Lilith-safarina - Lilith-Safarina

out of left field series: pt. 1 - this is bad (chris pov)

Out Of Left Field Series: Part 1 - This Is Bad (Chris POV)

Pairing: MLB!Chris Evans x Best Friend!Reader (female character)

Summary: After 29 years of friendship with Chris, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. When he finds himself amid a PR nightmare at the same time your ex-boyfriend starts lurking around every corner, you enter into a mutually beneficial, strictly PR relationship to save his career and keep your ex away. But the lines begin to blur and lies get told, both you and Chris realizing you might’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Will you make it out unscathed or will you and Chris be just another PR relationship that ends in heartbreak and humiliation?

A/N: SURPRISE BITCHES. I am one impatient motherfucker and I needed to post it. SO I BEYONCE’D YOU (not that I’m comparing myself to the queen… but you get it). ENJOY THE FIRST PART OF THIS SERIES I’M SO EXCITED!

I would be remiss if i didn’t give a huge mfin shout out to @tis-thedamn-season. Like this fic/series would not be where it is without you. Love you bb.

Warnings: Drugs, language, allusions to smut, reader has an abusive/controlling ex, reader and chris are both 29 years of age (this is what you guys voted on!)

W/C: 6.9k

Out of Left Field Series Masterlist 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the MLB or with its players or with Chris in real life. Additionally, the reader’s family gets introduced in this series and are all OFC made by me. If you don’t like that, please don’t read this series.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

I no longer have a taglist! Please head over to @time-for-a-library​ and turn on notifications!

He heard your shoes before he saw you.

The harsh clack of your stilettos on the concrete floor sent a wave of relief through his system that was almost immediately washed away and replaced by nerves.

Chris hated disappointing you. He could already picture the resigned look on your face while you crossed your arms and let out a defeated sigh.

Any other time, it probably would’ve bothered him more. But the pounding headache combined with the fact that he was still coming down from a coke-induced high, made it a little hard to focus on anything other than the fact that the room was spinning.

He tried to ground himself, focusing his attention on a scuff that marked the concrete wall across the room instead of the way the room seemed to circle around him despite his ass planted on this extremely uncomfortable mattress.

“He’s in here.”

Chris sat up on the metal ‘bed’, swinging his legs over the side and taking a deep, slow breath. His elbows rested on his knees, face buried in his hands while he waited.

“Thanks, Stu.” The softness of your voice floated through the air, bringing a welcome warmth and familiarity to the chill of his cell.

The sound of your heels got closer, scraping to a stop when you’d reached him.

Keep reading

Breakfast

gif by @paper-n-ashes

summary: marc interrupts you when you’re trying to make breakfast, and steven finishes up.

pairing: fem!reader x marc spector, fem!reader x steven grant

content: 18+/nsfw/MINORS DNI, pwp, fluff, kissing, unprotected sex, breeding kink, overstimulation if you squint, oral sex (fem receiving) cum eating

an: i just felt like writing something spicy for the moonknight boys <3.

word count: 1.6k

mcu masterlist | requests are open

One of your favorite things to do is get up early and sit on the window sill, watching the streets of London while Marc or Steven sleeps. There's something about the glow of the summer sun peeking out from behind the clouds. You don’t sit for long, wanting to make sure they get the rest. Before the sun can flood the space with its golden light you close the window and draw the curtains, heading into the kitchen.

You preheat the oven to keep his food warm in case he sleeps late, and get coffee brewing—decaf only as they already have enough trouble getting enough rest. It’s been an adjustment for you, but you’d do anything for Marc and Steven. With the soft hum of the coffee machine going, you start getting together the ingredients for french toast and hashbrowns.

You’re moving slowly so as not to wake them up though your room is down the hall. Completely immersed in cutting bread and making the mixture for the french toast you don’t hear when Marc opens your bedroom door and pads down the hallway to you.

His hands are on you as soon as you're in arms' reach. A grunt of pleasure comes out of him as he runs his hands over the curves of your breasts before resting them on your hips.

“Morning,” You lean your head back onto his shoulder as he kisses his way down your neck.

“Mornin’,” He whispers between kisses. “French toast, huh?”

