name. You never called him that, you always called him by his true name. “Don’t blame your greed on me. Don’t pretend this is about anything else than that money. Lorea is a sideshow at best to you.” 

“And don’t you fucking pretend like this life is enough for you! Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t do anything to get out of this fucking town!”

His hair had been damp, sticking to his forehead, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I already did, Santiago. We’ve all been to hell and back already.” You had shaken your head, “And this is my line. I’m not fucking up those communities anymore than they already are.” 

Santi’s face hadn’t changed, but his eyes had burned hotter, scorching into you. You’d touched a nerve and you knew it. “You’re a coward. I’m not even asking you to take fire. Not like before. Something happens to one of us, don’t bother coming to the fucking funeral. You’re leaving us a man down and without med support.”

“So that’s all you want me to do, huh? Come with you and play nurse? Fuck off, I’m the best shot of any of you.” 

“Yeah and shit at everything else. There’s a reason we stuck you out as the sniper. Keeps you away from anything important. But now you’re leaving us without cover.” 

And that, that fucking stung, you’d recoiled from him and said quietly. “Fine. I was useless all those years. My answer is still no.”  

And without another glance at you, he’d walked off your porch and out of your life. 

Only when Benny showed up after Tom was already in the grave did you find out what happened.  

Now, you shake your head and glance at the folder, you can see the edges of a few documents poking out. “Did he send you?” 

“No. No one knows I’m here. Except Will.” Of course, anything Benny knew, Benny had already shared three times over with his older brother. 

“I think you’ve forgotten, Ben. Pope hates me. It’s all my fault shit went sideways for y’all.” You swallow, “According to him anyways. I left you without cover.”  

It’s what you know Santi would say to you, if he’d talk to you again.

“You know he didn’t mean any of that shit. He was just pissed he wasn’t getting his way,” Benny says, still pacing the porch, floorboards creaking with every long stride. “He was just pissed he couldn’t get all of Delta back together. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

But as much as you miss Tom, as much as you had mourned him, you can’t help thinking about how much worse it would have been if it had been Benny or Will. 

Or Santi. 

Fuck, Santiago could have died, and that would have been on you.

A member of your family had died and you hadn’t been there, you hadn’t even been allowed to mourn.  

You roll your eyes now and pick up the folder, sliding the edge of your nail beneath the thick cardstock.

But the pain in your heart lingers as you think about the anger in Santi’s eyes that day. The knowledge now that your absence might have caused a rift in the team, that Tom’s reckless play for more money than any of them could handle and Will’s wounded side slowing them down might be your fault for throwing off team dynamics. 

“I get why you couldn’t do it then. But now? No one has to get hurt now. Someone worse finds that money, then what happens?”

You’d grown up with the Millers, met Santiago when you went with Benny into the army and eventually got recruited to Delta. 

It had been the only way to make it out of your small town, with no money for college and no scholarship opportunities despite your grades, you’d felt it was your only chance. And going with Benny to the recruitment center to follow Will, who’d left a few years before, hadn’t seemed so bad. 

You had stuck by Benny and to your surprise, or maybe to no one’s surprise, both of you were good at it. Good at shooting and killing and clawing bloody tracks into the ground beneath your feet. Good at ruining and destroying, good at being disciplined and regimented and hard. Good at following orders and being better than everyone else. 

You and Benny were to become the babies of Delta Force, the younger pair that always seemed to lag a bit behind the other four more mature and experienced guys. If it weren’t for Will, you might not have been placed in the same unit. But Will had been adamant about recommending both of you, about placing both of you with Delta. 

And the superiors had gotten tired of fighting with him. 

Benny and Will were the brothers you never had, the family you always wanted. 

Santiago and Frankie and Tom only pulled you in tighter, only made you cling on harder, gave you something solid to hang onto. 

Santiago. God, Santiago. 

You wanted him the moment you saw him, with that curling hair that grayed as the years wore on, with those crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled that deepened every year, with the way that he stared at you like you held the secrets of the universe, with a gaze so feverish and consuming it was hard not to be pulled into his orbit, right to the center of his world. 

Santiago pulled a little too hard, loved a little bit too intensely. You’d known the second he showed up at your place that stormy night that whatever he had to say to you was about to break you, that he was about to rip the thread that he had wound around his fingers since the second you met him right out of your heart. 

Something about Santi was so magnetic, so intense, you couldn’t look away, pull away, if you wanted. 

He annoyed you to no end, shielded you from nothing despite your awards and metals for excellency in the field, despite your being on a fucking special ops team, and one of the only women to do so no less. He and Tom had taken one look at your record the day you were reassigned to them, and advocated for your shooting skills, that you worked best at a distance, and had taken you under his wing. 

You wanted to slap him and you loved him and he was so complicated that you wanted to cry just thinking about it. 

Santiago was also lonely, lonely in the same way you were. 

You could be in a room full of people, surrounded by those you loved, and still feel separate, apart, alone. 

Santi was the same - and so you drifted together. 

You were something undefined for years and maybe that was the problem. 

There was a tension neither of you dared address when you were in the service together, not when things were so terribly dangerous at all times, not when feelings could get everyone killed, could have the team that was like a family pulled apart by superiors. 

When your time was up and as your honorable discharge along with the rest of Delta approached, things got more real, too real. Santiago was always there at your periphery, like a wraith you couldn’t ignore.

He was the nucleus of your world, the center of your universe, and you wanted to hate him for it. 

“You and Miller gonna shack up after all this, hermosa?” He’d asked one of those last few nights together, at a base canteen. 

You’d looked up from the beer you were nursing. “Which one?” You tried to joke, but it didn’t land, and the tension between you thickened until you felt you might choke on it. 

You had never wanted to kiss someone so bad, Santi tilting his head toward yours until he was all you could see, everything else blotted out, until the smell of his aftershave threatened to drown you or resurrect you. 

“C’mon Blue. Ben seems keen on it,” he notes.  

“Benny’s got more than he can handle as it is.” 

You don’t know why you hadn’t just denied it, you knew there was something between you and Santiago, that he bred feelings in you that you didn’t know what to do with. But it felt too close to the truth, like something too close to your heart. So you didn’t correct yourself, and gave a hollow laugh, like it was all a joke. 

It was only when you got home and things got restless and bad that it happened. Will attacked some guy in a grocery store, you had to bail Benny out of jail for bar fights twice. Frankie and Tom disappeared into their families. 

And Santi…when you called, he came. 

He came and he held you while you cried and wondered where everything had gone wrong. You’d escaped the town, gone farther and faster than you ever thought you would, and yet here you were back again, with a broken heart and a broken soul, and friends and brothers you couldn’t help, a listlessness settling between your bones that you didn’t know how to name. 

You were still so young, and had seen and done so much, and had nothing to show for it. You had seen and done things you could never come back from. 

And then, you were back in the same town, with the same people, and no prospects. 

You’d had half a mind to join Benny in his bar fights, just to feel something, just to make the ache inside your bones go away. But then Will would have had to bail you both out and neither of you wanted that. 

The loss of your routine, your regimented military life, sent you and the Millers spiraling for a while.

But you and Benny tended to follow Will, and when he pulled his head out of his ass, so did the two of you - group counseling, hobbies, jobs, - things that gave you meaning and routine, that kept you from spiraling into the worst kind of crisis. 

Compartmentalizing became key. 

But you never really figured out how to compartmentalize Santi, never knew where to slot him in your mind. 

He’d been there for you, the violence and reintegration into civilian life hadn’t seemed to phase him, and maybe that was because he’d never returned to it - working with independent contractors and security services abroad, right back into the fray. 

He came and went, but he always came back to you. 

When you called, he came. 

He had come with groceries or take out, stayed with you for a weekend. He’d refuse to let you back away from the violent feelings inside you, fucking them right out of you sometimes, letting you use him or him use you, depending on the mood. 

You were something close to a relationship, but not quite. 

Things got better with Santi around, with doing group therapy at the VA, your job at the diner, and taking up boxing as a hobby. Poker nights started up, bar nights, going to Benny’s fights together when he started MMA.

And when Santi was in town - even better. 

You watch Benny pace around your porch now, and flip open the file. “I’ll take a look, Benny,” you say gently. “You’re gonna wear a hole through my floor.” 

You couldn’t lose all of that, you can’t let your family do something so stupid without you again. 

“Think about it, sweetheart,” he says, suddenly dropping next to you on the swing again, causing it to jolt and rattle your teeth. “You could do something so good with that money. Someone else finds it first, it's just gonna have more blood spilled on it.” 

You laugh, “Fuck you, Benny.” 

“And be set for fuckin’ life,” he says. “C’mon, what’s not to like?” 

“Pope won’t like it.” 

“Fuck Pope. He’ll get over it. We all miss you.”

You miss them too, and you can’t let them go alone again.  

Then

The third time you break down after you’re stateside, you call Santi, because he’s your life line, your hook into reality, your tether to the Earth.

Santi always comes when you call, he always knows exactly what you need. 

The first two times you called, he came with takeout, with a movie, and sat with you on your couch for two days straight because you had so much fear built up inside you, you couldn’t move. 

Going into the military wasn’t the hard part, you found, it was coming home. 

The third time, he finds you in the bedroom of the apartment you rented as soon as you were back in town. 

“Hey,” he crouches down across from your place on the floor, curled between your nightstand and the edge of the bed. “You okay?” 

“I don’t think I can do this, Santi,” you mutter, feeling like your lungs are collapsing, like you can’t breathe. “Fuck, I don’t think I can. Everything - God, it's so loud, but it's too quiet. Everyone is just going around like everything is fucking normal - like - like - ”

Like you hadn’t killed and bled and fought and cursed and -

Santi nods, “I remember my first time on leave was like that. Just sat in my fucking bedroom for two weeks straight because I didn’t know how to be anymore.” 

Your frantic eyes seek his out, his intense gaze that was heavy enough to feel like a weighted blanket against you, soothing the ache inside you a little, before he holds his arms out to you. 

You crawl across the carpet to fit yourself into his lap when he falls to his ass with a groan. You breathe hard and fast, his scent like catnip to you, fingers tangling hard into his shirt. 

“Thought you were gonna hole up with Ben.” 

“Fuck you, Santiago. You know Ben is like my brother,” you grit out, pulling so hard on his shirt that you think it might rip in your fingers. You tuck your head under his chin, feel the slow slide of his touch up your side, listen to the steady beat of his heart. 

His touch is warm, it grounds you, makes you feel so very safe. 

His comment about Benny reminds you of something, of something you should have told him that night weeks ago at the canteen. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t say it now, but Santi I -,” 

Before you can continue, he presses a finger under your chin, to tip your head up. He doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, just stares at you - just pins you down with that unwavering stare, brown eyes like chips of amber. 

“I know,” he says simply, so gentle and cocksure as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “I know, hermosa. Me too.” 

You suck in a breath but whatever you’re about to say, dies on your lips. Santiago presses a hand to the back of your neck, holds you firm and doesn’t let you look away, his eyes flicking down your face. “Tell me you want me, baby. I’ll give it to you. Help you shut out the world.” 

You’re so drunk on his gaze, at the way he holds you hard and soft and tight and fucking perfect - that you don’t hesitate when you say, “Please, Santi, I want you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears you. 

One strong hand cups beneath your chin, fingers tight against your skin as Santiago kisses you for the first time. 

It’s not a gentle kiss. 

It’s like breathing in smoke, like choking down hot coal, but you revel in the pain, you take pleasure in the way he fights to consume you, in the way his strong jaw juts forward in a harsh pass of his lips against yours. 

He’s rough with you, that first time, because he knows it's what you need, that you can handle it, that you’ve had worse.

But you’ve never had better, will never have better again. 

Santiago kisses you like a man possessed, he bites you, he tears his fingers into your flesh, down into the marrow of your bones. He pushes you down into the carpet and doesn’t waste time with helping you out of your clothes. 

He shoves his hand down the front of your cotton shorts without preamble, his fingers expert in seeking out your wet heat. His mouth stays on yours as you tug at his hair, pull and pull until he hisses and shoves a finger inside you. 

You forget about the world, about how you don’t recognize your town and recognize it all too well - how the ordered madness you were used to sustaining you was gone. 

The pain you feel is subsumed by Santiago’s heavy presence, the way he pulls back from you but hardly lets you breathe - his fingers in your mouth, the taste of yourself in your mouth, his hand insistent on the back of your neck. 

You claw at his back, raking your nails over him as he licks into your mouth, holding your head still with a hand on your neck, beneath your jaw. He pinches your nipple through your shirt so hard it stings but all you can do is arch up into him. 

Santi pulls back from you, a whine you can’t control rattling out of your throat. 

“Fuuuck,” he groans into your skin, “Fuck. Fuck.” 

He pulls back and yanks on your shorts, “Off.” 

You scramble to remove your hands from him, to push your shorts down your legs until they get caught up on your ankles. 

