Summary: Two huge surprises in your life, courtesy of your husband and father of your children, Santiago Garcia (babies, no smut, just fluff and drama, ~1.5k)
-----
You rush home from dropping the kids off at Frankie’s.
You and Santi have a date night. Last week, you'd cancelled it because, Rosie had a cough. The week before that, you’d decided to have family movie night and invite the Delta guys over. And the week before that James was sick… and so on and so on…
Santiago and you haven’t eaten in a restaurant alone since before Rosie was born and she’s almost 8 months now.
But when you get home, Santiago is sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. The living room still has books and toys strewn everywhere. There’s still a blanket scrunched up on the couch. Little things that Santiago straightens as a habit. If things aren’t neat as a pin, something’s seriously wrong.
“Santi, honey, are you okay?” You drop your purse and jacket and rush over to the couch to sit with him.
His eyes are heavy. He rubs his strong hands over his face, turns so he can hug you. “Just let me hold you for a minute.”
You almost tremble. “Is everyone safe? What happened?”
“Everyone’s fine,” he reassures you, one of his hands stroking the back of your head. “But I need to ask you something serious, baby. It’s big.”
You pull away enough to look him in the eyes.
Santiago’s dark gaze is more worried than you’ve ever seen it. The worry, you’re used to, it’s in his nature. But the sadness you see is something different.
“Remember my buddy, Redfly? I told you about him,” Santiago says. You nod encouragingly. “He has a daughter. Had a daughter. She’s just in her first year of college.”
“Yeah, Delta all went to her high school graduation,” you smile. “You embarrassed the hell out of her, but I think she loved it. Four big, handsome guys screaming and clapping when she walked across the stage. And I’ve never seen so many sweaty teenagers as when her friends got a load of you and your crew at her pool party.”
Santiago grins, embarrassed. “That’s not the point.”
He takes your hands, and inhales a deep breath.
“I heard from her and her mom today. She just had a baby,” Santiago says seriously.
“Oh, wow, she’s barely started college,” you say, shocked.
He nods reluctantly. “I guess she hid it from her mother for as long as she could, but she gave birth yesterday. The father’s her high school boyfriend. Neither of them are ready to be parents.”
He doesn’t say it in judgment. If anyone knows about making big decisions when you’re too young, it’s Santiago. He’d joined the Army when he’d been barely old enough to drink.
“They’re going to put the baby up for adoption,” Santiago says. “But they remembered you and me. They came to our wedding, and remembered how we wanted a big family.”
Your eyes go huge as you realize what he’s asking. “Santi, Rosie’s not even walking yet.”
“I know, I know,” he says, squeezing your hands, “but they asked, and I didn’t feel right turning them down without asking you first.”
“We’re not turning them down,” you say immediately.
Santiago’s gaze sharpens. His eyebrows draw together. He looks relieved, intrugued. “We’re not?”
“Santiago Garcia, are you seriously telling me you’re going to let that baby go into the system, when we could give it a perfectly good home? A great home? When you want a baseball team of children? No, that’s not the man I married,” you smile at him. “Is it?”
Santiago’s big eyes blink, but not before you see the barest hint of tears along his beautiful eyelashes.
“No, ma’am, it isn’t,” he says with a smile. He pulls you in for a hug. He groans. “You’re a hell of a woman.”
He kisses the side of your head.
“I’m scared to death actually,” you say with a laugh.
“I am too,” he agrees, but pulls back to kiss your forehead and nose and lips. “I can call an adoption lawyer today. Less red tape if we just do it private, that was their suggestion. But if we want the baby right away, I think she’d like to start moving on with her life.”
You close your eyes. “I can’t imagine how difficult this is for her.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it was easy. This way, though, she can still see the baby if she wants. She says it’s like he’s being raised by family.”
“He?” you ask.
Santiago nods. “A little boy. Our little boy.”
You sit back on the couch, head spinning. “Three kids under five. What are we thinking?”
He puts his arm around you, and you lean in and snuggle against him. “I’m thinking about how I can rope the guys into helping me turn the back room on the main level into our master. And then our old room upstairs can be both babies’ room for now. Or maybe we should put them both in Rosie’s room and divvy up the master into two rooms so we don’t have to do it later.”
“Why do I feel like we’re constantly under construction?” You groan.
“Because we are. This house and this family, constantly building something new.”
*****
You’re holding Rosie, watching Ben try in vain to strap a car seat into the back of your SUV. Will’s chasing James around the back yard, pretending to be a dinosaurs or cowboys or who knows what.
Ben curses loudly. Apologizes.
“Why do they make this so damn hard?” He complains.
“You’re the one who wanted to learn,” you point out as Rosie watches Ben, her brown eyes like an owl taking in a night landscape.
“Well, a godfather should know these things,” Ben says.
“You’re not the godfather, I am,” Will yells out. He swoops James up, tips him upside down.
Santiago’s truck pulls into the driveway. He’d made one, last run to the store for everything you were going to need for the new baby. He gives you a wave.
“You were trying to figure that out when I left. You’re still not done?” he yells through the open window.
Ben gives him the finger.
Santiago gets out of the truck, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head and pocketing his keys. “Did you get the paperwork from the lawyer?” Santiago kisses you.
“Yeah, looks like we’re well on our way to becoming a family of five.”
“And next week, we’ll have the 3 kids to prove it.” He gives Rosie a kiss on the cheek, glances at Benny. “That’s not secure.”
“Bullshit. It’s bolted into the car, basically,” Benny says.
Santiago reaches in and pulls the car seat out one-handed. “My children’s safety is your number one priority. Watch a youtube video and get it right.”
Benny rests his hands on his hips, staring at the sky. “Can’t you just hold the baby in your lap? That’s what my mom did with me.”
“And that explains a lot,” Santiago says with a nod.
Your phone buzzes and so does Santiago’s. You look down.
“More lawyer stuff,” you say, shutting it off. You shift Rosie to your other hip. “We can read it tomorrow. Benny, you can take a break and help me bring all of this inside.”
The bed of Santiago’s truck has boxes of baby things, both from storage at his mom’s place, and from the store. Will totes James under his arm and puts him in the bed as you all sort through.
“Honey?” Santiago yells, but somehow his voice sounds weak, off.
“Yeah?” You look over to see Santiago Garcia, a man who loves to be out in the sun, tanning that gorgeous skin… looking pale. Pasty. Sickly. The color of a weak child of Victorian times.
You rush over to him, feeling like he might need to sit down. He shows you his phone, but you can’t read a word of what it says because his hand is literally shaking.
He licks his lips, looking at your face as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “We’re not married,” he says.
You almost laugh. “What? Of course we are.”
He shoves his phone into your hand.
You read the e-mail from the lawyer, your smile fading, fading, fading. “Oh my fucking lord,” you whisper. “We’re not married.”
You hear a snort laugh and elbow Benny, who’s been looking over your shoulder.
“Hey,” Ben yells to Will, “this whole time, these two haven’t been legally married. They had that big wedding, but some fubar paperwork thing and nothing ever got filed.”
You look at Santiago. “First the new baby, and now this. I don’t think I can- I think my brain is broken.”
You hold Rosie out to Benny, hoping you don’t fall over. Instead, you hold onto Santiago, relieved to discover that he’s solid as a rock. Strong, already forming a plan.
“Okay, here’s what we do,” Santiago says, in full command mode. “It wasn’t a mistake on our end. The county should’ve notified us because it was their error. It won’t affect the adoption if we can get to the courthouse in the next two of days.”
“Courthouse? Why?” you ask.
Santiago grins, his dark eye shining. “Because I’m the lucky asshole who gets to marry you twice.”
“Dibs on maid of honor,” Benny says.
“You’re not the maid of honor, I am,” Will yells out.
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Summary: Two huge surprises in your life, courtesy of your husband and father of your children, Santiago Garcia (babies, no smut, just fluff and drama, ~1.5k)
-----
You rush home from dropping the kids off at Frankie’s.
You and Santi have a date night. Last week, you'd cancelled it because, Rosie had a cough. The week before that, you’d decided to have family movie night and invite the Delta guys over. And the week before that James was sick… and so on and so on…
Santiago and you haven’t eaten in a restaurant alone since before Rosie was born and she’s almost 8 months now.
But when you get home, Santiago is sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. The living room still has books and toys strewn everywhere. There’s still a blanket scrunched up on the couch. Little things that Santiago straightens as a habit. If things aren’t neat as a pin, something’s seriously wrong.
“Santi, honey, are you okay?” You drop your purse and jacket and rush over to the couch to sit with him.
His eyes are heavy. He rubs his strong hands over his face, turns so he can hug you. “Just let me hold you for a minute.”
You almost tremble. “Is everyone safe? What happened?”
“Everyone’s fine,” he reassures you, one of his hands stroking the back of your head. “But I need to ask you something serious, baby. It’s big.”
You pull away enough to look him in the eyes.
Santiago’s dark gaze is more worried than you’ve ever seen it. The worry, you’re used to, it’s in his nature. But the sadness you see is something different.
“Remember my buddy, Redfly? I told you about him,” Santiago says. You nod encouragingly. “He has a daughter. Had a daughter. She’s just in her first year of college.”
“Yeah, Delta all went to her high school graduation,” you smile. “You embarrassed the hell out of her, but I think she loved it. Four big, handsome guys screaming and clapping when she walked across the stage. And I’ve never seen so many sweaty teenagers as when her friends got a load of you and your crew at her pool party.”
Santiago grins, embarrassed. “That’s not the point.”