“Mhmm,” You hum lazily, dropping the whisk and planting your hands on the counter so that you can press further into him. You know exactly where this is going and there’s no point in resisting. It’s not like you want to anyway.

“Steven’s gonna be jealous.”

“I make it for him whenever, you both know that,” He continues to kiss your neck, scraping his teeth over your pulse point before he bites gently. “Marc,” You sigh, pressing your ass into his erection.

“Quiet, let me make you feel good, baby.”

“Yes,” You agree easily, breakfast forgotten as his hands make their way up the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing.

“You wanted me to come out here and fuck you didn’t you? Is that why you’re dressed in just this?”

“Yes,” You breathe as one of his hands slips into your panties, his fingers gliding effortlessly through your wet folds.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet. So easy.”

“Mhmm,”

“Let’s see how easy it is for me to…” He stops talking as his fingers plunge into you. “Only this wet for me and Steven, right?”

“Yes, all yours. All his,” You nod your head feverishly, drunk on the smoothness of his tone and the strength of his touch. Marc always touches you with such weight compared to Steven. He leaves bruises from holding your thighs apart or applying pressure to your throat. His touch is life-affirming, keeping you in a bubble where you only focus on him. Right now he’s all that matters.

“Ours.”

“God, please, Marc? I need you,” You whine as you reach your hand back to run it through his curls.

His hand leaves your breast, turning your head so that you have to look at him. His eyes are uncharacteristically tender as he gazes at you, “I need you, too.”

The admission squeezes your heart but it’s short-lived as he wraps his hand around your throat, and rids you of your panties. He kisses you hungrily as he uses one of his feet to spread your legs further apart, bending you slightly so your spread open for him perfectly. He continues to lick into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip as he lines himself up with your entrance, snapping his hips forward so that he’s sheathed completely inside you.

“Baby,” He mumbles against your lips, his dark eyes blown full of lust.

“I know, it's so good, you're so good,” You murmur, taking his bottom lip between your teeth before sucking on it.

Your move almost sends him into a frenzy, the innate need to race to his climax flowing through his veins, but he has to get you there first, “You too.”

He starts slow, focusing on pulling himself out to just the tip before slamming into you. You push all of the ingredients to the side so that you can bend over completely, your nipples rubbing against the cold counter through the shirt every time he’s deep inside of you. His grip on your hips is deliciously tight— it almost hurts, and you know that Steven will grill him for the bruises that'll form in the coming days.

Eventually, he starts to pick up his pace but he doesn't sacrifice the depth, fucking you hard and fast and deep. You're incredibly wet and warm, your pussy practically sucking him in, your trembling under his heavy touch. The kitchen is filled with nothing but the wet squelch of his cock entering you over and over and mingled heavy breathing. You start to rock back against him, effectively pushing the tip of him into your cervix. It's the perfect mix of pain and pleasure and you bite down on your arm, hiking your leg back and around his waist so that he can somehow get even deeper.

You wonder what it looks like, him fucking you this harshly, his nails digging into your skin so hard that he might break skin. You know that his eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth agape and turned as he concentrates on how warm and tight your pussy is around his cock. His eyes probably are zeroed in where you connect, his chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

You on the other hand are flush against the cool counter, doing the only thing you can: taking what he's giving you. The pleasure is building in you steadily, as you greedily push your hips back against his.

The softest, filthiest, words of praise leave his lips, “You feel so fucking good, you’re perfect. My perfect little slut, made just for me. I can have you however and whenever I want, can’t I?”

“However and whenever,” You repeat, and he lips turn in a devilish smile.

“You’re everything to me.”

His words take you by surprise, tugging at your heartstrings once more. You open your mouth to say something back but then he bends forward so that his chest is flush with your back, and you clench around him a new threshold of pleasure met from this angle, “Fuck, Marc.”

“You can take it,” He declares, it isn't a question; all you can do is whine beneath him, your words of agreement stuck in your throat as you move closer to your orgasm. “Say it.”

“I can take it,” You murmur, trying your best to keep pushing back against him though there's no space between you.

“Yeah, you can baby,” He praises, planting a kiss on your sweaty forehead.

“Will you cum inside me? Please?”