Santi doesn’t bother with undressing, just yanks down the zipper of his jeans until he can free himself. He sits back with a groan, knees protesting, so he can yank your shorts off your ankles before he slots himself back over you, his dick slipping against you. 

The heat of him clears your mind, the anxiety and the thoughts you couldn’t stop from consuming you before, washing away until your mind is pleasantly empty, a blank white space that only Santiago can fill. 

The town doesn’t exist, the past doesn’t exist, none of the things you’d done exists, you are purified, you are only the tips of your toes and the edges of your fingers, one long nerve ending. 

His mouth is back on yours and you curl your hands back into his hair again, groaning into his mouth when he roughly yanks up the hem of your shirt to your armpits, large calloused hand palming your tits roughly, his mouth skating down your throat to your chest, until he can pull one stiff nipple between his teeth and tug. 

You can only moan, fisting your hand into his hair to jerk his lips back to yours. 

“Santi,” you murmur against his mouth. “Santi.”

“That’s it, hermosa. Say my name,” he breathes into your skin as he notches his cock at your entrance. “Say my name,” he demands when you don’t immediately answer. 

“Santiago,” you whimper, pathetically needy, the air punched out of your lungs when his hips snap forward. He’s fully seated within you in one hard push, your thighs burning, the stretch of him so painful you cry out. “Don’t,” you hold onto his arms, force him to stay where he is when he starts to pull back. “Fuck, don’t, feels so good.” 

Santiago doesn’t need anymore encouragement, hips drawing back just far enough to slam into you again, pushing you up the carpet. 

He sets a brutal pace, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, the burn easing and the pleasure settling in. 

Santiago whispers to you in Spanish and even though you speak the language well enough, you can’t make yourself understand what he’s saying. 

The heat builds inside you until you feel like you might scream, until you feel like your body might give out on you. 

But Santi always knows what you need, always knows you. 

And so he slows the pace of his hips, dips his mouth to your neck and presses a finger through your folds, tracing circles around your clit until you come with an earth shattering force. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering against the sweat slick skin of your throat, the only thing real in the whole world to you in that moment him. “Look at you, fucking soaked my cock, baby. So perfect.” And then he’s whispering in Spanish again, something about so fucking perfect, all mine. You’re fucking mine.  

You don’t let Santiago pull away from you, the hot weight of him against you drowning out every horrifying thought in your head. You feel him seeping out of you, feel the grip of his fingers against the fleshy part of your hip, tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck. 

He doesn’t move, doesn't try to, and stays buried inside you. Santiago whispers sweet as sugar words right into your hairline until he’s hard again, and then he fucks you so softly - you’re sure its what love should feel like. 

~

And so, for a while after you come home, that’s all your life is, fighting and fucking and hating the world for chewing you up and spitting you out, and not being strong enough to fucking take it. 

~

The fucking is by far the best part. 

You feel best when Santiago is with you, when his cock is buried so deep inside you it’s the only thing you can think about - when you’re cockdumb and sex drunk. 

That’s when things feel normal again. 

That’s when your brain finally shuts the fuck up. 

But then Will pulls it together, starts getting real help, and inevitably you and Benny follow suit. 

It doesn’t stop you and Santi from fucking like rabbits, but it makes it softer, it lets you round out the edges of your heart against his. 

The thing between you stays undefined, but it comes somewhere close to ownership. Santi is yours and you are his, though it’s never said out loud.

He dances with you around your kitchen, spars with you in your backyard when you put a down payment on your house, cooks you breakfast, and asks for input on his consulting jobs. 

Santi tries to get you to come with him, back to those places you’d left behind, back to the fight, back to the guns and blood and drugs. 

But you can’t do it, at least not yet.

For a moment in time, you are content, content with that small town, your little job. 

Will starts giving speeches to recruits, Benny starts MMA, Frankie gets married, Tom spends more time with his daughter. 

You and Santiago - your worlds revolve around each other, when he’s in town and when he isn’t, how quickly he can drive from the airport to your house, how he catches you in the front yard in his arms and spins you around. 

Sometimes, you don’t even make it inside. 

You have no neighbors for several miles, and the front porch steps were a good a place as any to fuck. 

Unfortunately that’s the same day that Will decides to swing by with your new boxing gloves you’d asked him to get you. Will gets a full view of Santi’s ass, but he never pulls out, never stops fucking you. 

“He’s seen worse,” he laughs into your ear, nipping at your skin as heat pools embarrassment around your bones, the man who was like your brother doing a one-eighty to hightail it back down the road. “Don’t worry about him, cariño.” 

It’s then as he laughs and kisses you, kisses away the annoyed groan, that you realize that you love him, really love him. 

And that you’d probably never love anyone else. 

Now

“Hey, there she is!” You hear Will announce as soon as you slam the door of your truck shut, parked against the curb outside Santi’s place. 

“Hey Blue,” Frankie calls when you approach the group sitting around a picnic table, a canopy of emerald green shielding them from the sun and prying eyes. A cooler of beer popped open, burgers on the grill. 

You smile and accept the hug Frankie offers you, moving quickly to Will and then Benny, despite seeing the Millers often enough, now that you and Ben were back to seeing each other daily. 

Santi can’t even be bothered enough to turn from the grill. He says nothing and a fissure of pain cracks open your chest, your heart bleeding all over again, just like that.

“How’re you Frankie? How’s the baby?” You slide into the open space next to him on the bench, accepting the beer he reaches down into the cooler at his side to hand you. 

Will automatically starts constructing a burger for you, disregarding the onions and adding extra pickles and an extra slice of cheese, without you having to ask. 

It makes your heart hurt to be with them. These were the people you’d been through so much with, who knew so many little things about you. 

No onions, extra pickles, extra cheese.

You feel the absence of Tom suddenly, like a hole in the middle of your little family. 

Santi’s disregard does nothing to help the feeling. 

“Good,” Frankie says. “They’re okay.” 

“That’s great-,”

“So,” Benny interrupts, ever tackless, “We gonna talk about this thing or not?” 

“Jesus, Ben,” Will says. “Let her settle in.” 

Benny raises his brows and looks at you, “You settled?” 

“I’m good,” you nod, “Always.” 

“There ya go, girl’s all settled up. Let’s talk.” 

Santiago joins you at the table then, plate of freshly grilled burgers deposited in the center of the table. 

Will passes you the burger he’d assembled for you. 

Silence descends, awkward and piercing for a long moment as you look around at them. Pope holds your gaze when you meet his eyes, and for the first time in years, you can’t read the look in them. 

You glance away, back at Frankie who you haven’t seen since forever and Will who you infrequently saw these days. “I missed y’all,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. 

The heckling that immediately follows breaks the ice surrounding the group of you, Frankie cooing sarcastically at you as Will laughs and Benny breaks open a bag of chips that you know he won’t share with anyone else. 

“Fuck you guys,” you say without venom. 

“We missed you too, kid,” Will says, Frankie throwing an arm around your shoulders. 

“Yeah, sister,” Frankie intones, “When are you finally gonna come meet my kid?” 

You take a sip of your beer, “As soon as you invite me, Fish.” 

“So you take invitations now?” Santiago’s voice cuts through the chatter, his eyes are still glued to your face when you look back at him, the coolness in his voice matching the ice in his eyes. 

Something in your chest crumbles and you can’t make yourself keep his gaze this time. 

You glance away. 

“Pope,” Will warns, a threat lurking in his voice. “You wanna start us off?” 

Santiago finally looks away from you, his jaw clenching, before he rattles off the strategy he’d devised - a one day plot to get the money.  

You sit and listen without looking at him, thinking of all the ways this plan can go sideways. Again.

Thinking of all the ways you could lose another one of your boys, how the group might not survive losing another member. 

You hear the others take up threads, concerns - namely how you would get the money out of the ravine, how it could be transported without notice to the beach. They would hire the same boat as the last time, to transport the money off the coast and out of the country, to the same bank setting up the off-shore shell accounts. 

“Can you approach the ravine from any other way than through that town?” You ask. 

“Not unless we’re goin’ over the fuckin’ Andes again,” Benny answers you. “And I’m out if that’s the plan.” 

“No,” Santi confirms, “Through the town is the only way.”

You consider quietly, biting into your burger as Will details the town’s layout, where you could expect areas that would probably cause issues for you. 

“And weapons?” You inquire. “We need to be armed.” 

“There’s a shipping freight -,” Santi offers.

“Oh, fuck, you’re not seriously considering arms trafficking on top of everything else, are you? That’s so fucking tracable.” 

“You got a problem you can fucking go,” Santi bites back at you. “We don’t have the benefit of time to go scrambling for arms sourced in-country.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and consider for a moment wondering if you should offer or if Pope would just bite your head off again. “No,” you say quietly. “I think I might be able to help there. Contact that might be able to make a drop for us. Something locally sourced.” 

Will is nodding, smiles at you, “So no arms trafficking. That’s something.” 

Santi reluctantly nods, shoulders loosening. 

You might be at odds at the moment, but he does trust you with things like this, knows you would never suggest something that might put the team at a real risk. “I’ll reach out and let you know when it's confirmed.” 

Pope saws a hand over his chin and nods, and you recognize that gleam in his eyes, that intensity that said he was starting to believe in this plan, he was starting to see the fruits of this labor. 

It's akin to the way he used to look at you, when he would make promises to you that he eventually broke. 

The rest of the conversation passes you by, rappelling gear and fuel and rations and passports and how to move the money once it was out of the ravine - but you can’t stop looking at Santi. 

He’s always been beautiful, since you first met him all those years ago, when you and Benny had just passed the ASVAB and were then recommended to join Delta by Will. 

Anything to keep the siblings together. 

He’d been beautiful then with wild dark curls and brown skin darkened by sun exposure, solid and sure and steady.

But now, with the pepper of gray in his hair and the darkness in his eyes, the kindness that he showed every stranger, the slightly startled way he always laughed, his creaky knees - well, he’d only gotten more beautiful. 

Age suited him well. 

The conversation closes - with you assigned to the arms issue and Will sorting out local transport, if the money was even possible to retrieve. 

Benny pokes you in the side as he helps Frankie ball up the used paper plates and gather empty beer bottles, and tilts his head toward where Santi stands fiddling with the grill. 

You roll your eyes and shove him back but take the hint and stand. 

Santi doesn’t turn when you stop next to him, watching as he meticulously cleans the grill. 

“We gonna hate each other forever?” You ask, stepping close to him, his shoulders going stiff beneath his t-shirt. 

“I don’t hate you,” he mutters, glancing up but not quite meeting your eyes as he drops the scrub brush in his hand, folding his arms over his chest. 

“No? Sure seems like it,” you muse. “Didn’t even invite me to Redfly’s funeral.” 

Santi says your name, a sigh that makes your stomach curdle. “We didn’t want you implicated. Everything had went so fuckin’ bad and you knew way more than I should have told you.” 

You nod, like it makes you feel any better. “Yeah, I get it.” You almost don’t ask, but you can’t help the question that slips out, “And after that? Why didn’t you come home after that?”

Santiago finally looks at you, his intense gaze locking onto yours and you freeze, pinned down by that heaviness, that stare that is so soft and piercing. The ice in his eyes has curiously melted down into a warm brown, his brows tugging together. “I’d done enough damage.” 

And he leaves it at that. 

~

Santiago always comes when you call, and you call him for the first time since he left your porch that last night before things went to hell. 

Benny’s already at your place, parked on the couch in front of the TV with a beer in his hand and a bag of cheetos spilling onto the worn fabric. 

“Hey Benny boy,” you hear Santiago say when he comes in the back door. “Our girl around?” 

Our girl - something all the guys used to teasingly say, something that had annoyed you to no end because you just wanted to be, be a part of the team and the family. It was only after a year being with Delta that you’d realized that was exactly what it meant. That you belonged. 

“Blue’s in the kitchen,” you hear Benny say through a mouthful of what you’re sure is toxic orange cheeto dust drifting down onto your couch. 

Santi laughs and his footsteps sound on the linoleum, tracking closer to you. “Hey,” he says. “Benny’s fucking up your couch.” 

“Yeah nothing new there,” you say, turning from the counter where you’ve just finished rolling out premade pizza dough onto a tray. “It’s a Friday tradition at this point. Beer and fucking up the couch with crumbs.” 

Santi stands in the doorway, gazing around with a stricken expression for a moment, and you wonder if it's jarring for him - to be back in this house with you, after spending so much time in it and then leaving it abruptly behind. 

You’d quit each other cold turkey, and the separation had not been easy for you. Especially not when traces of Pope lived all through the house, not when he’d fucked you in every room, made you laugh in every room, carried you from the couch to bed, cooked meals together, danced together.

But when Santi meets your eyes, his gaze goes intense, assessing, like he’ll never know everything about you. But sometimes, like now, that ferociousness also feels like it's concealing something, hiding something. 

“You had an update?” He prompts, leaning against the door jam with his arms crossed, ball cap shading his eyes as he scuffs a booted toe against the floor. 