He takes your hands, and inhales a deep breath.
“I heard from her and her mom today. She just had a baby,” Santiago says seriously.
“Oh, wow, she’s barely started college,” you say, shocked.
He nods reluctantly. “I guess she hid it from her mother for as long as she could, but she gave birth yesterday. The father’s her high school boyfriend. Neither of them are ready to be parents.”
He doesn’t say it in judgment. If anyone knows about making big decisions when you’re too young, it’s Santiago. He’d joined the Army when he’d been barely old enough to drink.
“They’re going to put the baby up for adoption,” Santiago says. “But they remembered you and me. They came to our wedding, and remembered how we wanted a big family.”
Your eyes go huge as you realize what he’s asking. “Santi, Rosie’s not even walking yet.”
“I know, I know,” he says, squeezing your hands, “but they asked, and I didn’t feel right turning them down without asking you first.”
“We’re not turning them down,” you say immediately.
Santiago’s gaze sharpens. His eyebrows draw together. He looks relieved, intrugued. “We’re not?”
“Santiago Garcia, are you seriously telling me you’re going to let that baby go into the system, when we could give it a perfectly good home? A great home? When you want a baseball team of children? No, that’s not the man I married,” you smile at him. “Is it?”
Santiago’s big eyes blink, but not before you see the barest hint of tears along his beautiful eyelashes.
“No, ma’am, it isn’t,” he says with a smile. He pulls you in for a hug. He groans. “You’re a hell of a woman.”
He kisses the side of your head.
“I’m scared to death actually,” you say with a laugh.
“I am too,” he agrees, but pulls back to kiss your forehead and nose and lips. “I can call an adoption lawyer today. Less red tape if we just do it private, that was their suggestion. But if we want the baby right away, I think she’d like to start moving on with her life.”
You close your eyes. “I can’t imagine how difficult this is for her.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it was easy. This way, though, she can still see the baby if she wants. She says it’s like he’s being raised by family.”
“He?” you ask.
Santiago nods. “A little boy. Our little boy.”
You sit back on the couch, head spinning. “Three kids under five. What are we thinking?”
He puts his arm around you, and you lean in and snuggle against him. “I’m thinking about how I can rope the guys into helping me turn the back room on the main level into our master. And then our old room upstairs can be both babies’ room for now. Or maybe we should put them both in Rosie’s room and divvy up the master into two rooms so we don’t have to do it later.”
“Why do I feel like we’re constantly under construction?” You groan.
“Because we are. This house and this family, constantly building something new.”
*****
You’re holding Rosie, watching Ben try in vain to strap a car seat into the back of your SUV. Will’s chasing James around the back yard, pretending to be a dinosaurs or cowboys or who knows what.
Ben curses loudly. Apologizes.
“Why do they make this so damn hard?” He complains.
“You’re the one who wanted to learn,” you point out as Rosie watches Ben, her brown eyes like an owl taking in a night landscape.
“Well, a godfather should know these things,” Ben says.
“You’re not the godfather, I am,” Will yells out. He swoops James up, tips him upside down.
Santiago’s truck pulls into the driveway. He’d made one, last run to the store for everything you were going to need for the new baby. He gives you a wave.
“You were trying to figure that out when I left. You’re still not done?” he yells through the open window.
Ben gives him the finger.
Santiago gets out of the truck, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head and pocketing his keys. “Did you get the paperwork from the lawyer?” Santiago kisses you.
“Yeah, looks like we’re well on our way to becoming a family of five.”
“And next week, we’ll have the 3 kids to prove it.” He gives Rosie a kiss on the cheek, glances at Benny. “That’s not secure.”
“Bullshit. It’s bolted into the car, basically,” Benny says.
Santiago reaches in and pulls the car seat out one-handed. “My children’s safety is your number one priority. Watch a youtube video and get it right.”
Benny rests his hands on his hips, staring at the sky. “Can’t you just hold the baby in your lap? That’s what my mom did with me.”
“And that explains a lot,” Santiago says with a nod.
Your phone buzzes and so does Santiago’s. You look down.
“More lawyer stuff,” you say, shutting it off. You shift Rosie to your other hip. “We can read it tomorrow. Benny, you can take a break and help me bring all of this inside.”
The bed of Santiago’s truck has boxes of baby things, both from storage at his mom’s place, and from the store. Will totes James under his arm and puts him in the bed as you all sort through.
“Honey?” Santiago yells, but somehow his voice sounds weak, off.
“Yeah?” You look over to see Santiago Garcia, a man who loves to be out in the sun, tanning that gorgeous skin… looking pale. Pasty. Sickly. The color of a weak child of Victorian times.
You rush over to him, feeling like he might need to sit down. He shows you his phone, but you can’t read a word of what it says because his hand is literally shaking.
He licks his lips, looking at your face as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “We’re not married,” he says.
You almost laugh. “What? Of course we are.”
He shoves his phone into your hand.
You read the e-mail from the lawyer, your smile fading, fading, fading. “Oh my fucking lord,” you whisper. “We’re not married.”
You hear a snort laugh and elbow Benny, who’s been looking over your shoulder.
“Hey,” Ben yells to Will, “this whole time, these two haven’t been legally married. They had that big wedding, but some fubar paperwork thing and nothing ever got filed.”
You look at Santiago. “First the new baby, and now this. I don’t think I can- I think my brain is broken.”
You hold Rosie out to Benny, hoping you don’t fall over. Instead, you hold onto Santiago, relieved to discover that he’s solid as a rock. Strong, already forming a plan.
“Okay, here’s what we do,” Santiago says, in full command mode. “It wasn’t a mistake on our end. The county should’ve notified us because it was their error. It won’t affect the adoption if we can get to the courthouse in the next two of days.”
“Courthouse? Why?” you ask.
Santiago grins, his dark eye shining. “Because I’m the lucky asshole who gets to marry you twice.”
“Dibs on maid of honor,” Benny says.
“You’re not the maid of honor, I am,” Will yells out.
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Summary: Two huge surprises in your life, courtesy of your husband and father of your children, Santiago Garcia (babies, no smut, just fluff and drama, ~1.5k)
-----
You rush home from dropping the kids off at Frankie’s.
You and Santi have a date night. Last week, you'd cancelled it because, Rosie had a cough. The week before that, you’d decided to have family movie night and invite the Delta guys over. And the week before that James was sick… and so on and so on…
Santiago and you haven’t eaten in a restaurant alone since before Rosie was born and she’s almost 8 months now.
But when you get home, Santiago is sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. The living room still has books and toys strewn everywhere. There’s still a blanket scrunched up on the couch. Little things that Santiago straightens as a habit. If things aren’t neat as a pin, something’s seriously wrong.
“Santi, honey, are you okay?” You drop your purse and jacket and rush over to the couch to sit with him.
His eyes are heavy. He rubs his strong hands over his face, turns so he can hug you. “Just let me hold you for a minute.”
You almost tremble. “Is everyone safe? What happened?”
“Everyone’s fine,” he reassures you, one of his hands stroking the back of your head. “But I need to ask you something serious, baby. It’s big.”
You pull away enough to look him in the eyes.
Santiago’s dark gaze is more worried than you’ve ever seen it. The worry, you’re used to, it’s in his nature. But the sadness you see is something different.
“Remember my buddy, Redfly? I told you about him,” Santiago says. You nod encouragingly. “He has a daughter. Had a daughter. She’s just in her first year of college.”
“Yeah, Delta all went to her high school graduation,” you smile. “You embarrassed the hell out of her, but I think she loved it. Four big, handsome guys screaming and clapping when she walked across the stage. And I’ve never seen so many sweaty teenagers as when her friends got a load of you and your crew at her pool party.”
Santiago grins, embarrassed. “That’s not the point.”
He takes your hands, and inhales a deep breath.
“I heard from her and her mom today. She just had a baby,” Santiago says seriously.
“Oh, wow, she’s barely started college,” you say, shocked.
He nods reluctantly. “I guess she hid it from her mother for as long as she could, but she gave birth yesterday. The father’s her high school boyfriend. Neither of them are ready to be parents.”
He doesn’t say it in judgment. If anyone knows about making big decisions when you’re too young, it’s Santiago. He’d joined the Army when he’d been barely old enough to drink.
“They’re going to put the baby up for adoption,” Santiago says. “But they remembered you and me. They came to our wedding, and remembered how we wanted a big family.”
Your eyes go huge as you realize what he’s asking. “Santi, Rosie’s not even walking yet.”
“I know, I know,” he says, squeezing your hands, “but they asked, and I didn’t feel right turning them down without asking you first.”
“We’re not turning them down,” you say immediately.
Santiago’s gaze sharpens. His eyebrows draw together. He looks relieved, intrugued. “We’re not?”
“Santiago Garcia, are you seriously telling me you’re going to let that baby go into the system, when we could give it a perfectly good home? A great home? When you want a baseball team of children? No, that’s not the man I married,” you smile at him. “Is it?”
Santiago’s big eyes blink, but not before you see the barest hint of tears along his beautiful eyelashes.
“No, ma’am, it isn’t,” he says with a smile. He pulls you in for a hug. He groans. “You’re a hell of a woman.”
He kisses the side of your head.
“I’m scared to death actually,” you say with a laugh.
“I am too,” he agrees, but pulls back to kiss your forehead and nose and lips. “I can call an adoption lawyer today. Less red tape if we just do it private, that was their suggestion. But if we want the baby right away, I think she’d like to start moving on with her life.”