“You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, please baby,” If you had the mind to care you would cringe at how desperate you sound.

“Fill you up so much and we can watch it drip out of you,” His voice is low, gravelly in your ear.

The image of him and Steven looking at your pussy while it's messy and full sends a shiver down your spine. “Mhmm,” You whimper, turning your head to give him a sloppy kiss.

“Cum for me first baby, and I’ll fill up this sweet little pussy of yours.”

He continues to pound into you like his life depends on it and before you know it you’re coming undone, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. As soon as he hears the telltale gasp leave your throat he snakes his hand between you and the counter, rubbing harsh circles into your clit to intensify and prolong your release. If he wasn’t keeping you pinned between him and the counter you would collapse to the ground, your body turned to jelly from the sheer amount of pleasure that radiates through your entire body.

He doesn’t stop as you clench around him, driving himself as deep as he can get. It's all he can think about, reaching the furthest part of you, so he can breed you thoroughly. Standing upright again he brings you with him, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other one getting you steady as he fucks you brutally. He thrusts into you with a deep, guttural groan before stilling, and you feel the warmth of his cum fill you to the brim. His hips pull back before he snaps them forward again, wanting to fuck his cum as deep inside of you as possible.

Abruptly he pulls out of you, and drops to his knees, his hands splaying you open to watch his cum seep out of you. With no warning his mouth is on you, sucking at your clit and lapping at your center to collect his own cum. His groans are constant and filled with a hunger that quickly brings you to your second orgasm. This one is quick and just as powerful as the first, your pussy fluttering around nothing, and he continues to eat you until the moans stop ripping from your throat.

Turning you around, he scoops you up bridal style before carrying you over to the couch. His hands rub up and down your arms as he peppers kisses over your face, waiting for you to recover from your second release.

You’re effectively useless, your breathing still heavy. You feel like you’re spinning, up in the clouds, the only thing grounding you is his warm touch. When you finally feel like you’ve returned to earth, you clear your throat and look up at the man before you with heavy lids, “Steven, I know it’s you.”

A cheeky smile spreads across his face as he leans in to kiss you, “How’d you know it was me, dove?”

“You have that kink, not Marc…at least not yet.”

Steven just laughs before dipping his head to steal more kisses from you. You kiss him back happily for several moments, the kisses wet and slow before you realize that you were doing something before you were interrupted by them.

“Wait, Stevie, I was cooking breakfast,” You pull away, glancing over at the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it dear, you just lay here and I’ll finish it up.”

“But it’s your favorite, I should make it.”

“I think you’ve done enough for us today, yeah?” His hand raises to caress your face affectionately before cupping your cheek.

You nod softly, a smile pulling at your lips, “Yeah, okay.”

“I love you, always. Marc too,” He says firmly, pressing his forehead to yours.

Steven’s love confessions always lift you out of the misty, but welcome fog that is Marc and the way he carries himself. If Marc is intense, brooding, and drawing you in, then Steven is light and airy— he’s bright and clear. They’re the perfect pair, a balance that you’re extremely grateful for.

In your tiredness from the intense sex, you feel your eyes grow a bit teary, your voice thick with emotion, “I love you too, both of you.”

if you’d like to be on my moonknight taglist, let me know!

moonknight taglist: @laurensprentiss, @angelfxllcm, @in-between-the-cafes, @honeybrowne, @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that’s exactly where you find yourself now

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

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

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

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

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

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

I've been on an Oscar Isaac binge since watching moon knight and i thought to myself hmmmmm why doesn't he have any social media accounts?

then i saw his reddit IAmA answers and realized OHHHH MAYBE THATS WHY

and honestly after watching a bunch of his interviews where he let his intrusive thoughts win.... yeah it makes sense now.

My You-niverse: Blue Jones

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Oscar Isaac's Characters x F!Reader, Blue Jones x F!Reader (this chapter only)

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Warning: some violence because it's Blue

Series Masterlist

You looked like you were in a basement. You and America were looking around when a door burst open. Two bulky men in suits walk in and following them was..Marc?

"Grab her," your husband's doppelgänger points to America.

Her eyes widen, "What? No! No! Let go of me! Y/N!" she yells, trying to free herself from the men's grasps.