“Yeah, thought I probably shouldn’t be sharing over the phone,” you wipe your hands on a dishtowel and try not to feel his gaze lingering on you from beneath the bill of his hat. You turn to the fridge and dig out the pizza sauce you’d made earlier in the week with the tomatoes that Santi had once planted in your backyard, various cheeses, and the toppings Benny had brought over. 

He had a bizarre palate that you didn’t try to understand - so one side would be Benny and the other just cheese. 

“My contact got back to me. He can make the drop. But only to me,” you hip check the silverware drawer closed after grabbing a spoon and turn back to the pizza, spooning sauce onto the dough. 

“I’m thinking this,” you continue, “I go into the town alone, do the weapons pick-up, get the transport Will is arranging, meet y’all down the coast and we go around and up into the mountains. I know it's a way longer route but it's probably worth it for you guys not to go through the town. In the meantime, you guys just have to sit tight in that cove's cave.” You nod at a folded map at the end of the counter. “If we can get enough fuel arranged, there’s a way around that I mapped out. Roads shouldn’t be too much trouble this time of year.” 

He doesn’t move to pick up the map.

You finish with the sauce and start sprinkling cheese, feeling Santi lurch away from the doorway and approach you slowly, until he’s beside you and every muscle in your body is tense and hot. “Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?” 

“It’s a good plan,” you say, tearing some fresh mozzarella. “Keeps you boys outta the town. Gets us weapons that were sourced in-country, fuel, and a ride.” 

“And puts you right in the firing line. You’d haveta land and be without weapons until the drop. What if your contact doesn’t show?” 

“I’ll be fine. I’m the only face that won’t be recognized.”

Santi rolls his eyes, “They’ll know you’re a foreigner and that might be enough.” 

“I’ll be careful.” 

You can feel Santiago’s irritation building. “Why are you so gung-ho to do this now? You’ve always been shit at infiltration. There’s a reason you’re the sniper.” 

Since one of you died! You want to shout. 

“Fuck off, Pope,” you say instead as he takes his hat off and tosses it down, leaning his forearms onto the counter next to you before ducking his head and running his hands through his hair. “You know why I didn’t want to do it the first time around. And now -,” 

And now you were terrified that if you didn’t go, another member of your family would come home in a bodybag. 

And you wouldn’t even get to go to the funeral. 

And this time it could be Santi or Benny or - 

You clench your eyes shut, the heat of Santiago next to you too much suddenly. You suck in a sharp breath and try to get the panic bubbling up under control. 

“Hey -,” 

His voice is too soft, too close. 

“Whatever,” you cut him off. “What-fucking-ever, Pope. I’m shit. I was never valuable to Delta. I get it, okay? But this is your best shot. Unless you wanna go coordinate shipping arms into some backwater town through cartel territory.” 

Santiago stares at you, his gaze wide and shocked, so unlike the hard stare he usually sported. His mouth softens a fraction but you turn away, adding the gross shit Benny wanted onto his side of the pizza. 

“Yes or no?” you ask. “This is it. This is how we do it.” 

“One of us stays with you. We split two-three.” You open your mouth to retort when he continues, his voice strangely quiet. “I understand you have to go to the drop by yourself, everything else doesn’t haveta be. You need someone watching your six.” 

You heave a sigh, picking up the pan with the finished pizza to stick in the oven. “Jesus, what the hell does that kid eat?” Santi asks, noting the toppings. 

“Shit,” you answer, snapping the oven door closed. “Who?” 

“Frankie. He can make up for your shit Spanish.”  

You quickly catalog another thing you’re deficient in, swallowing thickly.

“Fine.” 

Santi nods and keeps staring at you, staring at you standing in the middle of your kitchen with your arms crossed. 

And you feel the sudden urge to cry, to break down and scream. 

Your breath is heavy in your chest, and the weight of Santi’s eyes on you doesn’t help. 

“We should talk about it,” he says.

You shake your head, grab a beer from the fridge and walk out of the kitchen, down the hall and past the living room where Benny was invested in a baseball game, and out onto your back deck. 

Santiago follows you, snapping the screen door closed after him. “C’mon.” 

“No. You left it the way it is. We don’t need to talk about it,” you knock the bottle cap off the beer with one well placed smack against the edge of the deck railing. 

But you can’t find it in yourself to drink it and so you set it aside.  

Santi’s jaw clenches and he runs an agitated hand through his hair, pacing a line back and forth before he stops and cups a hand over his chin. “Don’t be stubborn about this, Blue.” 

“Fuck off, Pope.” 

He rolls his eyes and approaches you, stepping right into your space, crowding you against the banister, bracketing his arms around you, palms against the railing behind you. He tilts his head over yours, his nose nearly touching yours. “I missed you. I wanted to come back. I didn’t know how.” 

You scoff. “It was easy. You could have walked through the door.” You grit your teeth, “Would you have even told me Tom died? Or would I have seen it on fucking Facebook from his widow months later?”

Santi flinches at your accusation but doesn’t back down, his eyes still boring into your, his voice quiet. “Yes. You’re our family. You know one of us would have, if Ben hadn’t.” 

“Right,” you say disbelievingly. “It hurt the most that I didn’t hear from you. Did I ever really mean anything to you? Or was I just a liability to the team? Another whore to get you through the night?” 

“What?” 

“Don’t fuck with me, Santiago. You never came home. And I know you were fucking people when you were out of town. I always knew.” 

His eyes are so dark they read black in the fading evening sunshine. “Is that what you think? That I was sitting around here playing house with you for fun?” 

Your belly lurches. “Get away from me,” you snap, shoving at his shoulder. “I don’t need you to call me stupid in my own house. I got it, Santi. I wasn’t good enough for the team and I wasn’t good enough for you. I get it.” 

He makes a noise of frustration and doesn’t move. “Stop being so fucking hardheaded.” 

“Okay,” you sniff. “Go ahead then. What do you want to say? About that night, about why you never came home? About what you said to me?” 

Santi gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to just give into him, “I - I -,” he flounders. 

“Yeah,” you duck under his arm, snatch up your beer, and head back inside, “That’s what I thought.” 

~

“You never went out there to see her? Fuuuck man, no wonder she’s pissed,” Benny says, offloading their tac bags into the sand of the cove from the dinghy, the walls of the cave-like outcropping reflecting in the shallow water. 

Will moves the bags further up the sand and doesn’t say anything. 

And Santiago - he doesn’t know what to fucking say about any of it. 

Going back to that house, back to you, after everything he’d said to you, after he’d implied that any injuries they got would be your fault, after he told you that you were a weight to their team even though it was the farthest thing from the truth. 

He didn’t know how to go back to you. 

He didn’t know how to make things right, and so one month had turned into two had turned into six. 

“She never said anything?” Santi asks Benny, almost afraid of what the answer might be. 

“Not like we sit around talking about you, man. I wasn’t out there all that much for a while. Going through my own shit,” Benny says, jumping out of the boat to work on tying it down. 

Santi thinks about Benny going out to your place, dumping all his shit on you and leaving. Of Will and Frankie visiting infrequently, because they were, as Benny so eloquently put it - going through their own shit in the aftermath of that mission. 

All of them wrongly assuming that Santi had been to see you, that he was still seeing you. 

All of them thinking that you were okay because Santi was always with you. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

No wonder you felt abandoned. No wonder you believed him when he’d said - 

He can’t think about that right now. 

You must have felt like you lost all of them for a while. 

“Check-in with Fish and Blue,” he snarls at Benny instead. “I want an update. They landed yesterday and should already be on their way here.” 

Benny glances at Will but neither of them say anything as he fiddles with the comms. 

Santiago makes a point of not looking at either of them, pointlessly cataloging the shit they did bring with them, mainly rappelling equipment, rations, and protective gear.

The comm in his ear statics and then Benny’s voice is reaching out for a status report. 

Your voice comes back after only a few minutes. “Hey Ben,” you say, your voice clear but with a rift in it, a thick line of tension. “Heading your way. Should be there around 1900 hours. Sit tight.”

“Roger. Sitting tight.” 

Santiago opens his own line. “Report,” he barks out, not satisfied with the way you sound, that slight crack in the edge of your voice. 

“Cargo en route, Pope,” is the only response he receives. 

“Roger, Blue,” he says. “Any trouble?” 

There’s a long silence before you respond. “Minor incident. Intercepted in vehicle retrieval. One dead. No witnesses. Minimal injuries.” 

“Injury report.” 

“Fuck, Pope,” Will mutters, “They’ll be here in a couple hours. Leave it.” 

“Fish is fine,” you say and Santiago’s heart seizes because that means - “I was grazed. Minimal impact. Over and out, see you soon Delta one.” 

Your line clicks out, the static retreating. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck.” 

“C’mon, Pope,” Will says, “Quit thinking with your dick. We’ve all been shot. She was only grazed. They’re fine and heading to us.” He sits back on the sand, Benny following suit. 

He knows. 

Fuck, he knows. 

He tucks the information away - compartmentalizes it and hopes like hell it works. 

~

You and Fish show up exactly when you say you will, radioing out to them when you were a couple klicks away. 

Santiago and Will head up to help you hide the truck you arrive in, grab the duffle bags full of weapons.

The cache you’ve been provided with is well stocked and Will whistles when he sees it. “Fuck, Blue, you’ve got one hell of a contact.” 

You smile tightly at him, limping around the front of the truck. 

Santiago’s breath catches when he sees you. 

It’s hell to see you looking like that again. Although you’re in jeans - the rest of the getup is similar enough to the fatigues you used to sport that it makes his chest tighten. Your hair is tucked back, a backward ball cap on your head, and he recognizes it as one of his, one he must have left at your place. Sunglasses are hitched up above your brow. 

You have a strip of cloth tied around your upper thigh, and Frankie has one concerned hand under your elbow. 

Santiago never wanted to see you like this again, never wanted to have to think about you being shot at again. 

You ignore his stare and say to Frankie, “C’mere and help me calculate this fuel shit. We need to be sure it's more than enough to get us there and back with room for detours.” 

Frankie opens the back door and lets you rummage around in another bag before turning back with a scrap of paper and pen. 

When Santi just stands there staring at you, you turn and tilt your head. “Gonna help Ironhead with that shit, Pope?” 

He flinches, can’t help himself when he hears you call him that, it takes him back to your porch, to the words he can never take back. 

Santiago doesn’t say anything, catches Frankie roll his eyes as Santi turns and grabs a couple bags to drag down to the cove. 

A few minutes later you and Fish make your way to the cave. “-wish we had a bit more but that should do.”

“It’ll be fine,” Fish assures you, sounding a lot less concerned than you.  

“Uh huh,” you say, dropping next to Benny on the sand to take the canteen he offers you. 

Will turns to look at you, his eyes flicking over the bandage on your leg. “What happened?” 

“Exactly what I said. Some guy caught us grabbing the truck. He shot first, Fish took ‘im out.” 

All cold practicality, Will answers, “Clean it properly.” 

Fish laughs and raises a brow at you and Santi knows he had already told you to do it. 

You roll your eyes and glance at Benny with an exasperated huff of breath. 

Before, when you served together, Santiago would have read that look all wrong, would have seen something more than what it was. Now, he sees it for what it is - two younger siblings exasperated by their older brother. 

You and Ben have been attached at the hip since the third grade, and have done nearly everything in your life together. You were best friends and nothing more than that. In fact the idea probably repulsed both of you. 

He wonders what it was like for you then, when Benny suddenly wasn’t around anymore after the failed Colombia mission. 

Santi hooks one of the hand guns into the holster on his hip, grabs a first aid kit, and crosses to you. “I got it.” 

He holds out a hand and you hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand and letting him haul you up. He leads you a little way from the group while they continue sorting the weapons out, nodding for you to lean back into the edge of the beached boat. 

“Shit,” Santiago mutters when he crouches down and peels the makeshift bandage off of your thigh. “This is more than a graze, you got ate, mi vida.” 

“Only a little. No bullet in me.” 

He shakes his head and briskly cleans the wound, dresses it with a proper bandage and a wrapping of gauze around your thigh. He slides his knuckles down to your knee and glances up at you. “Fuck, Blue, please. Be careful.” 

“You think I got shot on purpose?” You ask, amused rather than pissed for once, as he stands. 

He licks his lips and plants his hands on his hips, not able to keep his eyes off you. 

Fuck were you pretty. 

Even in fatigues and sweating from the humidity, you were so fucking beautiful.

And then he notices the rings on your fingers, notices the ring that he gave you years ago now, and his mouth goes dry, his heart pumps like it’s trying to break the cage of his ribs.  

“‘Course not. Just saying. Be careful.” 

“Okay,” you agree. “When should we head out? Frankie -,” you call and the other man glances over at the two of you. “We thought 0400 hours, right?” 

“Right,” he confirms quietly, “Early enough that we’ve got a bit of light but it's still dark,” he agrees. 