You close your eyes. “I can’t imagine how difficult this is for her.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it was easy. This way, though, she can still see the baby if she wants. She says it’s like he’s being raised by family.”
“He?” you ask.
Santiago nods. “A little boy. Our little boy.”
You sit back on the couch, head spinning. “Three kids under five. What are we thinking?”
He puts his arm around you, and you lean in and snuggle against him. “I’m thinking about how I can rope the guys into helping me turn the back room on the main level into our master. And then our old room upstairs can be both babies’ room for now. Or maybe we should put them both in Rosie’s room and divvy up the master into two rooms so we don’t have to do it later.”
“Why do I feel like we’re constantly under construction?” You groan.
“Because we are. This house and this family, constantly building something new.”
*****
You’re holding Rosie, watching Ben try in vain to strap a car seat into the back of your SUV. Will’s chasing James around the back yard, pretending to be a dinosaurs or cowboys or who knows what.
Ben curses loudly. Apologizes.
“Why do they make this so damn hard?” He complains.
“You’re the one who wanted to learn,” you point out as Rosie watches Ben, her brown eyes like an owl taking in a night landscape.
“Well, a godfather should know these things,” Ben says.
“You’re not the godfather, I am,” Will yells out. He swoops James up, tips him upside down.
Santiago’s truck pulls into the driveway. He’d made one, last run to the store for everything you were going to need for the new baby. He gives you a wave.
“You were trying to figure that out when I left. You’re still not done?” he yells through the open window.
Ben gives him the finger.
Santiago gets out of the truck, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head and pocketing his keys. “Did you get the paperwork from the lawyer?” Santiago kisses you.
“Yeah, looks like we’re well on our way to becoming a family of five.”
“And next week, we’ll have the 3 kids to prove it.” He gives Rosie a kiss on the cheek, glances at Benny. “That’s not secure.”
“Bullshit. It’s bolted into the car, basically,” Benny says.
Santiago reaches in and pulls the car seat out one-handed. “My children’s safety is your number one priority. Watch a youtube video and get it right.”
Benny rests his hands on his hips, staring at the sky. “Can’t you just hold the baby in your lap? That’s what my mom did with me.”
“And that explains a lot,” Santiago says with a nod.
Your phone buzzes and so does Santiago’s. You look down.
“More lawyer stuff,” you say, shutting it off. You shift Rosie to your other hip. “We can read it tomorrow. Benny, you can take a break and help me bring all of this inside.”
The bed of Santiago’s truck has boxes of baby things, both from storage at his mom’s place, and from the store. Will totes James under his arm and puts him in the bed as you all sort through.
“Honey?” Santiago yells, but somehow his voice sounds weak, off.
“Yeah?” You look over to see Santiago Garcia, a man who loves to be out in the sun, tanning that gorgeous skin… looking pale. Pasty. Sickly. The color of a weak child of Victorian times.
You rush over to him, feeling like he might need to sit down. He shows you his phone, but you can’t read a word of what it says because his hand is literally shaking.
He licks his lips, looking at your face as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “We’re not married,” he says.
You almost laugh. “What? Of course we are.”
He shoves his phone into your hand.
You read the e-mail from the lawyer, your smile fading, fading, fading. “Oh my fucking lord,” you whisper. “We’re not married.”
You hear a snort laugh and elbow Benny, who’s been looking over your shoulder.
“Hey,” Ben yells to Will, “this whole time, these two haven’t been legally married. They had that big wedding, but some fubar paperwork thing and nothing ever got filed.”
You look at Santiago. “First the new baby, and now this. I don’t think I can- I think my brain is broken.”
You hold Rosie out to Benny, hoping you don’t fall over. Instead, you hold onto Santiago, relieved to discover that he’s solid as a rock. Strong, already forming a plan.
“Okay, here’s what we do,” Santiago says, in full command mode. “It wasn’t a mistake on our end. The county should’ve notified us because it was their error. It won’t affect the adoption if we can get to the courthouse in the next two of days.”
“Courthouse? Why?” you ask.
Santiago grins, his dark eye shining. “Because I’m the lucky asshole who gets to marry you twice.”
“Dibs on maid of honor,” Benny says.
“You’re not the maid of honor, I am,” Will yells out.
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Hello, My name is Mosab Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with my family. Life here has become harder than I ever imagined, and I’m writing this with hope in my heart that you might hear our story.
The ongoing war has devastated my family. We’ve lost 25 family members—each one a beloved part of our lives, taken too soon. I miss them deeply—their laughter, their presence, their love. Every day is a reminder of this unimaginable loss.
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We are now facing daily challenges to survive—things that most people take for granted, like food, clean water, and a safe place to sleep. The harsh realities of life here have replaced our dreams with the constant fight for survival.
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Based on this very patient nonnie’s requests: “I was thinking about Steven Grant x male reader. Like something very and super fluff with him, cause I love him so much and I love fluff stuff with him”
Original asks here, here , and here - tysm nonnie!
Summary: You're making a delivery to the museum's gift shop and the cutest gift shop clerk has to sign for it (It's Steven, of course)
Pairing: Steven Grant x m!reader
Word Count: 724
Content: fluff, flirting, meet cute, not beta'd
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
“Stevie, if I have to ask you one more time to answer the back door bell, I swear I’ll take the shipping fare out of your paycheck.”
Steven’s entire body tenses as his supervisor’s grating voice echoes across the museum gift shop.
“Right. On it, boss,” he amicably musters with a cheesy mock salute, grumbling a curse under his breath as he shuffles off the sales floor, through the swinging door marked “Employees Only”. Rummaging around for his keys, he groans as the bell rings again, signaling what’s likely to be an impatient and possibly rude delivery person.
“Just a moment,” he sighs, checking each and every pocket for his keys, hopelessly tossing his dark curls out of his eyes as he finally produces his keyring. “Could’ve sworn I left those in my jacket,” he murmurs, attempting to remember the past twenty-four hours, vaguely realizing he could not, in fact, remember much at all.
Then the bell trills again - insistently. One, two, three times in a row.
“All right, hold your bloody horses…” Steven trails off, yanking the door open, eyes going wide at the sight of you.
Dressed smartly in your delivery uniform, you chomp on your gum, reaching up to cheekily tip your cap to the flustered gift shop clerk.
“Doorbell broken?” You casually ask, popping your gum. “Must’ve rung half a dozen times.”
“So sorry,” Steven rushes to apologize. “Bit of trouble finding my keys. Come right in.”
You chuckle warmly, rather than condescendingly, as the shorter (and very cute) man reaches for a box to help you unload.
“You know, they pay me to do that, mate.” The corner of your mouth curls as his bright brown eyes go wide.
“Oh god, sorry. Wouldn’t want to break anything.” Steven almost jumps back, pulling his hands closely to his chest - a gesture so adorable your heart trips over itself. “Just wanted to help, is all,” he adds.
“Appreciate it,” you sincerely reply, but…noticing the rosy hue creeping across his cheeks, you chance a wink, nodding down at his name tag. “Steven.”
“With a V,” he chuckles, a bit flustered. “Steven with a V. That’s me.”
“I see that,” you smirk, pointing, once again to his name tag. “Can’t really make deliveries if I can’t read now, can I?”
The thing is - everyone calls Steven the wrong name. Everyone. Steven, Scotty, ‘hey you!’ The fact that you read his name tag and winked... Maybe you winked?
Steven probably imagined that. "Right, em, guess I'll get out of your way then." He makes a circular motion with his hand. "Sure you have a whole system going. Sorry to bother."
"No bother," you shake your head, expertly offloading a huge palate of shipment with astonishing ease.
Steven wets his lips at the way your uniform shirt fits your arms and chest. "Must be new here..." He finds himself murmuring.
"What's that?" You pause, slinging your arm over your dolly full of boxes.
"Oh, em, haven't seen you 'round. Must be new," Steven repeats, snapping out of his distracted stare. Returning the favor, he reads your name from your uniform shirt tag.
"New route," you explain, pivoting the dolly up with your foot, ready to move it again, but you pause - eyes raking over Steven's adorably hunched body. A mess of dark curls, and purple circles under eyes with secrets and stories to tell. Hands with long, lovely fingers drawn carefully to his chest. Still...he's handsome. And kind.
To most people, you're invisible. But Steven's noticed you. "Gotta say. I like the view." With another well-timed wink, you chomp your gum and carry on with your task.
Once you finish, you have the gift shoppist electronically sign your tablet. "I will see you later, Steven with a V." You smile warmly.
"Every Monday and Thursday!" He exuberantly quotes the delivery schedule to you, as if you aren't aware.
"All right. Thursday then." Pulling your work glove off your hand, you take a chance, crossing over the line of professionalism. "Nice to meet you...Steven." You extend your hand for a shake, completely right about how it would feel to touch him.
Yeah. You're glad you've left your number scribbled on the top box. Maybe he'll call you before Thursday. If not, you'll make sure to write it on his hand next time.
Summary: Steven falls asleep on you. No… I mean literally on you.
Reader: fem! Vagina-owner. She/her pronouns. Gendered language e.g. girl, pretty.
Author’s note: I couldn’t resist a second bash at Steven. I adore him 🥺 Written largely before Ep2, so it’s Ep1-centric.
Genre: one-shot, fluff, pining, meet cute, silliness, but also angst I’M SORRY. Definite angst. (If you don’t want the angst and think ignorance is bliss, stop reading at the heading “the next day” for a far fluffier experience. Either version should feel complete.)
Rating: Mature for mentions of sex. NO SMUT.