"America!" you go to reach out for her, but the Marc look-alike pointed a stern finger at you.

"Don't. You. Fucking. Dare." he marches up to you, glaring you with his brown eyes. He roughly grabs your face and tsks, "I'm really disappointed in you, Bunny."

You gulp. You've seen Marc angry before but this was different. First off, this wasn't Marc. Secondly, Not Marc was angry at you, so angry he looks like he's ready to kill you.

Two men appeared in the doorway of the basement, "Blue."

The man you now know as Blue, whipped his head around, "What?" he sneered.

"We got a situation upstairs."

Blue sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Of course." he looks at you and beckons you with a finger, "Follow me and don't even think about running."

You nod and promptly follow the man who looks just like your husband.

_____________

America was thrown into a room, the metal door shutting behind her. She began banging against it, "HEY! NO! LET ME OUT OF HERE! HEY! HEY!" she slumped against the door defeated.

She turned around, facing the room and tried summoning a portal. Again, nothing.

"Crap!" she hissed.

She hoped that you'd be able to get to her and the two of you would be able to get out there.

______________

Blue led you to a room that you assumed to be his office. He went around his desk and pulled out a gun from a drawer. He set the weapon on the table and your eyes widened.

When he looked up and saw the fear in your eyes, he chuckled, "No, Bunny. This isn't for you." he moved back around the desk to you, "But if I see that gun out of place, you'll wish it was for you." he lightly tapped your cheek, "Stay here and be good."

You watched him walk out of the room and as soon as the door closed, you scrambled looking for anything you can use a weapon. You eyed a letter opener and immediately grabbed it. You slid it into your pants where it couldn't be seen and you waited.

You're not sure how much time passed, but Blue came back with three men, one of which was holding America.

"Y/N!" she exclaimed in relief and you moved towards her but Blue stopped you.

"Not uh uh, Bunny. We're gonna have a little chat." You and America were forced into the two chairs that were in front of Blue's desk.

Blue sat at the edge of his desk, gun now in hand, "We have an issue. Bunny," he sighs with a shake of his head, "You were my star. My girl. And now look at you. You're really going to throw it all away for some brat?! I gave you everything!"

"This isn't right, Blue."

He scoffs, "Oh so now you wanna tell me what's right and what's wrong? Baby, did you forget that we built this together? Where the fuck is this 'holier than thou' act comin' from, huh?"

"I-I don't know," you stammer out.

Blue let's out a deep breath, "I can't let this slide you know. If you go unpunished, the other girls will think they can walk all over me. And we can't have that now, can we?" he cocks his gun and raises it up. Slow, with intimidation.

But you were quick. You slid out the letter opener, flinging it at Blue. It lands in his shoulder with a howl of pain.

Angry, Blue raises his gun towards you and America throws out her hand with a scream. Suddenly, a bright, star shaped portal appeared.

The men in the room, including Blue, froze, "What the fuck?" Blue mumbled.

"Come on!" you grab America and you two rush to the portal.

You hear gunshots and a pain in your arm. You land in some grass with a thud and the portal disappears.

You and America sigh in relief before your sigh turns into a groan of pain.

"Fucking shit," you sneer as you observe your bleeding arm.

"Are you alright?" you look up to see a man who, again, looked like your husband, but also not.

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

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

Notes: From this post

Not beta-read

Length: 3.5K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

"C'mere," You order.

"Busy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You signed all four?"

Nathan huffs, moving on to the next one.

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

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

"These are kinda bitter, Bateman."

Bitter?

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

"These fruit gummies," You say.

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

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

Oh...No.

--

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

"How many did you eat?"

"What?"

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

"I don't know—"

"Think!"

"Shit, five, maybe six?"

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

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

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

"What, I'm just gonna what?"

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

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

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

"It isn't."

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

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

"This isn't a joke!"

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

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

"I doubt it's the gummies."

"How can you know that?"

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

"I have every right!"

"I know that."

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

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

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

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

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

"For what."

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

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

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

"And if I refuse?"

"I won't sign that last release."

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

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

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

"Thanks for that note. Asshole."

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

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

"Talk to me," Nathan urges.

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

"Do you feel any different?"