“There ya go, Pope,” you say. 

He doesn’t look away from you, can’t quite manage it. “You’ve got my hat.” 

“My hat now,” you snip. “Left it in my house.” 

“You ever gonna forgive me?” He doesn’t know why he asks, it's not like he deserves it. 

“Dunno, Santi,” you say. “You ever gonna apologize?” 

He clenches his jaw and walks away from you, announcing, “We’re out at 0400 hours. Sharp.” 

~

The sun is only really starting to blaze alive when you park the truck at the edge of a canyon. “We gotta walk from here, y’all,” you say, slapping the map down between Will and Santiago in the front seat. 

“Hooah,” Benny intones, popping open his door so you can slide out behind him. 

When the truck is hidden in the foliage and you’re all geared up, you say, “So, I was thinking, I can split with you guys here, follow the ridgeline up so I can see farther-,”

“We aren’t splitting up again,” Santi says, lowering protective glasses over his eyes. “You’ll be able to see plenty in either direction from the ravine.” 

“Are you sure-,”

“Yes,” he grits his teeth. “We’re wasting time, let's go.” 

So you wrap the strap of your rifle around your neck and go. 

You don’t talk as you move through the canyon and through the mountainside, up the steep rocky crags, Santiago at the head with a GPS and the coordinates. 

Finding the correct ravine is surprisingly easy, and you peer over the side to see a mountain of snow at the bottom. “Looks like you guys will be digging.” 

“Wonderful,” Frankie says. “You wanna trade? I’ll man the horizon.” 

You smirk, “Nah, I’m good here.” You screw a silencer onto the end of your rifle and walk away, scouting for a position where you could easily see in all directions to cover them while they worked. 

“Not too far,” Pope says into the comms and you don’t bother to turn, waving a hand above your head to show you heard. 

You settle down, between two rocks, adjusting the scope on your rifle to make sure you have a clear view. 

“Blue, check-in,” Frankie’s voice comes over the comm. “Pope can’t see you and has his panties in a twist.” 

You chuckle and respond, “That’s the idea. Present and accounted for. How’s it going, boys?” 

“Benny and Santi rappelling down now.” 

You don’t respond, focusing instead on your task, wondering how long it would take them to get all of it out of the ravine, if they would have to dig it out of the snow, if it was even still there, how long it would take to haul out to the truck. 

Two hours pass in which the horizon in all directions is clear, and which the boys stay silent in your ear. 

And then - “Fuck yeah! Money’s still here baby!” Benny nearly deafens you and the others. A long string of curses and hyena-like laughter follows. 

“Shut the fuck up, Ben! Jesus,” Will mutters. “Just get it the fuck up here.” 

“Keep your head on straight,” you say into your comm. “We’re not taking more than we can handle, got it?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Santi says. “Of course.”

“I’m serious. I will leave you here, Pope.” 

“I’ll leave him here,” Frankie adds.

The rest of the day passes by slowly, and without incident. Occasional comments come through but nothing that warranted a response until near sundown, “Come on back, Blue,” Will says. 

“Done already?” 

“For tonight.” 

When you approach the camp, duffle bags are strewn around. 

Many more than you expected.

“Jesus, you sure this isn’t all of it?” You assess the amount of bags. “Think we might have to be okay with this.” You shoulder your M16, “We should start moving it to the truck now.”

The guys glance at each other. “C��mon,” you whine, annoyed with them. “Y’all really gonna let money go to your head again?” 

“You don’t want any?” 

“Any is more than none, which is what I have now,” you say. “And no, Ben, I don’t need a Ferrari.” 

They all glance at each other, then, “One more run tonight and then we’re done. We’ll move the cash in the morning, and be on the boat by the afternoon.” 

You roll your eyes, “Fine, whatever.” 

Benny hoots and goes about getting strapped into the harness again, Will following suit. 

“That was kind of you,” Frankie says, coming to stand next to you with arms folded across his chest. “We coulda used your level head last time.” 

You feel your heart sink, surprised Fish would say anything about it to you. “Yeah,” you say softly, watching Santi help Ben and Will start down the cliffside. “I know it's my fault that it went down the way it did. I’m sorry.” 

Fish is silent for a few minutes as you watch the boys, before he suddenly turns to you, “Wait, what? Your fault?” 

You press your lips together, Will and Benny finally disappearing as the last light faded from the sky. “Threw off the team. Wasn’t here to-,” 

“Hold on. We’re grown fucking men and you had the choice to say no. No one’s holdin’ that against you.” 

You don’t answer, watching Santi, the broad line of his shoulders, the firm set of him as he keeps an eye on the ropes. 

“Not everyone thinks that.” 

“What, Pope?” When you don’t answer he continues, shaking his head. “God, if I know anything about Santiago it's that he’s upside down, head over heels, makes him look stupid, in love with you. And he has been since you and that fucker Ben rolled up to Delta like you already belonged.” 

You swallow, not sure what to say, your throat dry as you rub your hands together and then stuff them under your armpits to keep them warm in the cooling air. “Oh yeah? Helluva way of showin’ it. He said I was fuckin’ useless. Called me a coward. Said anything that happened to y’all was my fault. And then Tom died. And you all were never around anymore, not even Benny.” 

“Shit, honey,” he says softly. “We thought Santi was still going out there to see you every chance his dumbass got.” He pauses and then looks over at you, shifting to cradle his weapon in his arms. “As for that other shit, Pope says some shit when he gets mad, and no one gets under his skin better than you. You know nothing that happened down here was your fault. It was our fault, our choices.” 

You bite the side of your cheek. “Thanks, Fish.” 

“You can call it stupid if you want. It was.” 

“It was stupid and you’re all greedy bastards,” you say, knocking a shoulder into his. 

He smiles, “Yeah. But it might just work out this time.” 

~

The night passes easily. 

You don’t start a fire, and the guys are curiously silent about the prospect though you know it's smarter not to start one and draw attention to your position. 

Benny takes the first watch and you end up sandwiched between Frankie and Santiago. 

It takes all your willpower not to curl into him, the smell of him exactly as you remember, the heat of him, the press of him against you. 

Right when you’re about to fall asleep, you feel Santi’s fingers curl through yours and squeeze gently, his lips at your ear. “I’m so fucking sorry, mi vida.” 

~

The next morning, at first light, with most of the cash already transported to the truck, you spot movement on the ridgeline, and when you lift your scope to your eye and see bodies traveling down the rocky mountainside. 

You call out a warning just as the first shot slams into the ground several feet from you. 

You duck for cover before coming up on a knee to squeeze your own trigger, the silencer muffling the sound of the shot.

Santi turns and watches a distant body fall to the ground, as he too falls behind one of the many boulders.  

“Hey, hey, what the fuck are we shooting at?” Ben yells at you as you grab him and yank him down beside you. 

“We gotta go,” you spit out over the comms as Benny lifts his body away from yours to take a couple shots of his own, clearly felling his targets by the look on his face, “Looks like somebody patrols this area now. Probably because of you fuckers.”

“Frankie, Will, stay where you are,” Santiago says over the comms. 

“What’s going on?” Will snarls back. 

“Fuck just -,” 

You pop off another shot, using hand signals to tell Santi to start moving his ass toward the treeline. He’s closer to your exit route than you and Ben. “They’re all down the fucking mountain - we’re about to be cut off. We need to go,” you say into the comms. “Grab that shit and let's go,” you say to Benny, pointing to the last duffle bag at your feet before gripping his tac vest as you start moving forward together against the rocks as fast as you dare.

You look ahead and note that Santiago isn’t moving, instead standing his ground and shooting back at the ridgeline, covering the two of you. 

It’s a stupid fucking move. There were too many of them, too many shots for it to make a difference. But he’s clearly waiting for the two of you, the babies of Delta, to make it back to him before he moves off. The rest of them had always been overprotective of you and Ben though none of them would ever admit it. They know you’re both more than capable but that didn’t stop them from double and triple asking if you were sure you wanted to do something, or making it a priority to intervene when one of you were in trouble, especially Will when it came to you and Benny. 

And while you hadn’t been here before, you know. 

This is where Tom died. This is where they lost everything. 

Santiago doesn’t like to lose. 

“Fuck!” You can hear him shout, directing Benny to stop with a raised fist, moving back toward you instead away from you. 

They’re close enough now that you can hear shouts, and you meet nearer to the trees, all three of you pressed behind a rock. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Benny is screaming, the noise muffled in your ear, your concentration fastened back on the moving targets, the bodies, the people. You take a steadying breath and line up your shots. “You’re going to get us fucking killed!” Benny continues. “What the fuck, man! We had it!”

You always were the best shot of Delta, and the people closest to you fall. 

You can’t tell if they’re dead. 

The clip is empty and you take a moment to reload, slamming the cartridge into place with more force than necessary. 

“You really must think me fucking useless if you think I can’t move six feet without you!” You shout at Santiago, who grabs the two of you and shoves you ahead of him, crouched down low. “You fucker!” 

“Fuck! It’s not about that-,” he starts, but you ignore him moving quickly over unsteady ground. 

You and Benny are younger than the rest of the team by years, and it shows now, Santi panting as you run and cuss without a hitch in your breath. Ben cursing in front of you the whole way.  

“You stupid fucker,” you snarl again, Benny echoing your sentiment as you pause again, bullets richoching around you. 

Santi pants as he leans back against the rock for a moment, letting you rage against him, fear eating your heart because he had just ran at you. He had ran back to you for no fucking reason and now he might die with you and Benny. You raise yourself up to shoot back again, Benny taking shots to the right.

“They’re closing in, we need to move,” Benny says, radioing over the comms to warn Frankie and Will to have the truck ready and waiting.

You and Santi are silent, taking coordinated shots. 

“Fuck! Why are there so many of them?” You grit your teeth, the recoil of the gun against you starting to bruise. 

“They knew we lost that money, they’ve been waiting for someone to come poking around for it so they could get it,” Santi says, his breathing even again. “Probably set up patrols here after we came though.” 

You glance over at him to ask why he hadn’t shared that thought before this moment, and feel your heart stop. Up the rockside and to the left, there at the edge of the rocks, a kid stands with a gun sighted up on Santiago. 

“Santi,” you whisper, voice hoarse. And then so loud, you hurt you own ears, “Santi!”

He starts to turn but you reach over and grab him by the back of his neck, jerking him down, and using the leverage to haul yourself up above him. The kid shoots at the same time you do. 

Your bullet lodges between his eyes, but the shot that would have split Santago’s skull in two, lodges deep into the fleshy part of you between your shoulder and your clavicle. You wobble and then crash back between Santi and Ben, not entirely sure what just happened. 

You look down at yourself, where the bullet perfectly caught right at the edge of your skewed tac vest, just above your heart 

Panic surges up through you suddenly and your vision clouds as you grit your teeth against the pain. 

Santi grips your jaw hard, those dark fathomless eyes boring into you, shouting something at you. 

But you can’t get enough breath into your lungs to feel like you can respond. “Fuck,” you whisper, touching the blood on your hoodie. One of Santi’s old hoodies, you hadn’t realized until now. “I think I’m hit,” you say as Santi slaps your hand away from the wound. 

Blood gushes out of the hole in waves. “Blue, look at me,” Santi says, a sudden pressure on the wound making you bite down a howl. His hands are covered in red. Blood, it must be your blood. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Okay, Pope,” you whisper, the edge of your vision fading, “Fuck I think it hit my heart.” 

You don’t hear his answer, the last thing you know is Santi and Ben leaning over you, dead panic on their faces but you can’t quite figure out why. 

~

Carrying you to the truck, your eyes unfocused and glossy, feels a lot like carrying Tom’s corpse home. 

Santiago doesn’t scare easy, but cradling your head in his lap while Ben cries his eyes out and snarls at Will to drive faster, scares him. 

Frankie’s worried eyes turning back to assess you, scares him. 

Will’s stoic silence, scares him. 

But nothing comes close to the fear he feels at the prospect of having to carry home your corpse. 

And suddenly that money, everything in the world, nothing matters to him but you - and it’ll be his fault if you die now. 

He leans down over you, presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. There’s blood caked on your neck, crusting along the edge of your sweatshirt. Your ball cap and protective glasses are on the floor of the truck at his feet, stained a crimson that his brain can’t make sense of. 

The graze of the bullet against your thigh was god’s warning to turn back, and he hadn’t heeded it. 

Ruthless. 

He’s always been ruthless. 

And now maybe that ruthlessness really would get you killed. 

He can’t really make himself understand it, why you would jump up like that and pull him out of the way. 

“Santi,” you murmur, your breath sweet against his skin, your bloody fingers scrubbing against the stubble on his cheek. “Santi,” you whisper against his skin, the copper smell of you making him sick, makes him want to fucking vomit. 

“Hold on, cariño,” he says gently. “We’re gonna get you home safe and sound.” But your skin is ashen, your lips chapped already and he knows there isn’t a chance in hell of you making it to the States alive without them addressing the mess that is your shoulder. 