Warnings: EPISODE 1 SPOILERS. Mentions of: memory lapses / time-skipping / sleep disorders - inc. insomnia, night terrors (reader). Loneliness. Sex references (nothing explicit). Swearing. Rejection themes. Not proofed very well.
“Oh god no,” you hiss, upon seeing the limp torso of the stranger in the row opposite you begin to cant dangerously towards the aisle. The priorly sleepy (now sleeping) stranger has been nodding off intermittently for the whole bus journey so far, causing his pretty curls to bounce and flop over his forehead in a way which has kept drawing your eye.
If you don’t intervene soon, however, the crumpled heap of him on the floor will be drawing your eye, as the bus zooms dangerously fast around a loose corner. And so, you urgently shuffle your bum to the aisle-edge of your seat, stretching your arm out across the space to nudge the man into a more upright position. Your palm contacts his arm gently, but with enough force to redirect his centre of balance; just right.
It’s often amusing to watch someone fall asleep on public transport, you think. The gradual head loll, followed by the sudden jerking awake? The embarrassed look around - sometimes an abrupt, rough snore snatching them awake, the kerfuffle resulting in covertly passed laughter - little bundles of joy spread between the other passengers with a stifled laugh behind a palm here, and mirth-sparkled eye contact there? Cracking entertainment, that. At least, it is when you’re out of data for the month and can’t watch videos of cats taking baths to amuse you on the route home. However, with this guy… it’s simply not funny. The sheer aura of despondency he wears like a cloak sees to that. All you want to do is hug him. Sing him a lullaby. He looks flat enough, deflated enough, that you could lie him on your floor and use him as a bath mat. Of course, apart from those persistent, voluminous curls.
But, it’s more than that. There’s something else about him which means you’re simply not laughing.
Instead, you’re… looking.
Is it his infeasibly long lashes, fanning out over his cheek? The set of his sharp jaw bobbing gradually towards his chest? His broad hands, resting - palms up - against his denim-clad thighs?
You snatch your eyes away. Christ. You’re sure this can’t be right. You don’t think it’s illegal, but surely it can’t be right to - effectively - watch someone sleeping, can it? Without their knowledge? Even on a bus, there’s surely rules for that sort of thing?
Regardless, for the sake of his physical safety (quite aside from any -ahem- personal motivations you may have), you’ve been keeping a pretty close eye over in his direction ever since he’d boarded. You’d watched him shuffle aboard the bus, immediately dropping his Oyster card on the floor, and almost losing the lid off that bright pink, heart-shaped box of chocolates - currently tucked under one elbow - while he bent to retrieve it. He’d practically gone full Frank Spencer.
Well. Typical Steven, you’d thought to yourself as you saw the scene unfold. This poor bugger can never seem to catch a break.
Oh, yes, that’s right - you do know his name.
And whilst he’s technically a stranger, in that you’ve never been formally introduced, you know a fair few other things about him too.
You’re not a stalker or anything - it’s just that by divine intervention, this rather cute man has happened to share your bus route for the past few months; a fact which utterly delights you (that full-on tummy butterfly level of delight) - around 8:30am and at 5:30pm, Tuesday through Friday.
In your past few months of very distant admiration of him, you have learned a few things. You know, for example, that he alights for work near Museum Street. You know that he’s a bit of a bookworm - ancient history, puzzles, and poetry almost exclusively. That he drinks an unholy amount of coffee from a large keep-cup. (Oat milk too - you’d noted the little barista-applied sticker that one time.) You know that while he’s seemingly awkward and generally knackered as all fuck while he’s awake…he’s positively breathtaking when he’s sleeping.
You know that his name is Steven. Never Steve or Steve-o or anything else. You know this, because you’ve overheard copious sweet voicemails he’s left for his mum on his journeys home, detailing whatever he’s been up to that particular day. He’s so soft spoken that you never quite catch the details, but you can’t miss his sign-off of “Laters, gators”, which makes your face split with a bright, involuntary grin whenever you hear it.
You’ve learned something about yourself too, through your casual but routine observances of him. You’ve learned that you clearly have a soft spot for environmentally-conscious history nerds with pretty, dark curls; because you’ve definitely developed a little bit of a soft spot for him.
Finally, and probably most importantly, you’ve come to learn which his correct bus stop is too. A knowledge which, unbeknownst to Steven, has saved his hide on a number of occasions.
After witnessing his abject dismay, several times now - the man having jerked himself awake moments too late, watching his stop slink by the window in a blur with gentle, resigned despair - you took it upon yourself to intervene. To offer a little helping hand.
Your interventions are subtle, to say the least. Sometimes you will cough loudly -once- within earshot, or stage a very sudden telephone call at just the right volume to be mildly intrusive. Sometimes, you will simply nudge him awake with a gentle hand, pressing the bell on his behalf with a soft smile so that by the time he comes to, filtering through the layers of sleep and back to reality, he finds the bus pulling-in precisely where he wishes to alight, and at just the right moment.
Yes, your interventions are subtle… but perhaps a little too much so?
You’ve noticed him - can’t help but notice him - but you don’t believe he’s noticed you.
How could he, you suppose, when he won’t meet your gaze, whenever you bravely attempt to spark up a conversation or share a smile? Or, how could he see you when his eyelids are always dropping with tiredness - or closing altogether as he drifts off. Why would he notice you, anyway? Someone like him? Someone as perfect as him?
Still, you hold out hope that one day you might finally make a lasting impression. Especially after that one day recently, when he finally paid you some direct attention.
He had looked a little different that day. More awake, for starters - maybe that had been it. He’d been standing taller. Carrying a gold fish in a small plastic bag, arm hung down by his side. And, when he had boarded the bus, as usual, he had noticed you right away. His big brown eyes had snagged on yours. He had appraised you confidently, instead of shyly, offering you an effortless smile as he had looked you up and down. Successfully walking a fine line of being appreciative, without it coming off at all as lecherous.
He’d looked at you. Really looked at you, and you’d thought about him all day after that. Then, you had barely stopped thinking about him since.
“Jesus Christ, Steven,” you grumble in the present moment, as his torso once again sways precariously.
In response, thinking on your feet, you slot yourself hurriedly into the vacant seat next to him, so that you can better subdue his near-perilous movements.
Jesus. The bus driver is particularly chaotic today. Must want to get back to the depot stat, given this is the last bus of the night and his shift will be due to end.
You’re riding the bus home later than usual today, after seeing a late night exhibition. You’d taken yourself, on your monthly “self-date” - because none of your friends seem to be quite as into the “weird” and/or “shit” things you personally enjoy frequenting. And so, given the lateness, you were very surprised to see Steven appear here at the same time too.
Even stranger than that, was the fact that he’d been on a date by himself too. You’d quite accidentally eavesdropped on today’s voicemail to his mum. Given that the bus was near empty at this hour - aside from a cantankerous looking woman sat on the folding seats at the front, and a bunch of drink-addled football fans (wasn’t the match yesterday?) singing up in the top deck - it would have been hard not to overhear. He’d told his mum that the date had gone well. That she’d loved the chocolates and the flowers. Yet, between the fact he was alone, still had both those items in his possession, and looked like he was about to burst into tears at any given moment, you deduced that was a lie. Or; if not a lie, at least a truth he couldn’t bear to hear out loud quite yet.
You’d guessed that maybe he was stood-up, from context, and you find yourself wishing desperately that you could have switched places with his date tonight. You would have shown up. You would have told him how handsome he looks in this black buttoned-up shirt of his. You would have kissed him goodnight, if he’d wanted to kiss you too.
How sad, you think - your eyes sweeping over the now crushed roses - that you were both out tonight alone, each of you wishing for some company.
You shuffle a little closer to Steven, keeping as much of a respectful distance as you can on the seat. You clip your hand on to his arm like a little Lego person’s, pinning him in place and making sure he’s more or less maintaining his upright position. No danger of his face colliding with anything here. Not under your watch.
The woman at the front of the bus looks judgementally at you for it. Or, maybe that’s simply her face and you are using her as an avatar for judging yourself. “I’m not robbing him or anything,” you shout-whisper in her direction. “Just want him to keep all his teeth.”
You like his teeth. They’re perfectly imperfect.
As you ponder on that thought, the bus jerks to a sudden stop, the driver leaning out of the window and shouting at some poor cyclist. And, of course, the slamming on of brakes causes Steven to jerk awake.
Oh shit. You hadn’t thought about what would happen when he woke up.
Here you are, sat right next to the bloke, in a different seat than you had been in before, on an almost empty bus. Steven’s eyes open slowly, and he looks at you in rightful confusion. “Hello.” You greet shakily, still clutching on to his jacket. Oh damn. You really hadn’t thought this all the way through, had you? “I’m not trying to rob you or anything. I just wanted you to keep all of your teeth,” you blurt hurriedly, falling back on your last coherent thought.
His eyes widen and he lifts a hand to his mouth and jaw in concern, feeling his face with his fingertips and drawing them down to look at them, as though he expects them to come away covered in blood or something. He seems exceptionally relieved that his teeth and jaw remain intact.
Fuck. You hadn’t meant to alarm the man.
“Hiya?” he says then, with a dazed, sleepy blink. And then… a slower blink. Well actually - it turns out - half a blink, since it results in him closing his eyes and not opening them again.
Yeah. Also known as sleeping.
He’s sleeping again.
So much for your lasting impression.
You sigh out a breathy laugh at your own expense and at the ridiculousness of the situation, but this time, as Steven keels over into the land of slumber, his head falls sideward, until it comes to rest softly on your shoulder. His head! On your mother-freaking shoulder!