"No."

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

"What are you working on?"

"Just taking notes."

"On?"

"You."

"Oh, for fuckssake."

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

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

"And have us both effected?"

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

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

"And with that comment, my avarice grows."

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

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

"Whereabouts?"

"Meta, Alphabet, Tesla—"

"First of all, you hate Elon—"

"I could work past it."

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

"You sadistic bastard."

"Does that do it for you?"

"What, turn me on? No."

"What does?"

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

"Delete that," You order.

"What."

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

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

"Shut up, no it's not."

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

He has a point.

"So?" He plies.

"I'm horny," You deadpan.

"Great. Symptoms, sensations?"

"...I'm horny."

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

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

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

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

You feel your skin prickling with embarrassed heat.

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

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

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

"I said explicit, sweetheart, not clinical."

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

"That makes one of us."

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

"Talk to me," Nathan urges.

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

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

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

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

"Like right before that."

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

"Any other notable sensations?" He plies.

"Like what?"

"Elevated heart rate, sensitivity?"

"...Yes, both."

"Sensitivity where?"

"In the nipple...Area."

"The nipple area," Nathan repeats, amused.

"Shut up."

"Feel free to relieve yourself."

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

"Whatever does it for you."

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

Nathan's shoulders shake with a slight chuckle.

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

"Go right ahead and what?"

"And do whatever you need to do."

"With you in the room?"

"Yeah."

"No thank you."

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

"What?!"

"Uh-huh."

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

"Nice try."

"Damnit."

--

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

You lift your head curiously, brow furrowing.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not staring."

"Yes you are."

"I'm appreciating."

"Appreciating what?"

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

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

"Dickhead," You mumble.

"They look nice."

"This is not good sexy chat, Hamlet."

"Don't call me that."

"Don't stare at my nipples!"

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

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

"I really do loathe you," You mumble.

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

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean...Maybe."

"Your arguments suck."

"Just play with your pussy, honey."

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

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

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

"My voice, then? Interesting."

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

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

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

"Thanks for that hot tip, Bateman."

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

"Okay."

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

"Or?"

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

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

"You sure?" He plies.

"Uh-huh."

"Alright."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How."

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

"Lips?"

"Yes."

"Clit?"

"Yes."

"Fingering?"

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

"Why not?" He murmurs.

"I just got down there!"

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

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

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

"Hm?"

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

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

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

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

"I wouldn't put it past you."

"What? Being made of stone?"

"Uh-huh."

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

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

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

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

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

"In," You mumble.

"Mm?"

"In."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...Faster," You answer grudgingly.

"More intense?"

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

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

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

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

"How kind of you."

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

"Please just sign the release."

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

Half of You (Part 2) [Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader]

PART 1 HERE

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Male masturbation. Language.

Summary: You accompany Santiago to his... self-love appointment.

A/N: this story is just pouring out of me. The response to Part 1 was so amazing, pls let me know if you like this and if I should keep going.

“You didn’t need to come with me.”

“I won’t be cumming with you.” You elbow him in the ribs over the lacquered pine armrests of the waiting room chairs the both of you are seated in.

“Ha ha.” Santiago rolls his eyes and fidgets his thumbs, tapping his heels on the short carpeted floor. 

“Are you nervous?” Your tone takes on a more concerned quality, you place your hand on his elbow and rub his arm with your thumb. This is a lot to ask of him. Far beyond the scope of normal friendly obligation. This isn’t helping you unload boxes on moving day, this is… cumming in a sterile cup to conceive a child. 

Santi nods. His eyes scan the room. “A little.”

You want to tell him that it’s okay, that he should relax, it’ll be over soon. That his nerves are partially to do with the fact he hasn’t ejaculated in 4 days (a tidbit of necessary information that you did not reveal to him in your dinner discussion). Instead your voice cracks when you tell him “you’ll do great!” 

He fixes a hard, stony stare onto you and you can’t help but laugh. 

“Oh come on! You’ve gotta be all pent up from not… you know. You’ll feel so good afterwards.”

Santi shakes his head, staring at his lap. “Remind me again of why I wasn’t allowed to jerk off for four days?”

“You can’t be serious.”