“Fuck,” he snarls when your eyes flutter closed again, your body going limp as you pass out. “Benny, grab that med pack. We’re gonna have to sew her up before she loses any more blood. She’s not gonna make it if we don’t.”

Pope rips back the straps of your tac vest, rips your sweatshirt open as Benny goes cool with determination, grounded and levelheaded even as tears slip down his nose. There’s no exit wound and so Benny passes over the supplies Santi needs to dig the bullet out of your shoulder. 

He stuffs cloth in your mouth when you lurch and give a blood curdling scream, forceps squelching deep in the wound until he can finally rip the metal out of your shoulder. 

He forces you to keep it in your mouth so you don’t break your teeth, bite your fucking tongue off, when they dump peroxide over the wound. 

Benny holds you still after he hands Santiago the threaded needle, closes his eyes and takes a breath, before he unsteadily and messily sews your shoulder closed. 

By the time he’s done with you, you’re so still he might as well have killed you himself. 

Then

“Hey, killer,” Santiago says when you thrust open the front screen door with a toe. 

“Hey yourself, old man,” you snipe at him, “Wanna help me out a little?” 

Santi finishes wiping his hands on a dishtowel and moves to hold the door open for you. 

You’re wearing ratty gym clothes, boxing gloves spilling out of your duffle bag, a couple of grocery bags fisted in your other hand. 

Santiago gently takes the groceries from you and dumps them on the kitchen table as you wave out at Benny’s retreating jeep. 

Ben obnoxiously lays on the horn all the way down the road, but it makes you laugh and so he doesn’t roll his eyes too hard at it. 

“You weren’t here when I got in last night,” Santiago says when you beeline into the kitchen and dump your bag on the floor. 

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else because you kiss him, your palms against his cheeks, the line of your body against his. When you pull away you smirk at him and peer at the breakfast he has started on your stove. 

“Don’t you have your own house to go to?” 

“My own house isn’t where you are.” 

You laugh, bell bright, but he knows you think he’s just fucking with you. “You stay at Ben’s?” 

“He lost last night and was pouting about it,” you say, unloading the grocery bags. “Me and Will stayed with him. Re-watched Predator for the millionth time. Knew we’d end up at the gym in the morning together anyways.” 

Santi tucks his arms around you and drags you back against his chest, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck and then the shell of your ear. “Left me high and dry here, honey.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you managed to entertain yourself, Santi.” You turn your head and bump your forehead against his temple. “You’ve got a hand don’t you?” 

He scoffs, “That’s fuckin’ cruel. Expecting pussy and getting a hand.” 

You turn in his grip and wind your arms around his neck, smiling and stretching against him like a cat. “Lemme shower and this pussy is all yours, babe.” 

“Shower, breakfast, then pussy,” he says. “I know you didn’t eat this morning.” 

You roll your eyes, “Hurts my feelings when you ignore me like this Santiago.” 

“The last thing in the world I’m doing is ignoring you,” he says, cupping his hands under your ass to lift you onto the counter. 

You settle back against the cabinets and he slots himself between your legs, running his hands up your thighs, beneath the fabric of your gym shorts. “You’re so pretty. Have I ever told you that?” 

A grin splits your face, one he’s glad to see, one that had taken a year of counseling and fucking and boxing and bar nights to coax back out of you. “Sure,” you say.

“I mean it.” 

“I know.” 

Santiago licks his lips, takes your hands in his, the dozens of rings that line your fingers grazing his. 

It was one of the things you’d started wearing to feel more like yourself again, to recapture your identity outside the military, outside Delta. 

He traces the rings carefully for a moment when your voice reaches out to him again, your hand touching his jaw. “Santi?” you ask. 

“I brought something back for you,” he says, squeezing your knee gently. “Stay here.” 

He looks up and meets your eyes, searching the gaze he knows so well, and still coming back empty, still confused about what it all means to you, what he means to you. “Okay,” you say, “What is it?” 

Instead of answering, he ducks out of the kitchen to rifle through his own bag that he left in the front hall the night before. 

When he returns to you, you have one heel up on the counter, a cup filled with coffee at your side, picking bits of food out of the pan on the stove. 

He knocks your heel down, jolting you, “Feet on the counter? Really?” 

“It’s my fucking counter, Garcia,” you snap at him, but you smile when you say it. 

“Fucking counter, huh?” 

“Shut up.” 

“I mean I have fucked you there enough times, haven’t I?” He asks, watching you roll your eyes, tracking your every movement, unable to glance away from you. 

You lift that same foot and shove at his shoulder as you sip your coffee. “Fuck off.” 

Santi catches your foot, presses a kiss to your ankle and lets it drop again so he can slot himself between your legs again, holding up the ring he has pinched between two fingers in his other hand. 

Your eyes lock onto the gold, lips parting. “Found it at a market in Bogotá. Polished it up on the way back. Thought you’d like it for your collection.” 

Gingerly, as though the ring is made of smoke and not metal, you reach out to take it from him. “It’s beautiful,” you say, examining the stones embedded in the gold. 

Santi takes it back from you, and examines your hands, the many, many rings that stack on your fingers. “Which finger you want it on, mi vida?” 

You wiggle your right ring finger and he slips it into place. It's a perfect fit. 

He looks up at you, he means to tell you in that moment, that there’s no one else, that there’s only you, that this thing between you is solid and real and he wants no one else, ever. That you’re his and he’s yours. 

That you are his girl. 

But the words die on his lips as soon as he looks at you, and then you’re sliding off the counter and kissing him so hard, he feels like he might bruise. 

“Why don’t you shower with me and we can kill two birds with one stone?” You ask. “I get clean and you get pussy.” 

He holds you so tight he feels you exhale a sharp breath, tilting his head over yours, brows pulled together as he watches you, watches the widening of your eyes. 

“All for a ring?” he undercuts his own fucking plan, his own feelings. 

“It’s a pretty ring.”

Now

They have to leave you in the hotel they check into, to meet with the bank, to deposit their fucking money. 

Fifty million and it feels like nothing. 

Benny and Will wait with you while he and Fish go to the bank first, and then switch places. 

You’re awake when they get back and Santi wants to cry. Fish pretends there’s something he forgot in the lobby and leaves. 

Santi pulls up a chair next to you and takes your hand. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He murmurs. 

“Was thinking I didn’t want your brains all over me,” you say, weak fingers tightening on his. “You did a shit job stitching me up, by the way. But I think it saved my life.”

Santi says your name quietly, picking up your hand, your skin clammy against his. “Well our combat medic was out.”  

He closes his eyes, gritting his jaw, trying to wash away the image of your prone body on two different boats, carrying you with Benny away from the line of fire like you were already gone from the world. 

“Why?” He asks again. “Fuck, why would you do that?” 

You grip his hand weakly, “Because. Because you - probably the same reason you ran toward me instead of away. Because I knew you were about to die and couldn’t let that happen.” 

“And what if you fucking died, huh?” 

“Guess I’d be dead then.” 

He winces but doesn’t let you look away from him. 

You swallow, “Help me sit up? I want some water.”

Santi hurries to help you sit up, listening to the way you groan tightly before he fetches a bottle of water for you and unscrews the cap. 

Your hand shakes when you lift the bottle to your lips, and he has to cup the bottom of it to hold it steady for you. 

When you’ve drunk your fill, you handle the bottle back and yank down the strap of your sports bra to look at the gauze webbed around your shoulder, the blood that slowly begins to stain through because of your movement. 

You sigh and then fiddle with your rings, his ring on your finger, where it's never moved since he placed it there. “Santi,” you murmur. “I know we never said it - but I love you. That’s why it hurt so goddamn bad when you left. It just confirmed that it really never mattered to you. And this - this stupid fucking money - I know how you get. I couldn’t believe - couldn’t believe you just dropped me like that. I told myself you didn’t mean it. That we’re both mean sons of bitches when we’re pissed but then you never came home.” 

You take a long stuttering breath, and his heart feels like it's stopped beating, like god has a boot on his chest. “I never woulda done that to you. You left it up to Benny to tell me what the fuck happened. I didn’t just lose you, I lost all of you. You know what that’s like? To have your best friend, who you’ve never been apart from for more than a couple days, just drop you? To have - to have you - for better or worse, the man I fucking love - abandon me?” 

Is this what it takes to get him to spill his guts to you? 

Having you half dead in his arms, your eyes lined with circles, your skin tone off by several shades, telling him things he already fucking knows? 

He cups your cheeks in his palms gently, swipes away the tears that fall. Santiago hasn’t seen you like this in years, since you finally started coming back to yourself. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers. “Fuck, mi vida, I’m so fucking sorry.” 

~

Santi curls his arms around you, shifts you on the bed until he can lie down with you, the pressure off of your injured shoulder as you turn on your side to fit yourself against him. 

“I can never take back those things I said to you. But you have to know - I didn’t mean a single word of it. Nothing that happened on that mission was your fault. Not a fucking thing. As soon as things went sideways the first time, the only thing I could think was thank god she’s safe at home.” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead and you feel more tears leak down your cheeks. “You are the best shot we have - proved that a couple times over yesterday, I think. You were never just a medic, you know that. You’ve beaten me in hand to hand more than enough times, all the rest of those fuckers too. You’re the best of us, honey. I was just so goddamn scared you’d never forgive me for the things I was about to do - you had it right about Lorea and the money and my motivation.”

You feel the movement of his throat against you, arms tightening by a fraction, before he says, voice hoarse, “And I’ve always loved you. Always. I never knew how to say it. You’ve been my only girl for so fucking long.” 

You shove his shoulder gently and feel him stiffen but you only bring his forehead to yours, peering into those eyes that were always so intense, that missed nothing, and read you like a book. 

You scrub a hand over his stubbled cheek, the pull of the hair against your hand soothing. “You know I love you, Santiago.”

“I love you,” he answers sincerely. “Sorry it took so goddamn long.”

You pull him down into a kiss, your shoulder aching, a biting pain that lances across your chest. “Me too,” you murmur, gingerly unbuttoning his jeans, careful of the very messy stitches in your shoulder. You hiss through your teeth and Santi stops your hand. 

“No, your shoulder-,” 

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. You just have to be careful with me. You just have to be gentle.” You peer up at him, into those brown eyes that feel so like home to you, like the warmth of a summer forest. You touch the hinge of his jaw, “Just be gentle with me.” 

Santi’s eyes clench closed and then he’s nodding and kissing your forehead, all resolve gone. You thought the strings of your heart had been wrapped around his fingers all these years. You never imagined that you held his too. 

He pulls away from you to undress, since you won’t be able to do it for him in your state, and you use the opportunity to push your shorts and underwear off with your good arm. 

And then he’s back, naked against you, one arm under your neck to support your head, the other curving around your knee to hitch over his hip, pressing so close to you. You feel the ridges of his cock against your pussy, already wet.

“Just like this,” he murmurs to you, never breaking his eyes from yours, his gaze just as steady and intense as it always has been, but now there’s a thread of vulnerability that makes you duck your head to press a kiss over his heart. Your good hand against his cheek, the other carefully skimming along his abdomen, the thick muscle and padding he carries. 

You both watch as he slides into you, watch your bodies join slowly, the stretch of him so fucking good and heavy. 

Your breath leaves you in a gust and Santi pauses, more gentle with you than he’s ever been. “Fuck. You have to tell me if I’m hurting you. Okay?” 

You meet his gaze, rolling your hips against his, “Santi.” 

He moves then, meeting the slow thrust of you. “Yeah, baby, tell me what you need.” 

Instead of biting something out at him like you usually would, you cup both hands against his cheeks as he tightens his arm around your waist, bringing you that much closer. 

Santi leans his forehead against yours, and neither of you shut your eyes. You can’t, you have to know he’s there and real and everything that he’s said the last few minutes is true. 

He’d always been better at doing than saying and now is no different - his gaze unwavering, making love to you so softly you feel a tear bead and slip down your nose. 

Santiago swipes it away with his thumb as he shifts the arm beneath your neck so he can cup the back of your skull, fingers digging through your hair. 

The pleasure in your belly builds slowly, but that almost feels secondary to the other things you’re feeling - like you finally belonged, like you were no longer adrift, like you finally found your home. 

You press your hand flat over his sternum and feel the thrumming of his heart against your hand. 

“It beats for you,” he says, closing his eyes briefly to press his nose into your hair. 

You almost want to laugh, at how corny it is, if you didn’t know for certain that he’s never said anything more sincerely. 

Sweat beads along his salt and pepper curls, the smell of him like his cologne and cheap hotel soap and sweat. 

You move your hips more frantically, Santiago matching you thrust for push, when you bury your nose in his neck and inhale sharply. 

“I’m close,” you murmur. “Please, Santi.” 

“Look at me, baby,” he says. “Lemme see those pretty eyes when you come for me.” 