“You sweet sleepy prince,” you chide far too fondly, thinking that perhaps, you can gently shrug him off before he settles there. However, your gentle jostling fails to rouse him, and you don’t have the heart for anything more vigorous.
Well shit. What do you do now?
Is this… okay? You know him and he doesn’t know you. Not at all. Is it okay to let someone sleep on your shoulder if they don’t know they’re doing it but you do know that they are and they don’t know that you do know them even though they don’t know you, or what?
Wow. Your gold medalist sprinting thoughts race to the worst case scenario, as they usually do, and you are practically running through your defence before the jury in your head within moments. “I wasn’t robbing him, your honour!”
Alright, you think, after a few deep, calming breaths. It’s alright. You don’t think it’s illegal to let someone who fell asleep on your shoulder continue to rest there. Possibly not even morally objectionable either. If anything, aren’t you doing him a favour? Letting him get some proper shut eye? He sure as hell seems to need it.
You gulp though. Because, oh god. What happens this time when he wakes up? Wakes up nuzzled into you? You’ve left it too long now as well. You’ve let this whole goddamn situation spiral out of control and there’s no possible way you can ever come back from this, is there?
You fix your eyes straight ahead in panic at the fact you now have a glorious Steven head parroting on your shoulder, light little puppy snores sounding from him. Snores which are so cute you feel like your heart is being crushed in a vice.
There’s only one remaining option left, you realise.
To consult the group chat.
Hastily, you retrieve your phone from out of your coat pocket, keeping one arm very still so as to not disturb the still-technically-a-stranger, thankfully able to type sufficiently well with your other hand.
“!!!!!!!! Help me!!!!! Bus crush man is asleep on my shoulder. This is not a drill! What the fuck do I do?”
Your friend Amy is first to respond. Within a second. Slow night at work, mate?
Bestie: “😂😂😂😂Couldn’t keep him awake could you you boring sod?”
Then, the pings come thick and fast.
Foz: “Bus crush man!!! 😍”
Harps: “Is that the sleepy one? …Or was that bookshop crush man?”
Bestie: “He’s *asleep* on her, what do you think? 😂😂😂. Anyway keep up, bookshop man is old news. It’s all about the curly cutie these days 👀”
You sigh. Can they get to the bit where they’re helping soon, or what?
You: “Helpful guys, thanks a lot 🙄 My expiration is imminent - are you not getting this?”
As your shoulders rise and fall with your deep sigh, contemplating how this situation is 100% terrible, actually, Steven stirs a little with the motion of you dejectedness. Suddenly terrified that he’s woken up, with a perfect view of your phone screen, you twist your head in horror to check he’s still snoozing. The last thing you need is to have to explain who “bus crush man” is to “bus crush man” himself. However, as you twist your head, the shift in position dips your nose down towards his luxurious curls, and you practically let out a moan of pleasure as you exhale your inhale. Jesus his hair smells good. Like honey. Like cinnamon. Like freesia. He smells mother fucking edible. Like some divine nectar of the gods.
You: “Oh fuck me. Full on panic stations, you lot. He smells so. Fucking. Gooooood.”
Bestie: “Fucking Perv 😂😂😂”
Harps: “Get a new emoji, Ames. You’re such a bloody milennial.”
Foz: “Wait. Explain. Are you on the bus or did you pull him?!!!?! I thought you said he’d been blanking you for weeks, babes?”
Bestie: “Keep up, bitch. On Thursday he was making eyes.”
Well this endeavour is useless. They won’t stop prattling on and you, meanwhile, inch ever closer to your doom.
You: “Cheers for the stellar advice, you absolute numbnuts (affectionate). I’ll figure it out myself, shall I?”
Bestie: “wait!”
Finally.
Bestie: “I know what you should do.”
You’re waiting.
Bestie: “send us a selfie so we can get a proper look at him 😂😂😂”
You huff out air in exasperation.
You: “Ames, I swear to god.”
Well. That was a dead end.
You love them but…
You’re the last single one of your group, and though that means they love to live vicariously through your dating adventures… it also sometimes means they are blooming useless when it counts.
You swear you can even feel your blood pressure spiking; but Steven, meanwhile, is apparently in a state of bliss. His breathing is slow and snuffly and soporific. His face is nuzzling into the crook of your neck, meaning that his soft, dense curls brush in an utterly heavenly way across the bare skin above your collar.
When that happens, sending a pleasant little shiver snaking down your spine, you perhaps look down at him a little more fondly than you should. As though he belongs there, next to you. Perhaps breathing in a little too deeply, eager to get a waft of his delicious scent again. You know you’re perhaps taking it too far, because the woman on the folding seat is giving you that very judgemental look all over again.
That’s when your next, rather horrifying thought strikes you.
Oh god! What if she wakes him up and tells him you were smelling his hair?! You think you would quite simply pass away if that was to happen.
Still, even though you didn’t know what to do at first, you are so glad you didn’t move away. You like feeling the weight of him up against you. Like his reassuring scent of cinnamon and old books. And his curls are so soft and still tickling the bare skin above your collar and… is he? Talking in his sleep? He is. Something precious and mumbly about a “beautiful dream.”
You smile softly to yourself, your heart growing three sizes.
A beautiful dream.
He deserves that, you think.
Sure, you don’t know him. Not really. But you’ve never seen him be anything but gentle. Never heard him say anything unkind. He’s never pushed his way through the crowded aisle or elbowed himself a touch more wiggle room on the busy commute. He’s never jumped the queue. He always gives up seat if somebody else needs it. He always remembers to call his mum. He never dog-ears the pages of his books. Always uses a bookmark. How could anyone like that not deserve beautiful dreams.
You know all too well what it’s like to have bad ones, and if his are good right now, you wouldn’t dare to rob him of a precious thing like that.
Now, you know you exactly what to do. You shouldn’t move him. You should let him have this sweet dream for as long as is possi-
-the bus jerks.
Fucking typical.
Steven’s eyes snap open and he looks around quickly. As if he’s trying to remember where he is after emerging from a deep state of contentment and into a sticky public bus. After skirting it around the interior of the bus, he turns his gaze to you, his eyes in soft focus still, his blinks languid. His gaze travels all over your face and he gasps in a small breath, his face lifting with the subtlest and purest of smiles.
For a moment, he looks at you as though through a veil of stars. As if you are his beautiful dream. As if he believes that he’s still dreaming when he looks at you, all wrapped up in the comforting blanket of it. Safe and warm.
That is, until a half-filled can of coke is chucked down the stairs of the bus, rolling and spluttering everywhere.
You seethe in a breath as Steven is snatched well and truly back to the waking world, harshly stolen from slumber, but slowly piecing it altogether.
“I’m so sorry. Did I?” He points cautiously at your shoulder, before wiping a trail of drool from his chin.
“You fell asleep on me.”
“I drooled on you a little bit there as well, look.”
You do look down, at a wet patch on your jacket. So he did. “Oh,” you wave a palm dismissively. “Don’t worry.” You’ve fantasied about kissing him enough that you don’t even find stranger-shoulder-drool repulsive. God, you really need a date.
He flounders for his next words for a moment, so your motor-mouth reliably pipes up to fill the gaps. “Was my conversation boring you or something?” you scoff lightly.
Steven looks mildly panicked. Apologetic. “Sorry. Were we talking?”
“No. Sorry.” You cringe. You weren’t, really. “It was a joke.” Yeah. Nice one. The best jokes are the ones you have to explain after the fact aren’t they. You’re such a fucking hoot.
Steven laughs kindly then. Blinks his dark-circled eyes at you, as if he’s still not quite sure if he’s awake.
“Heavy weekend?”
He puffs out air. Pumps his eyebrows. “Spent most of it blacked out.”
You raise your eyebrows in turn, and your lips form an “o”. You hadn’t pegged him for a warehouse rave type, or whatever other type of partying might cause him to black-out. Does he get rat-arsed on the regular?
Anyway, upon seeing your surprise at his words, it occurs to Steven that maybe that wasn’t a great thing to have said without any further context.
“I mean. Not really,” he says nervously. “That was a joke too.” You smile but you don’t laugh, contemplating the fact that you’re so desperate enamoured with him that you’d probably even go to a warehouse rave (your own personal hell) if it meant being closer to him. “I’m just tired. From the gym,” he adds.
You do laugh then, which makes the poor man look a little affronted. It’s not that he doesn’t have a “gym body” or anything like that - all sorts of bodies can be gym bodies. It’s just that he doesn’t exactly strike you as a muscle head. Besides, he seems to have his nose buried in a book so often that you simply don’t think he’d have time for repetitions of squat thrusts.
Heat finds your face when you consider him performing that motion however, and you opt to swiftly move on from any talk of the gym whatsoever - in case that leaves you deceased too.
“Well. Look at us,” you smile. “Two comedians, eh?”
A smile flickers at corners of his mouth. “Sit-down comedians…” Oh. You get it. Because you’re not doing stand-up. Your musical laugh lilts over him. “Maybe we can get that nice person over there to be out compère.” He gestures towards the cantankerous lady. “Hiya!” He waves down at her, an endearingly restrained little wave, accompanied with a cautiously bright smile.
“Cheeky sod,” she scolds, and his face drops immediately.