Santi’s eyes narrow on yours.

“Because of the sperm count!” You whisper to him, suddenly aware of the waiting room full of couples and solitary women. “The longer you abstain, the higher the count. If we want the IUI to work, then you gotta keep the count high.”

Santi sighs in defeat. “Yeah.”

“You were able to, right?”

“What?” 

“Abstain?” 

Santi’s brow furrows in incredulity. “Of course I abstained!”

“Just checking.”

“Listen, Vin. A man does not forget when someone tells him he’s not allowed to cum for 4 days.”

You definitely owe him another steak dinner. Maybe not at the same restaurant, but you make a mental note to secure a reservation once he goes to… his business. 

“Thank you.” You hastily whisper to him, patting his elbow.

He nods without looking at you. Still twiddling his thumbs, heels still rocking to and fro. 

“Garcia, Santiago!” A nurse calls from the station door. You rise with Santi.

“What are you doing?” He whispers gruffly at you as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“I’m, coming with you, duh.”

“No you’re not.” He sets a hand on your shoulder. “You sit down here and wait for me. Or leave, go to Starbucks or something.”

You laugh and step towards the nurse. “Of course I’m going with you!” 

His eyes are wide but stern. 

“Sit down, Vin. This is a solitary activity, I’m pretty fucking sure.”

“I’m here for moral support!”

He shakes his head and places both hands on your shoulders. “Look, it’s weird enough that you tagged along to this appointment. Doctor Shepherd said it was just supposed to be me. Let me do this alone, right? Its a… it’s a fucking removed process! I—“

“Garcia, Santiago!” The nurse shouts again into the waiting room. 

You really don’t want to make this more uncomfortable for Santiago than it already is, and truthfully you hadn’t considered that joining him today would make things even MORE weird. So you acquiesce and sit back down, patting his lower back as he straightens up and makes his way to the station door. 

“Knock em dead!” You call out to him, earning a chuckle from the room of expectant mothers. A faint red flush creeps up his cheeks and he gives you the Greg Focker ‘I’m watching you’ eye-fingerpoint to which you wink at. He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head at you, pantomiming an “straight to the moon” honeymooner’s fisticuffs threat. 

He disappears behind the door and you sink back into your seat, rifling through the stack of magazines on the little table to keep yourself occupied for the next however-long.

~~~

“Garcia?” The nurse greets him dubiously, clipboard in hand.

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.” She scans the papers on her board and lifts a page, eyes darting back and forth before she drops them and, no shit, gives him a once over, tip to toe, while shaking her head. What in the fuck?

“Problem?”

“No. No, not at all. Santiago Garcia?”

“Yes.”

“No need for attitude, sir. Just making sure.”

Santi bites back the vitriol, nearly cracking his molars in the process. 

“Alright, mister Garcia” Even the way she says his name seems to be dripping with air quotes. What in the fuck? “You’re going to go into that room there where there are materials you can help yourself to. This is a sterilized cup, please don’t do anything to this cup other than catch the sample.”

“Got it.”

“Please don’t interrupt me Mr. Garcia.”

“Sorry?”

She sighs exasperatedly. “Do not spit in or lick the cup, do not put any other fluids other than ejaculate in the cup, do not rub the insides of the cup on contaminated surfaces including but not limited to your clothing, other body parts, furniture—“

“Jesus, what goes on in there?”

“Do not interrupt me, sir or I will have to ask you to vacate the premises. Do you understand?”

Santi wants to scream, to take this woman’s clipboard and break it in half on his knee. The only thing keeping him sane is the thought of Vin. This is all for Vin. Vin. Vin. Vin.

His breathing slows and he nods. “I understand. Please, continue.”

The nurse eyes him dubiously. “You’ll have a maximum of 30 minutes in there at which point an attending nurse will knock on the door. If you fill the sample before that allotted time, please seal the sample with the attached lid and bring it to this cart, right here by the station. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.”

The nurse shakes her head at Santiago slowly, sizing him up once again, her gaze lingering on the cup in his hand. He fights the urge to shout at her what the big fucking deal is, why she doesn’t think him capable of following such basic commands. But he doesn’t. He breathes evenly instead, and asks,

“Should I… may I go in there now?” Christ he just wants this over with.

The nurse narrows her eyes at him and he feels nothing but rage. 

“Go ahead.”

Santiago releases a deep breath and leans toward the nurse to read her name badge. “Thank you Nurse… Johnson. Much appreciated” 

Nurse Johnson clutches her scrub-clad chest and Santiago turns and enters the self-love room, alone at last.