You meet his eyes, trace the long sweep of his lashes with your gaze when the pressure in your belly snaps and you cry out. 

Santiago captures your lips, swallowing down your moan, as he presses a hand to the back of your neck, fingers slowly sliding down your spine. His thrusts become sloppy and slow and his brow is furrowed. 

When you whisper, “Come for me, Santi,” he exhales sharply into your mouth and comes inside you, hips slowly stuttering to a stop. “I love you.” 

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, if I don’t love you more than I deserve to.” He tugs you close, careful of your shoulder which aches more than you’re willing to admit in that moment. 

But you’ve been shot before, and it's not as bad as it could be. 

“Yeah,” you coo. “But I want it anyway. I want all your fucked up love.” 

Santi laughs and it sounds like a sob, and you curl your fingers through his hair tugging lightly. “I meant to - the day I gave you the ring. I meant to clarify that day that we - ,”

“Mhm,” you hum against him. “Is that what this ring means? You claimed me?” 

“Means we belong to each other.” 

You nod, “Move in when we get back.” 

“I’m gonna put in a pool in your backyard, that deck is begging for one. Gotta have somewhere to keep the boys entertained when I need to fuck you.” 

You laugh and then wince at the movement in your shoulder. “Backyard is all yours.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Just then someone knocks at the door. “We have the contract for you to sign if you’re done fucking,” Frankie calls, loud enough that the whole hall probably hears. 

You groan but Santi just keeps gazing at you, lips pouted, “And a dog. We gotta get a dog. And a new couch, I’m done sitting on Ben’s cheeto dust.” 

“Anything. As long as you’re there.” 

His breath catches and he looks like he can’t quite breathe. “Yeah,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “As long as you’re there.” 

Your heart beats so hard, you think it's trying to break free from your chest to join with his.

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x you #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #oscar isaac

[mostlymaudlin]

death threats

andreil, rated t, 500 words / series: flashes of intimacy

It’s not until they’re outside Eden’s that Neil realizes Andrew hadn’t played fair. In their last round of Never Have I Ever, Neil got out first. But Andrew has totally eaten a bug. Neil was there, a few months ago, when a mosquito flew straight into Andrew’s mouth. If Neil wasn’t so tipsy, he would’ve been able to catch him in the lie — then, maybe he wouldn’t have lost and gotten sloshed.

“Wait a second,” Neil says, swiveling around to shove a finger into Andrew’s unamused face. “You—“

That’s all he gets out before Andrew’s expression cracks, his baseline apathy shrinking under bright headlights. Neil hears Nicky calling his name, and then he’s being yanked up onto the curb, almost knocking Andrew over in the process.

Neil blinks a few times, breathless, once he’s steady on his feet. He whips his head to watch the car continue to streak by them on the street. Andrew’s fists are clutched in the thin material of Neil’s shirt. He tugs roughly again, pulling Neil close enough that his face presses neatly into the side of Neil’s throat.

They’re still for a moment. Neil makes eye contact with Nicky, Kevin, and Aaron where they stand frozen behind Andrew. He feels completely sober now; his belated sense of awareness rushes in his ears.

Andrew’s breath comes in measured puffs against Neil's neck. He has Neil pressed close enough that Neil can feel his heart hammering in his chest, matching Neil’s own. Andrew's whole frame is rigid — his grip on Neil’s shirt hasn’t lessened.

Neil takes a deep breath, then lifts his hands to rest lightly on Andrew’s wrists. Andrew doesn’t react, so Neil slides his palms just an inch up Andrew’s forearms.

“Don’t,” Andrew hisses. Neil holds still, closing his eyes and tipping his head just slightly to press his cheek to Andrew’s hair.

“Thank you,” Neil murmurs.

The tension leaves Andrew’s body on an exhale. He wraps one arm around Neil’s waist like a vice and plants his other hand on the back of Neil’s neck, pulling down so that he can crush his mouth to Neil’s temple. Andrew inhales once, sharply, then releases Neil, stepping back. His expression has smoothed back over by the time he meets Neil’s eyes.

“All that time on the run, and you don’t know how to look both ways?” Andrew asks. Nicky forces out a slightly-choked laugh, and Neil can only shrug.

“Surprisingly, no one ever tried to hit me with their car,” Neil says.

“Don’t tempt me,” Andrew says.

The mood thaws.

Andrew keeps a hand on Neil’s elbow the rest of the walk to the car. He doesn’t talk again until he’s whispering insults under the covers in bed. The words are muted by the way Andrew has wrapped himself around Neil, death threats made soft when whispered into Neil’s hair. Andrew falls asleep halfway through a sleepy description of how he plans to choke Neil with his own intestines. Neil follows soon after.

this series is now on ao3!

#andreil #Andrew minyard #Neil josten #aftg #aftg fic #Andreil fic #my writing #me in fic school — what’s the story ABOUT? #the story is abt. i want Andrew to hug Neil #and smell his hair #ficlets #flash #flashes of intimacy

[psychedelic-ink]

— PICK ME | FRANKIE'S ENDING

happy belated birthday @pedrito-friskito 💜💜💜💜 this gift is from both me and @inklore we love you so so much and I hope you had the best birthday ever! thank you for always being such a wonderful friend 💗

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

genre: fluff, mild angst, second chance romance, smut

summary: you decide to head to frankie's. there's still too many emotions lingering between you and it would be a shame not to give it another chance.

warnings: oral (female receiving), a hint of hurt/comfort

word count: 2k

click to head back to the start

You decide to go with Frankie. 

You can’t deny the chemistry you have with Santi, and your curiosity might forever gnaw at your brain, but you and Frankie have something special. You just have to see it through before jumping into something else, something new. 

Since Frankie’s car broke down prior to the wedding, the two of you take a cab instead. 

“Where to?” the cab driver asks and Frankie blanks for a moment, eyes darting to you. 

“I. . . actually haven’t thought about where we should go,” he looks sheepish, scratching the back of his head. He’s not wearing his signature ballcap, his hands feeling lost as the nerves start to get the better of him. “Would it be okay if we head to my place? I got wine?” 

“Wine sounds good,” you answer with a smile. He lets out a sigh of relief and gives the driver the address, without wait the car drives off from the venue. The first seconds are spent in complete silence, his fingers drumming against his knees while he stares out the window, the lights of the city bouncing off his handsome countenance. You find it endearing. Reaching out, you press your hand against the curve of his knee, fingers squeezing gently. He jumps before turning to you. “Relax,” you say. “It’s okay. You’re not alone in this. I. . . I’ve been thinking about you too.” 

“Really?” his genuine surprise breaks your heart. Dark eyes search yours before exhaling a loud breath and collapsing to the seat. “Good, I was worried there for a second.” 

“Worried?” you ask. “Why?” 

“Well,” he clears his throat. “‘Cause of Pope.” 

Oh, so he noticed. 

You squeeze his knee again before letting go and settling further into your own seat. “You have nothing to worry about. It’s in the past, whatever it was.” 

“You never mentioned it when we were together.” 

You’re not sure if he’s accusing you of something but you feel defensive anyway, “I didn’t think it was relevant. And nothing happened.” 

You cross your arms and look out the window, familiar silhouette of buildings passes by, bright lights flickering back at you as the shadows grow longer. You feel his hand on your cheek, his thumb drawing gentle lines over your skin as he urges you to look back. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, baby, I know nothing happened,” he smiles when you meet his gaze. “I just didn’t know how you felt is all. You could’ve told me, I would have understood.” 

“I didn’t think there was anything to tell,” you murmur. “It happened a long time ago, he backed away and I just thought I read the signals wrong. I guess with the wedding he realized he had some regrets.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I could never back away from you,” his voice falls into a whisper, his fingers sliding to your chin, he tugs you closer. “I’m not that strong, querida. Even tonight I couldn’t pull away from you, even if I know that us staying apart is probably for the best.” 

Frankie's words hang in the air. You’re caught off guard, stuck between wanting to console him and wanting to talk about the issues you had while together. The cab's interior seems to shrink around you, your heart shattering as he drops his gaze away from you.

Despite the loss of his gaze, his thumb continues to trace gentle patterns on your chin. His touch comforting. Keeping you grounded. 

With a deep breath, you cradle his face with both hands, forcing his gaze back— you close the distance between you, your lips softly meeting his in a kiss that is better from the movies. Time seems to stand still as your lips linger against his, conveying more than words ever could.

When you pull away, a mixture of emotions plays across Frankie's features—surprise, relief, and a lingering trace of uncertainty. His hand drops from your chin to rest on your thigh, his fingers gently squeezing.

"Wow," he breathes, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I wasn't expecting that."

You chuckle softly, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "Thank you for always choosing me without hesitation, Frankie. I. . . I appreciate it, no matter how this ends."

“Of course, mi amor, always.” 

As the cab approaches Frankie's apartment, he leans in to press a quick, affectionate kiss to your cheek. "I hope you're not regretting this," he says softly, his eyes searching yours once more.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips. "I never could regret you, Frankie."

He nods, seemingly content with your response. The cab comes to a stop in front of his building, and you both step out onto the sidewalk.

You step out of the cab and onto the sidewalk in front of Frankie's apartment building, you're suddenly aware of the cab driver who has been witness to this entire exchange. The reality of the situation makes your cheeks heat up and a nervous laughter bubbles from your lips.

"Uh, sorry about that," you mumble to the cab driver, avoiding eye contact as you scratch the back of your head.  

The cab driver chuckles knowingly. "No worries. Just another day in the city, right?"

Before you can respond, you feel Frankie's arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close protectively. His presence is reassuring, and you glance up at him with a shy smile.

"Yeah, just another day," Frankie chimes in, his voice light as he gives you a gentle squeeze. "Thanks for the ride."

The cab driver nods with a grin. "Anytime. Have a great evening, you two."

While the cab pulls away, you and Frankie share a sheepish smile.

"I guess we really made that driver's day," you say, shaking your head in amusement.

Frankie chuckles, his grip on your waist relaxing but still there. With Frankie's arm around you, you make your way into the building and head up to his apartment.

Frankie heads over to the kitchen, rummaging through his cabinets to find the promised bottle of wine. You take a moment to look around his place, feeling a sense of familiarity mixed with anticipation.

"Found it," Frankie announces, holding up a bottle of red wine triumphantly.

You join him in the kitchen, watching as he deftly uncorks the bottle and pours the wine into glasses. The atmosphere is relaxed now, a sense of ease settling between you two which you’re grateful for. You take a sip, watching him from over the rim as he does the same. 

“I’ve missed this,” you say silently. “And I’ve missed you.” 

Frankie takes another sip with a smile, holding the wine in his mouth, he comes closer and tilts your head up. His eyes search yours momentarily, and knowing the nudge that he needs, you part your lips, “Kiss me.” 

And he does. 

You part your lips for him, swallowing the wine that pours from his lips, it’s bittersweet as it goes down your throat, some of it spilling from the corners of your lips. You fumble a bit as you put the wine glass down, your hands coming up to fist his shirt as he deepens the kiss with a tilt of his head, licking further into your mouth as if trying to catch the remaining red jewels on your tongue. 

You let out an involuntary moan as Frankie deepens the kiss and his hands slide up your legs, pushing your dress up further around your waist. One hand snakes its way around your waist while the other reaches up to caress your face, thumb resting right at the corner of your lips as he softly bites your tongue. His tongue parts your mouth to explore further. 

You take in a shuddering breath, Frankie's lips still on yours as your hands coil around his neck tugging him closer to you, your breath coming in short gasps as the intensity of the kiss takes over both of you. His hands move from your face down to your neck, exploring every inch of you, making your body shudder with pleasure.

Frankie slides his hand down your neck and down your torso, leaving a trail of fire in his path. He pulls away from the kiss, pushing your dress up further as he reaches down and slides your underwear down before leaving it in a pile on the kitchen floor. He stands between your legs as he leans down and recaptures your lips with his. 

His kisses are hungry, as though he has been waiting patiently for this moment for weeks, ravenous in his eagerness to taste you. His tongue tangles with yours, exploring the depths of your mouth as though it was his first time. You feel yourself shudder over and over as he gives your lower lip a gentle suck and nibble, sending warmth down your spine. 

“God, I can’t get enough of you, querida,” he whispers into your mouth. You yelp when he roughly tugs down the neckline of your dress, exposing your breasts to him, both tingling and aching to feel his mouth. “Look at that, so hard for me,” he groans as the pads of his thumbs feel the pebbled flesh 

He works his way down, planting kisses along your neck and shoulder before paying special attention to your nipples, gently flicking them with his tongue and sucking on them making you gasp out in pleasure. His hands come up to cup your face as he slides his tongue down your stomach, licking and tasting you until he reaches your core, his mouth parting and devouring every inch of you.

Frankie's tongue slides between your folds, exploring every inch of you, and you arch your back into him, a loud moan easily slipping from your lips. His tongue delves deeper, licking along the edges of your entrance before curling around your clit. Your eyes roll back and your jaw falls open, your chest heaving at the pressure of his mouth.