You take the moment to look out of the window, at the streets slipping by in a blur. You desperately try not to notice the single curl sticking up and out of place on Steven’s head as he turns to follow your gaze, because if you do you will be pummelled by his cuteness all over again, and it’s given you enough of a beating already today. “Sorry. I was just worried you’ll miss your stop. You get off by the Tesco express - is that the one?” He looks at you quizzically, and so you hastily explain. “I’ve seen you on here a few times. You’re a couple of stops before me so…”
“Oh!” He says, studying your face as though trying to place you. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognise you. From the bus.” He looks at you and blinks in confusion, like he really has never noticed you before. Maybe you were imagining it on Thursday. “Yeah. That’s me. Next to the Tesco Express.”
“We said hello the other day actually. When you had the fish?”
Ouch. Well. That one hurts. Not even a flicker of recognition in his eyes when you say that. That’s a blow to the ol’ self-esteem.
God. Maybe he’d been smiling at someone behind you and you jumped on it - like a total tool.
Regardless, though, of whether he knows you, you’ll still make sure he doesn’t miss his stop today. Just like usual.
Steven shakes his head softly in confusion. Lifting a head to scratch his crown of curls. “Sorry. It’s just… If I’d seen you, I definitely would’ve remembered you,” Steven says softly, that veil of stars over his gaze again as he studies you. Bashfully, you exhale a breath, and you wring your hands in front of you with nerves. Well, that’s a nice sentiment for sure. But, clearly it’s not the truth, is it? He did forget you. Steven looks at the floor as if in apology. “I mean. You seem completely lovely.” God, this is worse, you think. Can’t he just gloss over the fact he has zero clue who you are and move on? Still, in the next moment, he looks achingly sad, ever so suddenly. His eyes wet. “Only thing I can think is… Must have thought you were a dream.” His fave grows pinched. “A beautiful dream. Can’t always tell the difference, some of ‘em. Seem so real sometimes, don’t they?”
You nod, blinking profusely. Trying to understand what to make of all of this.
And wow. Shit. Why is there a lump in your throat, exactly? You swallow it down. It feels all scratchy. Your chest feels full of emotion.
You hate seeing him in pain. You only want to make it better.
You don’t understand everything he’s talking about - not precisely. But you do know something about that feeling. About not understanding what’s real. Not knowing the difference. You’ve been plagued by night terrors since you were a child. You always believe you’re awake when the monsters visit, however hard you try to understand they’re not really there.
You follow Steven’s gaze down to his lap, where he now nestles the battered box of chocolates.
There’s that lump in your throat again.
You know he was likely stood-up, but you don’t entirely feel like admitting you eavesdropped on his conversation, and so, you offer a prompt. He can be the one to decide how much he’d like to share with you.
“Secret admirer?”
He laughs pitifully. “Yeah. No. I don’t think so,.. more like blatant enemies at the minute, actually.” You nod your head in sympathy. Again, you’re not entirely following what he’s meaning, but the feeling of him being cut-up about it translates perfectly. “I got stood up a little bit. On a date.”
You hum in understanding, conveying your sympathies. You hold yourself back from gushing that you can’t possibly imagine - can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t jump at the chance to be with him. “Well. You know what they say. Rejection is redirection.”
He perks up a little. Offers you a soft smile. “Rejection is redirection. Yeah. I like that.”
He looks into your eyes again. Really looks at you, and then he nods his head as if he’s made his mind up about something, with utter certainty.
“Do you like chocolates? I don’t wanna waste ‘em.” Upon seeing light shock pass over your face he backpedals, just a touch. “And anyway, I’m vegan so I can’t even eat these. Properly hate food waste, so…”
“Thank you, but my mum always told me not to takes sweets from strangers.”
“Oh of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be creepy or anything. Thought it might be nice. I hate food waste so…”
“I meant…” You bump your elbow against his. “I can’t take sweets from strangers. So… maybe you’d better introduce yourself?”
His face cracks into a smile now that he understand you. That’s better. So much better, seeing him happy. “I’m Steven. Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop.”
“Nice.” You can’t stop grinning. Can you ride around on this bus forever, please? You offer your name next. Steven repeats it under his breath a few times, as if desperately trying to embed it in his core memory. And, since he provided his profession too, “I work in a library.”
“A library! That’s amazing!” His genuine, unfiltered enthusiasm makes you laugh with surprise. There’s such a purity about him. Not necessarily an innocence; but a forthright integrity that seems all to rate these days. You get the sense that although he’s soft-spoken and unassuming, he shouldn’t be underestimated. That he know what he likes, what he wants, and what he stands for. You like that about him.
“The gift shop’s always the funnest bit. What’s the best ware that you stock?”
He turns more in his seat, angling his body towards you. Your knees bump together briefly. “Well. It’s mostly plastic stuff, yeah? Which ultimately isn’t great for the fishes is it? But we do have these little pyramid paper weights. They’re quite snazzy, I think.”
“Paper weights, hmm? Is that what the pyramids were built for?” you jest. “I’d always wondered about that.”
“Actually they were used for…” Steven begins to correct, out of sheer passion and breadth of knowledge of the topic more than anything, until he clocks the wide, playful grin on your face, your hand falling on to his forearm as you shake with mirth. “It was a joke,” he realises in time, huffing out a soft laugh.
“It was a joke, Steven,” you confirm good-naturedly.
A pleasant silence falls over the two of you, and you can feel the dull warmth of his arm burning through his layers. However, just then, his stomach rumbles rather loudly. “Sorry. Still a bit hungry, and I really didn’t want to eat these chocolates if I can help it. Already had a steak today - so I haven’t been too kind to the cows.”
“Oh here…” you rifle briefly in your handbag, for your leftover half-pack of Doritos. You unfurl the packet and offer the mouth to him. “Would you like a mini pyramid? I think these are vegan.” His soft yet chaotic laugh, and the way his eyes crinkle at your lame joke, has to be the most beautiful thing in the world, you think. “Or… what did your caregivers tell you about taking snacks from strangers?”
“Well,” he says softly, looking up at you from beneath his lashes in a way that makes you feel like you’re spinning. “We’re not strangers anymore, are we?”
“No,” you breathe, voice far too husky as Steven blinks bashfully at you. “I guess we’re not.”
There is a gentle heat eddying in between you, you think, but then, despite every effort to stifle it, you’re sure, Steven fractures it with a sudden yawn.
“Am I keeping you up?” you joke, certainly not blaming the poor man.
“Sorry. It’s not you. Definitely not you. I’m just so knackered.”
Yes. You’d picked up on that as a theme from his life.
“Do you want to get some more shut eye? You can lean on me again if you like,” you offer. “I really wouldn’t mind if you did.” Really. No lie.
Steven looks mistily down towards your shoulder, as if that sounds rather appealing. “That sounds lovely. But… I don’t want to go to sleep.” You furrow your brows in light confusion. That sounds a little counterintuitive. “Don’t want to forget you,” he admits. “Don’t want to confuse you for a dream.”
You smile at him. A little too fondly. God, you’re plummeting for this man. Fast. “You’ll know I’m real, dafty.”
“How?” His eyes go big and round and soft, searching yours in earnest as though you hold all the secrets he’s been searching for answers to.
“‘Cause you’ll see me when you wake up, won’t you?”
It’s that simple. Really. But it causes Steven to deliver a happy but bewildered smile. “That would be nice.” He flusters. “Really nice, that.” He glances down at your lips, his gaze a little heavy. With desire this time? Maybe?
Wait.
Hang on a minute.
Does he like you?
You really hope he likes you. You try to turn the flirtation up a notch to test the waters. Try to push things a little in that direction, if he’s willing. Turns out, you barely even have to try to inject flirtation into your voice at this point. Your desire has sunk into your middle and your voice has sunk with it, becoming a deeper, husky thing. “Or… if you really do want to stay awake. I… I think I can find some way to keep you up?” You quirk an eyebrow at him. Wait with bated breath for his reaction.
He gulps. You see it trail down his throat. You see a deeper colour flush his brown skin, heat crawling up his neck, even as he nods with vehement agreement at the prospect. “Yeah? You reckon?”
“Mmm.” You smile saucily, hoping he likes this new direction. You think that he does. He looks like he’s going to blow a gasket… or something.
“That would be…” His gaze drops to your lips again. “Really nice.” He makes a strangled sound in his throat. You see his hand shift, as though he almost moves to place it on your thigh and then thinks better of it - much to your dismay. “Do you like puzzles?” he blurts then, in a higher-pitched, rather choked-out voice.
Gosh. He’s cute when he’s nervous too. Maybe you’ll make him nervous later -in a good way. If he wants you to.
“What? Like Wordle?” His curveball takes you by surprise. Unless a puzzle is some new sex fad you know nothing about because it’s been so long since you last did it with anyone. Entirely plausible.
“What’s wordle?”
“Oh my god. Steven. Are you living under a rock?”
He pulls on his collar. Pops the top button open. “You probably don’t want to see where I’m living.” Another gulp. “There’s a lot of sand. I’ve got some sand issues at the minute, so it’s not the best time for visitors.”
You lick your lips, an unintentional drag of your tongue along your lower lip, and the gesture seems to drive Steven wild. He makes another strangled little noise. Something like a creak. Like he’s straining under the weight of his own desire, his chin jutting a little closer, closing a little of the gap between you.
“Shit,” you realise when it’s too late. When you’ve already whizzed by the Tesco. “Steven, we missed your stop.”
You failed him.
He follows your gaze out of the window. “Bollocks. And it’s pissing it down now as well. Next stop isn’t for ages.”
You bite your lip, hastily forming a plan. “Do you… Um. Would you… want to come back to mine until the rain stops? I can show you what wordle is. Make you some coffee?” You gesture down to his lap. “Help you finish those chocolates?” How many reasons can you give to tempt him? “And… Um. I don’t have any sand problems at my place. Not one.” You smack your lips together.