``````

It’s intimidating. The amount of erotic material. Tapes line the walls like a filthy library and suddenly that 30 minute timeline doesn’t seem like enough. No doubt nurse Johnson has a thirty minute stopwatch on him and he can feel the seconds tick down his nerve-bare spine. 

“Shit” he mutters to himself, checking the spines of each video. Nothing grabs his attention and he figures he’d better calm down before attempting anything. He sinks into the armchair before thinking about how many jerk-off sessions must have taken place in it, and he’s propelling himself out of it, pacing back and forth in the cramped room.

“For Vin, for Vin, for Vin.” He repeats to himself and gives himself a slap across the cheek for good measure. The only thing that draws his cock out of his jeans is the thought of the timer running out and him not producing a sample. Coming out empty handed? It’d be ample enough reason for Nurse Johnson to give him yet another judgy ‘up and down’ and he can’t have that.

His cock is limp because he can’t stop thinking about the infuriating nurse. He lowers himself back into the questionable armchair and strokes his needy, flaccid cock in his palm. His only thought is on Vin. How he can’t let her down. He settles back more fully into the seat and scrunches his eyes against the fluorescent lights. 

Vin. Vin. Vin. He licks his lips and tells himself he’s thinking only of her desire to have a child… His child.

His cock grows hot and full at the thought, quickly swelling heavy with blood in his palm. Vin, Vin, Vin. He sees her smiling up at him. He imagines her crawling up his lap with that stupid smile of hers and kissing the shaft of his cock. He grips himself harder, thumb spreading his pre-cum over the head. Fuck. His legs relax and he tilts his head back into the recliner. 

It’s her hands on him now, not his own, that pump him straight and hard, licking slyly every now and then, the way he always thought she might. Bastard. He's a Disgusting bastard. He pulls harder on his cock, fucking up into the circle of his fist. He’s a fucking pervert, more perverted than shoving in some kind of Step-Daddy video to the player or some shit. He’s thinking about his best friend. The woman not a few yards and several walls away. She’s probably humming to herself, reading an article in the waiting room, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. God fucking dammit she’s so pretty. Fuck, if he wants to cum for her, he simply has to degrade her in his own mind, it’s the only way.

His cock wins over his brain and he pictures fucking her the way he’s pictured it a hundred times before. Shoving down those tactical pants, getting her on all fours and fucking her stupid on the nearest hard surface of anything. 

He grits his whole face shut, imagining how she would beg for it. Especially now, all baby hungry and begging for his cum, begging him to fill her up, begging him to fuck a baby into her— something he’s never considered before that steak dinner. Fuck. How the tears might gather and fall from her eyes with how hard he rams her cervix. Shit. Fuck, he’s close, he wants to give it to her so bad. Wants to fill her up, give her everything she needs, wants to kiss those pretty tears away when he… fuck shit Jesus fuck,

He manages to have enough forethought to shakily grab the sample cup and cum into it. The whole process ruining the hot fantasy in his mind. He’d rather cum without it, letting his seed spill over his pumping fist. No, he’d rather cum in her. Cum in Vin, feel the heat of it coat the head of his pounding cock in her needy pussy… but that’s not happening. That’s never going to happen. So he pants and curses, spilling himself into the stupid cup. He bites his tongue and squeezes the last drops from his cock into the cup, knowing that this ill gotten gain will be injected into her womb shortly. The thought sends a shiver up his spine and if he weren’t so god awful tired, he’d be getting hard all over again. 

END

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Fluff prompt #6 + Marc Spector please!

ˣ pairing: marc spector x reader

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

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

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

- ☾-

“Hmm… What about Oliver?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay… maybe we can call him Matthew?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would you want that?”

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

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

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

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

You kiss him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart swells at the touch and his admission.

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

“So… what do you think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- ☾-

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