He stops for a moment, teasing you further before pushing into you with his tongue, his wetness making you gasp in pleasure. “Are you feeling good, baby?” he murmurs with a humorous lilt. “Sounds like you are.” You grab his shoulders and grip them tightly as Frankie circles your clit with his tongue, gently tugging on it in a constant rhythm, his deep chuckle reverberates in your cunt, making you moan out loud.  

Frankie adds his fingers, pushing two inside you, gently spreading you open wider as he licks and sucks your clit. His touch is gentle, but insistent, and he sends wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body. 

“F-Frankie—I’m gonna–” you can’t even finish your sentence before another moan breaks from you. He briefly looks up to you, smiling. 

“Come on then, sweetheart, don’t keep me waiting,” his breath fans your soaked core and you tremble. “I want every single drop.” 

You cry out, your hips pushing against his hand as he increases the pressure and tempo, his tongue and his fingers working in tandem to take you to the brink of orgasm. You moan his name, desperate for relief, and he doesn't disappoint as he sucks on your clit, sending you over the edge and into a blissful state of ecstasy. Your entire body clenches, flooding his mouth simultaneously as your muscles go lax. He laps at your cunt, tasting every drop. 

“That’s it, that’s my good fucking girl, making a mess for me—” he groans, giving your clit one final suck before coming back up to your eye line with a lazy smile. 

Once the waves of pleasure have finally subsided, you collapse against him, completely spent. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and it's in this moment that you realize it’s always going to be Frankie by your side. You can’t imagine feeling this safe and comfortable with anyone else. 

Frankie's breath tickles your ear, “How about we head to bed and I can really show you how much I’ve missed you.” 

“Hmm,” you smile, pulling away from the warmth of his chest. “Not if I show you how much I’ve missed you first.” 

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal character fic #pedro pascal characters

[ohtobealady]

Quiver

(Here is my belated contribution to the Cobert Winter Fanfic Exchange. Thank you to @bella-caecilia for organizing it. My prompts were Quiver and "I didn't mean it." I used the dialogue as inspiration. It works as a bit of a companion piece to Ch 4 of Le Langage des Fleurs. This is also posted on FF dot net.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She rubbed the lotion in, making small circles against the heel of her palm. Robert was talking behind her, by the bed, and she glanced up to him in the mirror and suppressed a small laugh. Oh, sometimes he wound himself up so tightly over the simplest things—cinema starlets not excluded. 

“And did you see the layers of paint she was wearing?” he was saying, pulling back the bedsheets and agitatedly sliding in. “Like a piece in a gallery.”

Cora’s laugh came out in a huff. “Oh, Robert, don’t be unkind. I think she’s beautiful.” She stood from her chair, and was pleased she felt no lightheadedness. She smiled. “Besides, it must be quite invigorating to know of one’s own sex appeal.”

“Nonsense. No one can be that sure.”

She rolled her eyes as she also climbed into bed beside him, noting that she did so with ease. She wasn’t sure if it had been the small glass of wine, or the powder Baxter had given her before dinner, or perhaps if it was simply a trick of her mind, but the aching and fatigue that constantly plagued her was absent in this moment, and she would cherish it. She’d use it. 

Robert was still going on and on—about what now, she didn’t follow—as he rolled to switch off his lamp. And then, just as he had rolled to his left, he rolled just as swiftly to his right to press a kiss to her cheek. A kiss good night. A quick kiss. Right at the corner of her mouth.

And she melted at it. 

Oh, she missed him. She yearned for him. And it wasn’t because they hadn’t lain together in weeks, six or even seven—far longer than a month. No. It wasn’t merely that. It was because who knew? Who knew how much longer she’d be able to love him in that way?  How much longer would their lives be free of the shadow she knew was lurking just behind her? How much longer would she even exist?

Cora drew in a breath, and she let herself roll towards him.

Her lamplight allowed her to study him, all his curves and lines she’d studied so many nights before: his closed eyes, his lips he moved slightly as he yawned and pressed his mouth, his jaw and chin and his silver stubble. She began to work to commit it all to memory again—images she could have forever, moments she could keep. But then…but then, would that be so? She felt her throat tighten at the abrupt thought she’d spent so much time trying to keep at bay: Did the dead have memories? 

Stillness, then. Gravity. Was this—Was this all she had left of him? Just these few precious moments? 

This was it.

She lifted her chin to loosen the knot choking her. She tried to convince herself she wasn’t sure what her condition was, for she wasn’t. She knew well-enough her symptoms—the constant fatigue, the chest pains, the breathlessness and dizziness and dyspepsia…the sudden, drastic weight loss—could be true of any number of illnesses. Couldn’t they? No. Even her earnest persuasion to believe otherwise failed her. She was no fool. She knew she was ill. Very ill. And her husband did not. 

She looked at him still. She watched the way his breath came in and out evenly beside her, unaware of her thoughts. He was unaware of so much, which was just as Cora wanted it. She wanted to treasure it all. She wanted to savor the beauty of what her life had been–her life with Robert. There were only a handful of hours of their life here before they left for France, and then their life would be different–irrevocably changed. 

She’d tell him after Marseille. She’d have to. 

She heard his small exhale of breath beside her, and she watched the way his chest rose and fell. It made her heart ache. So, much like a pilgrim paying homage, she touched at his shoulder. She touched at the collar of his pajama shirt. And when he didn’t move, she traced a soft fingertip along his throat. 

No. She did not feel lust for him. She did not feel need as she sometimes did, warmth growing deep in her core. No, only yearning.  

He hummed, and he opened his eyes. 

She smiled back at him when he smiled coyly at her, for she was sure he knew what she meant. He understood the secret language they’d created between them in these three decades together. He understood what she meant by her small touches, and by the way she pushed herself ever closer to him. He watched her as she did so, and behind her ribs, her aching heart beat wildly. 

Cora lifted her chin, and she kissed him. Her lips felt the stubble she’d adored, and she let her lips linger at his jaw. His hand, as it always did, went to her arm, and he tugged slightly. Just as he had understood her, she, too, understood him. Her own body flush with his, she slowly rose to rest her weight upon her elbow and she hovered very near his face; and she looked at him.

His tired expression was half-hidden in the shadow made by her head and hair, the lamplight glowing behind her. But tired as he was, he also looked happy. His mouth was relaxed, his lips were parted, and the knot that she’d loosened in her throat quickly tightened again. 

He was beautiful. Every curve, every line…everything. And she loved him. 

She loved him. 

Her chest ached more acutely, and drawing in a deep breath, she pushed herself to him again, and she kissed his lips, feeling his fingers tighten further on her arm. Then, as he lifted his head more to meet hers, she felt him rush to deepen their kiss.

It surprised her, how eager he was, and she sighed in her throat before he broke away.

“You aren’t too tired?” he whispered, his voice low, and she shook her head.

“No.” 

“Lie back.” He shifted himself, and Cora did as he asked of her, nestling herself down into the bedding as he moved to cover her. 

“Are you certain–” Robert nodded at her voice, silencing her; he kissed her mouth and then cheek and then neck. “You needn’t take over completely,” she tried again, but this time Robert shook his head against her. 

“It helps to begin this way.” His voice was in her ear as he kissed her jaw.

She nodded, knowing what he meant.

“Yes,” she amended. She nodded again. “I—“

But she stopped, her thoughts beginning to whir too quickly as he kissed her body. As he palmed her breasts. As his fingers touched and pressed in places that made her breath catch. Still, they whirred, but they weren’t of pleasure. They weren’t of him. They were of herself: Did he feel how much thinner she’d gotten? Did he feel, too, how swollen her tummy? Did he feel how unattractive she felt herself to be? 

No. She reminded herself; no. She loved him. She felt well just now. She couldn’t squander it. She loved him. 

She trembled as she fought against her compulsions–the part she played when they laid together. The other her, the woman six months ago, would reach between them and feel for him. She’d maneuver her fingers inside of his waistband and then around him, to where his aging body still hardened for her. And she would hear him exhale against her. 

But she couldn’t seem to, and she hated herself for it. 

Her hands went instead to his cheeks, the backs of her index and middle fingers stroking the stubble there. And then his hair, where she wove them into the soft, gently graying waves. 

“Touch me,” he said against her ear, and her stomach flipped. “Darling.”

She closed her eyes, and she pushed a hand between them, but slowly. Slowly feeling the fabric of his nightshirt. Slowly feeling the drawstring of his waistband. Slowly feeling the soft, smooth skin of his body–and her lip quivered. Love. So much, so much, love.

“I did worry.” His voice was huskier, breathier, and Cora swam in the headiness of the moment.  

She whispered, “Worry?” and kissed his jaw. His cheek.

He nodded, and she felt his small smile against her lips. “That I wouldn’t be up to snuff.” He kissed her, softly. Soundly. “That my age would be against us.”

“Oh, darling,” she sighed, and kissed him again, and again. “Our age,” she corrected him. And then, she pulled away, slightly, so that she could see him better. So she could see his eyes. And her voice wavered when she spoke. “We’ve grown old together.”

“Yes,” he laughed, appreciatively, and pressed his lips to hers. “And together we’ll grow older, still.”

It was a lie, her nod. “Yes.” Her eyes prickling with tears, her throat tightening, and her heart aching, she pushed the lie from her chest as her husband kissed her breasts through her gown. “And together we’ll grow older, still.”

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfic #cobert #cobert drabbles #cobert winter fanfic exchange 2023

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Happy birthday love!! (Or belated birthday)🩷🩷

Satoru gojo, funny, "You landed in jail how?" (Maybe featuring nanami)

Ryomen sukuna, funny, "You look really thirsty, have you considered drinking water?" 🌶

Whichever sparks your interest 🩷

thank you so much!!! 💙💙💙 For this one, I went with the Gojo Nanami request, only because another person gave the exact request for Ryomen (Which, Is coming I swear!) Also, because the idea of Gojo bailing Nanami of all people out of jail is so funny to me.

Now Presenting...

Starring: Nanami Kento and Satoru Gojo

“Come on Satoru, pick up..” You muttered softly, nervously tapping your own shoulder. “I only get one of these..” The ringing of the phone seemed to go on forever, until finally,

“Hello?” Satoru answered, though, questioned is the better verb to use here. The man was more confused than a boomer trying to use twitter.

“Hey, Gojo! How ya doing? I hope I didn’t wake you.” You laughed nervously, trying to ease our way into what you were about to say.

“Y/n why the fuck are you in jail?” He asked, passing at least half of his confusion onto you.

“Wait, how did you know I was in holding?!” you asked, pulling the bottom of the receiver close to your face and stepping closer to the phone booth, as if sharing a secret.

“The operator told me the call was coming from the prison, I had to accept the charges.” He informed you. Oh.

“Huh, I didn’t know it did that.” You admitted.

“That's why they asked you to say your name Y/n. so they could tell me who was calling from, ya know, jail.” Oh. 

“Is that why they had me say my name? I thought it was so they had a record of it to prove I got my call.” Which, is not a bad theory to be fair!

“You’re so drunk.” Satoru almost laughed, starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

“Yes I am!” You proudly announced, “And I have to pee really bad, there is no bathroom here, just a toilet. You should come get me. Fast.”

“You want me to come bail you out?” Satoru chuckled, finally starting to wake up, “With what money?”

“The money from the bail fund you keep for when shit like this happens!”

“I regret telling you about that, you know. It wasn’t an invitation to get locked up!”

“If it’s not an invitation, then why have it?” You challenged. Satoru shook his head even though you couldn't see it. He was grinning though. He knew who his friends were. 

“Whatever. I’m going to call Nanami and pick him up on the way, he’s probably the guy you want dealing with the cops.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! Kento is here with me!” You cheerfully announced. 

“Hi Satoru!” Nanami yelled in the background from the holding cell. Gojo expected a lot of things when he got the inevitable ‘I’m in jail’ call from you, but a Nanami Kento guest appearance was not one of those things.

“What?! Why is Nanami there?!” 

“He punched a cop.”

“He what?!”

“He. Puched. A. Cop.” You said, loudly and slowly, being sure to enunciate every word. Sometimes you really had to spell it out for the strongest. “Hey Satoru, I gotta go- this pig is oinking at me to get back in the cell-”

“Wait, I-”

“Byyyeee!! Please come soon!” You sang, the line going dead before Gojo could answer any of the questions he had. Kento Nanami Punched a fucking cop?!

🚨🚨🚨

“Are you here to pick up the two drunkards!?” A particularly stressed cop asked as Satoru walked into the station, startling him out of the script he was writing for this encounter. 

“Um…Probably?” Gojo asked.

“Thank god.” The policeman exhaled, scrambling to grab out the bail paperwork for you and Nanami, “They haven’t shut up since they got here. The blonde one keeps trying to unionize the other inmates, and the other one keeps offering doughnuts in exchange for freedom.” Yep, those were Gojos' friends. Is this what it was like to be the responsible one? He hated it, Kento could keep this job. As Satoru finished up the paperwork, the tired bastard from behind the counter went to retrieve his two delinquents.