“I dunno. Do you…” he takes a huge breath. You wait on tenterhooks for his question. “Do you have any oat milk?”
Is that his dealbreaker?
He seems uncertain. Nervous. And so, you have a flash of concern. You don’t want to pressure him. Not at all. Not in the slightest. “You don’t have to. Obviously. I just thought it might be nice.”
Steven bravely reaches his arm out then. His fingertips brushing along the sleeve of your forearm, so gingerly that it makes your eyes flood with unexpected tears. “I think that would be perfect, actually.” He looks quite sure now that he would like that.
Meanwhile, you are transfixed with him, with his hand sweeping along you. It causes a hot flush of your skin. A prickle of sweat under your coat.
“It’s late though,” he asks softly. “Won’t I be keeping you up?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m a bit of an insomniac. Steven blinks at you then, as though you’ve just said something of deep significance. You wave your hand in the air. “It’s a whole thing. Night terrors. Sleepwalking. I just need somebody to tie me down to the bed, I think.”
Oh god. It’s an offhand comment you’ve used 100 times before as shorthand for your sleeping challenges. A way to play it off lightly - not invite too many questions. But when Steven almost combusts -a vein popping beneath his eye and one in his forehead- you realise what you’ve just said, and with him, the words seem to hold a different meaning.
Did you really just say that?
Did you actually just say that?
You need someone to tie you down to the bed?
Steven laughs nervously, but his eyes are unblinking now. He seems fully awake. Fully invested. “Was that a joke as well?”
Alright. Fine. You’ll risk it.
You toss him a subtle wink. “Only if you want it to be.”
He makes an unintelligible, stuttered noise.
Ding.
Hurriedly, you reach out to press the bell. It wouldn’t do to miss your stop as well.
“Really, Steven.” You reassure firmly as the bus swings around the mini roundabout. “You don’t have to come back with me. Or, if you just want a cuppa while you wait for the rain to stop you can do that. Whatever you feel comfortable with. Alright?”
His face twists. “It sounds very lovely. I… I want to. I just… Sometimes I lose track of time. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.” He looks out at the pelting rain, as if to point out it looks like there’s no quick end in sight. That he might be at your place for hours.
“Well.” A hard swallow trails down your throat. “That’s okay by me. You can stay all night if you like.” A sudden heat burns in your cheeks when you hear your words out loud. You hadn’t meant it like that, not really. You’d just meant he can stay as long as he likes.
Even so…
You can’t say you would be opposed.
“Okay,” he nods, a cautious smile tipping his full lips. “Yeah. Grand. Thank you.”
“Okay?” You ask again, out of surprise that he’d be interested in spending longer in your company, more than anything. But then, you remember. That Steven seems like a man who knows what he wants.
He nods again. You feel positively giddy.
You continue to feel giddy as the bus drops you off, and you hastily put your umbrella up. Steven shuffles closer to you, upon being invited, to fit beneath it and shelter from the rain, and this action places your face pleasantly close to his.
He looks at you again. Like you’re a dream, and you hope that you’ve finally managed to make a lasting impression.
You let out an awkward laugh, as everything in you screams out. You’re close enough to kiss, if you wanted. If he wanted.
Steven is wordless, his lips curved softly upwards. His eyes soft as he engages in a gentle study of you. And wow. Given that you were talking about being tied to a bed only moments ago - a bolder topic - his sheer proximity is making you infeasibly shy.
“I’m just down this street here,” you gesture, and Steven nods softly.
“Okay.”
You smile back.
“Can I…” His voice is even smaller than usual. You have to lean closer again to hear him. “Can I hold your hand?”
Your face splits into a huge smile at the sweetness of him, a surge of happiness rushing in your chest. “Yes,” you answer quickly, voice all breath. And so, you turn to walk side by side, huddling close to stay beneath the canopy of the umbrella, and Steven slots his hand into yours.
His palm fits yours so well, his hand broad and pleasantly warm. You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach. You never want to let him go.
“That feels really nice.” Steven gushes, even sounding a little emotional about it. Maybe he’s been alone as long as you have, wishing for someone to hold.
“It does, doesn’t it?” you agree. You might even be a little emotional too.
“You’re so lovely,” Steven praises, then immediately thinks better of it. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Steven. You can compliment me if you like.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think you’re lovely too.”
He tugs ever so gently on your hand, and draws you to a stop, the two of you coming face to face again, rain thundering down on the pavement all around you and bouncing up on to your shoes. “I think you’re really pretty,” he gushes earnestly. “Like a beautiful dream.”
“Can I kiss you, Steven?”
He nods. “Please.”
When your lips press to his cheek, for a sweet, chaste kiss, you certainly do feel like this is the stuff that dreams are made of.
The next day
You: Amy.
You: Amy?!!!
You: Are you awake?
Bestie: (….)
You see that she’s finally typing and you fire off your message at record speed.
You: Bus crush man spent the night 😱😱😱😱
Bestie: 🤯 I stg I just spat my coffee all over the cat. Babe!!! Tell me everything. How was it?
You: *melts into puddle*
Bestie: 😍 Deets. More.
You: We talked basically all night. Really talked. And then… this morning we… you know.
Bestie: I can *see* you wiggling your eyebrows right now. You mean you bonked? 👀
You: I can’t believe I’m about to say this but we basically made love, Ames. It was… it was just. Perfect.
Bestie: baby girl 🥺🥺🥺 I’m so happy for you! And your vagina! 🎉
You: 😂
You: Ames. I’m a bit scared though, tbh. I haven’t felt this amazing in a long time. Am I being a major idiot? I think… I think he felt the same way too.
Bestie: I’m sure he did, you’re a catch bbz. Have you spoken to him since?
You: He’s been at work all day. But he should be finished now. He gets on my bus at the next stop. Shit he’s there. My heart has left my body I’ve gtg - I’ll ttyl ok? Love you x x
Bestie: Love you. Come round for goss. Stat!
You watch Steven preparing to board the bus with your heart in your mouth. Before settling your phone in your pocket, you fire off one final message to her.
You: I think this might be it Ames. I really think this might be my person.
Bestie: 😍😍😍😍 He’d be a lucky man to have you, hun.
You are physically shaking with pleasant nerves as Steven boards, and you’re already smiling fondly. The process is a hell of a lot smoother than it was yesterday - no comedy routines. He’s standing taller too. Looking more confident. You hope that has something to do with you, and what you got up to last night.
He walks up the aisle, and settles himself in a spot next to you. “Hi,” you smile giddily, the breath all but punched out of your lungs. Your cheeks straining against the sheer force of your smile. He’s so handsome.
“I’m sorry,” he says robustly, a confused divot notching in his brow. “Have we met?”
You bat his arm playfully with the back of your hand. “Haha.” You deadpan. “Very funny Steven. You’re such a comedian.”
He looks at you blankly. “I’m sorry. You must have the wrong guy.”
You blink in confusion when his eyes fail to soften upon greeting you. When he fails to drop whatever bit he’s doing. You frown, shocked by how fast the tears ball into your lashes. “Steven? This isn’t funny.” Why do you suddenly feel sick?
You tug on his sleeve ,but Steven pulls his arm from out of your grasp, taking a step back. “Really. You seem swell, but I’m sorry. I’m not your guy.”
He’s not your guy.
You swallow, but the lump in your throat stays there. You look at him through a haze of tears, which you battle to quell. He isn’t is he? He’s not your guy. Maybe he was never destined to be, for this person in front of you now seems like a different man entirely. His whole manner different.
Where has the warmth gone, which he showed you last night? Where is that man?
The man of your dreams?
You look at him pleadingly, and still nothing.
Is this one of your night terrors? For this is the only plausible way the man before you now could possibly exist, isn’t it? A cruel monster capable of dismissing you so readily, after all the ways your opened your heart and your body up to him mere hours ago.
“Steven,” you whisper, in one last ditch attempt, but your plea is ineffectual. He reaches his arm out to you, but this time it is you who steps away, not wishing for his duplicitous hands to touch you again.
What a coward. What a bastard. Of all the cruel ways to fob you off, this is what he’s chosen? He had got what he wanted from you, hadn’t he? Taken it. Pretended to be who you needed just to get into your knickers, and now…
Well now, you don’t even recognise the man before you.
With tears now cascading down your face, you elbow your way towards the front of the bus, dinging the bell repeatedly and pleading at the driver to pull over as fast as possible. “Stop the bus. Stop the bus. Please. I need to get off. I need to get off!”
You feel humiliated. Used.
You spill out on to the pavement, and your feet carry you to the nearest wall, where you lean up against it. You’d sob your heart out, but he’s already stolen it. Already crushed it.
You hope you never have to look at him again.
You’d had one night together.
One which had seemed blissful and magical, at the time. At least for you. But, clearly, with Steven, that hadn’t been the case.
Clearly, you’d failed to make any sort of lasting impresion.
Wednesday
Steven wakes up in his bed to the sound of his alarm.
He awakes with a start, as always. Flashes of this and that come back to him, but one image stands out to him in stark relief.
A face. A lovely, pretty face.
He’d just had the most beautiful dream of his life.
A dream that has seemed so real, that he even looks for you as he proceeds with his day. Looks for you on his bus route home. Scours the faces of the passengers, searching for yours.
He doesn’t find you.
He doesn’t find you, so he can only conclude that you never were real at all, and of all the things Steven has come to doubt, this has to be the most painful thing of all.