“For the last time, you can not unionize prison inmates!” Gojo could hear the arguing before he saw anyone’s faces.

“That union busting and it’s illegal.” Nanami said, “But, I’m not surprised. Cops break the law all the time.”

“Yea, what he said!” You added, “Keep this up and piggy wont get a doughnut!”

“I don’t even like doughnuts!” The cop snapped, “I have a gluten intolerance!” 

“Weakling,” Nanami scoffed as the three came around the corner, “How are you going to be ruined by a protein? Just tolerate it.” Satoru noticed a darkening bruise on Kentos cheek, and a cut on your lip. Jesus, what happened?

“Gojo!!” You yelled happily as you saw your friend, running into his arms. “My heroine!” 

“Yea, I think you mean Hero,” Satoru quickly corrected you, not wanting any of the feds to get the wrong idea. “Come on, let’s get you to the car.” He said, giving you a quick hug in return before ushering you and Nanami to the car. 

“Can we go to Ihop?” You asked as you crawled into the front seat.

“Sure, as soon as you guys tell me what happened.” Satoru said as he started the car.

“We got arrested.” Nanami said as he buckled up. Gojo rolled his eyes. 

“You landed in jail, how?” Satoru clarified. 

“Oh, easy!” You laughed, “Kento and I went out for a drink after our mission, and some guy thought it would be a good idea to try and get handsy with me. So we got handsy back!” You smiled.

“He called me a Ken doll!” Nanami snapped, “A ken doll! I am very clearly a barbie!”

“Buddy, I don’t think that was the insult you were supposed to take from that.” Satoru giggled.

“What else could he have ment?”

“He was calling you dickless Kento.” He explained. You could see the math flashing and flying before Nanami's eyes as he tried to process the words coming out of his friend's mouth. He finally shook his head.

“No, I don’t think he was trying to fuck me.” He said. You nodded in agreement.

“Yea, he definitely had homophobic vibes.” You added. 

“No, that's-You know what? It doesn’t matter, let's go to Ihop.” Gojo shook his head. He just wanted to get some carbs into his drunken friends, and thankfully they seemed to want the same thing, as they howled in joy at the idea.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #nanami kento #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #Satoru Gojo x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami #gojo satoru #nobody likes you when you're 23

[fueledbysano]

𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄. sʜɪɴɪᴄʜɪʀᴏ sᴀɴᴏ

summary: you didn't mean to have a steamy exchange with a pretty stranger after borrowing his lighter.

♱ pairing: shinichiro x f!reader

♱ c/w: MATURE. detailed smut, car sex, unprotected sex, breast play, praising, brief alcohol and cigarette use, wakasa best wingman.

♱ a/n: saw this lighter and thought of him 😈 belated happy birthday 🤍

Shinichiro liked his birthdays simple. The presence of his family and friends over dinner was perfect and he considered the day well-spent.

Although, when it was time for the guys to come home, his best friends had one last surprise in mind. “Hold on, hold on, you really think we were just gonna give you some boring helmet?” Takeomi rests his palm over Shin's shoulder.

“What do you mean? It's nice, I liked it.”

“Oh... my guy, we have something better. Would just rather give it to you in private.” Wakasa spoke, taking the small paper bag containing Shin's second gift from the inside of his jacket.

And with curious eyes, the man of the hour opened the bag, looks melting into confusion as he finally took out a simple black lighter. “Wow, thanks, I guess.” He nods, just about to take the item back into the bag again.

“Read what it says...” The Akashi points out. Shinichiro obliged, flipping the lighter on its other side and read out the printed white words that said, “If you wanna f*ck, smile when you give me the lighter back.”

His cheeks warmed up at the lewd text, immediately shooting his friends a questioning glare. They must've loved his reaction as the three were now giggling like little girls, wishing they could capture the look on Shinichiro's face.

“So you can shoot your shot the next time we're out, man! They've gotta love this!” Wakasa says. “The Luxe. Saturday night. Don't be late.” Takeomi mentions, walking backwards with his hands in his pockets and a lit cigarette in between his lips.

Now, here they are at the night club Takeomi invited them to. Wakasa had his feet propped up on the empty seat, lightheadedness starting to kick in after all the shots they'd taken. Takeomi had his eyes on the women performing on stage, while Benkei had gone off to order more drinks for their table.

Although smoking isn't prohibited inside the premises, Shinichiro preferred to light up a stick out on the balcony with a sweet view and minimal crowd; and the thought never left his mind the moment it crossed.

So when he got up from the seat, excusing himself for a smoke outside, Wakasa reminds him of the special lighter, pointing at the onyx-haired man's left pocket where he had kept it.

“Fine, fine.” He mutters, sliding out of their booth then heading to the open space outside.

It almost seems as if he'd gone to a different place, with the environment being completely different from the nightlife inside the club. He quickly lit up a stick, covering the lighter's text in his palms so no one could see it and judge.

Though, upon shoving it back in his pocket, he felt a tap on his shoulder followed by a polite voice, “Hi, do you have a light?” A woman asks, holding a fresh cigarette in her lips.

If Shinichiro claimed he didn't find her attractive, he would be deceiving himself. There was something with her aura and [ E / C ] eyes which compelled him to linger and admire her presence.

Yes, he did have a light. But he also did not want you to assume he's a perverted man who picks people up with a lighter. So, in a fit of panic, he reaches out and touches the lit cigarette on his mouth with hers, his eyes riveted on the way her lips parted in response to the gesture while still keeping the stick in place.

She could only admire his features from their closeness while he was so intent on trying to light her stick while dipping his head in concentration as the flame incinerated toward hers.

Upon pulling away, she kept her gaze at him before exhaling a puff of smoke. “Can I buy you a drink…?” She trailed off, wondering for his name.

“Sano Shinichiro.”

“[ Y / N ] [ L / N ].” She responded. “I heard they serve a Glenmorangie ten here.” She added before stopping a waiter to order two shots for them.

“Uhm, are you celebrating anything?” He asks with a faint chuckle, turning his body towards hers.

“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “I celebrate meeting this cute guy outside the bar.” She chatted up, eyeing him serenely. Shinichiro’s lips tugged into a smirk in response, feeling himself ease into the conversation.

“And I think this guy wants your number too.” He blurted, looking away with a subtle smug smile, then inhaling from his cigarette. [ Y / N ] chuckled in response, dazzled by how quickly he responded to her line before entering the digits on his phone.

“You come here a lot?” He asks. “Nah,” She denied, tossing off the half-finished stick to a glass tray. “My friends are playing a set tonight and they asked me to come watch.” She gestured towards the stage inside, where a small band performed rock tunes.

“That’s cool.” He nods. “I see you like automotives?” She asks, gesturing at the sano motors patch on his jacket. “Oh, yes. I own a shop, actually.” He humbly smiled.

“That is so cool. You do cars?” She wondered. “Yeah, but mostly bikes. You own an impala?” He pointed at the set of keys hanging on her belt loop.

“Yeah…” [ Y / N ] tilted her head in amusement, “Wanna see it?”

“Absolutely.”

“Did you get it full-serviced? She sounds so clean.” He wondered, carefully revving the engine once they've got in. “Yes.” She nodded, admiring the way he handled her vehicle.

“Look at the gauge resistor too.” She leans to his side as they geek over the dashboard. They however didn’t realize their closeness with each other until [ Y / N ] supported herself with her hand on Shinichiro’s thigh.

He turns to her upon the sudden realization, now coming in contact with her neck. [ Y / N ]’s breath hitched upon feeling his warmth, as if it was their earlier moment all over again. But this time, with very little distance.

“Mmm.” With a leap of faith, Shinichiro leans in for a kiss, closing the space in their noses first before pressing their lips together. She melted in his touch in an instant, returning the same intensity of the kiss.

“Wanna see the backseat?” She offered.

“Absolutely.”

The stars in the darkening sky was nothing compared to the countless glimmer in their eyes that they held as they held each other for the first time.

His lips moved to devour hers, hands seeking the rightful place on her waist as he ran them over her clothed back.

Soft gasps and moans echoed into the still car, followed by a throaty groan from the man as she started to rock her hips against his.

Shinichiro's lips moved along her jawline, then pampered her neck with soft kisses attentive of her reactions and movements.

His hands trailed down [ Y / N ]'s waist, handling her thighs with care as she traced his toned body underneath the thin tank top, which he started to get lost into. Until, [ Y / N ] pulled away from the feverish kiss, guiding one of his hands under her skirt.

“Stop being a gentleman and fuck me already.” She whispered sensuously, in which he faintly whimpered in response to. “Fuck…” He exhaled upon feeling his fingers come in contact with her wet entrance. With one swift movement, he pulls off her underwear with a little of her help, blindly tossing it onto the front seat.

He wished he could relieve the straining hard-on in his jeans as she rode his fingers, which [ Y / N ] realized shortly. She had soon eased his jeans and underwear, as he ridded of her top.

“Is this okay, Shin~?” [ Y / N ]'s lips met his ear, softly whispering as to make sure they wanted to continue in the car.

“Y-yes…” He gulped, looking down in between theie bodies before taking his shaft, pumping it gently then spreading the pre-cum on his tip along her folds. “Oh fuck!” She gasped in response.

“Hey,” With his free hand, he gently strokes her cheek before leaning in for a sweet kiss, and then slowly pushing her body down his length. “Fuck yesss…” With a heavy pant against her skin, he'd pushed himself further inside her with ease.

Once he'd manage to pump his entire length into her, [ Y / N ] couldn't help but encase his entire length into her walls tightly to relieve the aching pulse, turning both of them into a moaning mess.

“It feels so tight, does it hurt?” Shinichiro checks, “No, far from it.” She assured. “Good girl, I'll move you now.” With his cue, she fastened herself onto his shoulders before being lifted, then bounced on his cock.

With every slow, yet deep thrust followed a pleasured gasp and moan. Shinichiro would close his eyes and bury his nose in her neck as he whispered sweet nothings, treating her body with uttermost care and pleasure.

Every so often she would tug on his locks for a bit, earning a growl reverberating through their lips in the heat of the moment.

“God, Shin!” She breathes out at the feeling of his girth nudging against her spot, and his tip hitting somewhere so deep inside of her. “Can I go a little rough?" He asks, now nibbing on the skin of her clavicle.

In response, [ Y / N ] held the man by the neck, pressing their bodies closer before starting to bounce on his length faster than ever. Shinichiro gasped in response, holding onto her shoulders for support and suppressing his moans into her ear.

“[ Y / N ]!” He cried out, his nails digging small crescents onto her skin with every hard bounce. “Darling, gonna— cum—!” She panted, feeling herself squeeze and spill around his cock deep inside her.

“Where do you want it, baby?” He asks, feeling himself spill soon enough after her upon feeling her walls grip his cock harder than ever. and with a wicked idea, [ Y / N ] pulls herself off of him, causing the man to frown for a moment.

[ Y / N ] fell to her knees, locking eye contact with Shinichiro as she discarded her bra. “Why don't you cum on my face and tits like a messy boy?”

“Mmmh, [ Y / N ]...” He felt himself melt weak when she surround her breasts on his dripping cock, watching as he mindlessly thrust and fucked her tits.

“Cum for me, Shinichiro. You really deserve it.” Hearing his name slip from her mouth so sultry was the last straw, spurting his hot load onto her face first, until they slowly spilled down her tits shortly.

[ Y / N ] gasped in amazement, admiring the dazed boy in front of her before rewarding him with a kiss.

“Mmmh— so sweet, darling.” He hummed softly, holding her close for a deep kiss.

[ Y / N ] then opened her eyes shortly, exchanging adoring glances with Shinichiro. “Hey, I hope this doesn't seem too forward, but, I think you're really nice.” She spoke, freeing herself from his lap and retrieving their clothes.

“I was thinking, maybe we could go back to my place for a proper dinner?” She offered. Shinichiro blushed, dressing up rather quickly then taming his hair nicely.

“I would like that.” It sure was enchanting to be the one getting asked out this time.

ㅤ

ㅤ

“Good morning.” Shinichiro noticed the glimpse of someone reading a newspaper in their living room, assuming it was his grandpa. However, upon speaking, he was startled to see his friends in his house very early in the morning.

“Hey…” He scratched his head, hoping they wouldn't realize that he didn't spend the night at the Sano household.

“I see you’ve put our gift into use…” Wakasa points out.

“Alright, get out.” He groaned, pointing at the door.

Turns out, he didn’t need that damn lighter to pick up a woman; after all. His charms alone even landed him a proper date.

🔖; @tokyometronetwork

#shinichiro sano #shinichiro sano x reader #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro x y/n #shinichiro scenarios #tokyo revengers #shinichiro x reader smut #shinichiro x you #shinichiro sano smut #shinichiro smut