“Just a beautiful, perfect dream,” he mouths sadly to himself as he alights the bus one or two stops too late. He’d fallen asleep again.
When he steps off, he looks around. He doesn’t think he’s been there before, but that street off to the left looks awfully familiar.
He looks down at his hand then. At his palm, as though it’s suddenly cold and empty; but then he shakes his head.
“A beautiful dream,” he mouths again, and he wanders home alone.
He’d give anything to see your face one more time.
Steven: "No, That's not true, Lo-"
Marc: And if I may just take your breath away
I don't mind if there's not much to say
Sometimes the silence guides a mind
To move to a place so far away
The goosebumps start to raise
The minute that my left hand meets your waist
And then I watch your face
Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love to taste, yeah
⋆ The whole thing started the night Steven came over after an extra shift-- to see you peeling off a transparent mask that stuck to your skin. Naturally, It didn't look like a face mask, but instead more like an actual layer of skin.
⋆ Obviously Steven isn't dumb enough to think that it's actually your skin…
"Does this brand of mask hurt when you're removing it?"
Unless….
⋆ ..Unless you've seen countless trends of people playfully gaslighting their boyfriends about 'shedding' after periods. And obviously, this was too good of an opportunity to give up.
⋆ "What mask?"
"Th-? The one you're taking off right now, love."
"Steven… that's not a mask.."
"Wh-"
"It's skin! I'm doing my monthly shedding."
⋆ Oh the confusion in his face was palpable. At first it was like, 'You're joking, right?' kind of bewilderment, denoted by the dopey smile on his face while his brows knitted in confusion.
⋆ but that declined into actual confusion and surprise when he noticed your expressions didn't have any sign of goofing off. Only you were aware of the struggle of holding it together.
⋆ "Girls don't.. shed.. do they?"
"They do, Steven."
⋆ You could almost feel bad for him. But your reassurance kinda made him back off for a bit and retreat back into the bedroom. You were disappointed that he didn't have a crazy reaction.
⋆ But boy were you in for a treat when you came back to the bedroom. Of course, Steven, was obsessively scrolling through his phone, eyes concentrated on the headlines but as soon as he noticed you step in..
⋆ "Doesn't say anythin’ about shedding, does it? No."
He sooo proudly showed off the phone screen to you, but you already saw this coming. You knew Steven like the back of your hand, of course he was going to try sass you.
⋆ "Yeah.. that's because it's a secret. We don't really say it to all men. Because of like.. the salem witch trials. Imagine if everyone found out that women can shed skin like a snake."
⋆ He was going to call it ridiculous, but you somehow made sense, in a very, very odd way. But That didn't mean he was completely going to trust you on this yet, even if he loved you to the end of the world.
⋆ "But what about the men that know? Like.. me."
⋆ "Think about it Steven, I wouldn't be making this so obvious if I didn't trust you enough to hold this huge secret." (that was the first truth in a bed of lies, you did trust Steven with alot of things)
⋆ The best part was that you can see his brain short-circuiting. Steven is one of the most smartest people you know, so seeing such moments is very very special
⋆ Now the thing is, practically, he has small social circle, Which means the people he can ask this to is also minute. Obviously he cant ask this to Donna!
⋆ He's tried Marc but Marc is kinda gullible, the moment he broke this to him, Marc believed it because it wouldn't make sense why you'd lie?
⋆ Surely Jake can help! He's been involved with many women before, right? That's what he claimed. Anyways, Jake admits that it's true. Because god forbid Jake loses a chance to fuck with Steven
⋆ Layla came around the other day, and his mistake was asking her right infront of you. All you had to do was to show Layla the 'look' behind Steven's back, and she caught on easily
⋆ "You told him?" Layla said, just as Steven noticed that she was looking at you
⋆ but that was the nail in the coffin; Steven actually believed that women shed their skin
⋆ It was a quiet month after that incident, that even you forgot about it; until you got your period again and by the end of the week, he actually showed up with moisturizers and sweets because "It looked like it hurt to peel a layer of yourself off" :(
⋆ Steven, your sweet summer child, had bought you care products because he actually believed what you said
⋆ Obviously after that, you let him in on the actual secret that it was just a transparent mask sheet and his immediate reaction was rejoicing that he was right
"I wasn't going crazy then!! Women don't shed!!"
⋆ The absurdity of that sentence was just amazing, that you couldn't help but laugh and subsequently, it makes him laugh too
⋆ Ending the night (and this horrendous lie) by sharing the chocolate Steven bought and talking about it together is most definitely a welcome conclusion <33
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Summary: You and dad!Santiago might disagree on the details of how you’d met, but as you tell your son the story, the same happy ending emerges.
Contents: fluff, protective Santiago (nothing graphic, but he does save reader from a potentially bad situation), fem!reader
Based on a hilarious ask about Santiago exaggerating how he met his wife. This came out more sentimental than I intended, but I had to roll w/ it b/c apparently turning men into simps is my vibe lately. I’d said in Santiago, Baby, that reader and Santi had met at a bar (and Frankie had gotten hammered) so I had to get that bit in here.
-----
Santiago likes to spend an hour or two before bed working on the new baby’s room.
Your midsection’s starting to grow bigger. You seem to need about ten hours of rest to function. Luckily, you’re sleeping like the dead so Santiago can use his finishing nailer to install the last of the trim on the windows.
He runs his hand over the smooth, unfinished wood. Catfish is a better handyman, but Santiago’s work is meticulous.
After so many years of not having one place to call home, he can’t even put into words what it means. You asleep across the hall, in the bed you share with him, growing and protecting the second baby you’d made together.
Your legs tangled in sheets that he’d washed himself and put back on the bed. So tight you could bounce a quarter off of them. You undo the whole thing five minutes after you fall asleep.
Never fails to make him smile.
Santiago washes up in the hall bathroom then carefully checks on his son.
Some nights he just stands there for 15 minutes, watching him breathe. Runs a hand over his dark, soft hair. It’s getting longer and Santiago is more than a little proud that it’s going to be curly.
Tonight, though, Santiago frowns as he pops his head into the baby’s room. He’s standing up in his crib, legs pumping up and down, little fists curled around the top bar. Like he’s waiting impatiently at a bus stop.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Santiago says, lifting the toddler out of the crib. “Holy shit, you’re heavy. Did you grow in the last hour?”
Santiago kisses his son’s head and sits down in the glider next to the crib. It reminds him that you want to take the bars off and get him used to sleeping in his big boy bed. Santi’s dragging his heels, hating to see his baby boy grow up so fast.
The baby fishes out the chain from around Santiago’s neck, nonsense words bubbling out of his lips.
“That’s from your grandma. Saint James,” Santiago tells him, “patron saint of laborers. Also, lost souls. Which, I used to be. Before I met your mom.”
The baby puts the silver medal in his mouth. Doesn’t like the taste and goes back to playing with it, his mouth still pursed and eyes scrunched up.
Santiago laughs. “That face, right there. That’s your mom. Hundred percent. She made that face at me the night we met.”
The baby blinks up at his dad.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell you about it,” Santiago says. “No surprise, but I’m kind of the hero of the story. Here we go:
After Columbia, Delta stuck together. No more going off separate ways.
BBQs on weekends, open invitations for dinner or lunch. And I was crashing with your Uncle Francisco and his family until I figured out what to do with the rest of my life.
I wasn’t much of a catch.
Sure, I was charming and good-looking, you know me. But inside… I don’t know. I didn’t feel like I had anything to give anyone. Not the way a woman like your mother would deserve.
She’s perfect. I don’t have to tell you that.
And she looked particularly amazing the first time I saw her. Black shirt, short skirt, sneakers, hair all shiny and pretty. Anyway.
Crowded Friday night, but she came alone to one of our local bars. Takes confidence to do that.
I bumped into her on accident. I said, ‘sorry, ma’am.’
She hit me with the, ‘are you fucking kidding me? You have that much gray hair, and you’re calling me ma’am?’
And she made a face, just like you did when you tasted something nasty. Only I was the thing that gave her a bad taste. It wasn’t nice. Your mother’s disrespectful sometimes.
So I- oh, hey, honey, did we wake you up?”
You give him a dry smile, leaning against the door frame. “My sixth sense for your bullshit woke me up, Santiago. Telling our son some made up nonsense about how we met?”
Santiago licks his lips, grinning. “We don’t fight in front of the kids, remember?”
You point to your stomach. “Well this one’s literally attached to me, so I guess now we do.”
You smile at your son, who holds out his arms to you. Santiago swaps so you can sit in the chair with him.
Santi winces as he sits on the ground. “So anyway-“
“No, no, no, I’ll take it from here,” you say. You look at your son. “Your dad was in full-on old grump mode that night.”
“Ay, that’s rude,” Santiago says.
“You’re literally doing it right now,” you point out.
He shuts up.
“If anyone was rude, it was your dad,” you tell your son, who’s looking up at you with half of his hand in his mouth. “He looked me up and down in that way he has.”
“Dada,” your son says with a smile.
“Exactly,” you say. “You know what your uncles call that look? The Garcia Special. As in, Santiago Garcia is looking straight through your clothes, at all your special parts.
By the way, your father will NOT be teaching you that skill. If I ever see you look at someone like that, you better be marrying them.
So he grins at me and says, ‘let me buy you a round.’
I say, ‘that’s only fair, since you made me spill my first one.’
But he’s kind of cute, your dad. Scruffy and tan.
I’ve always had a thing for cocky insecurity. And I’d always dreamed of having babies just like you and the little sibling I’m baking for you.
Your dad goes and tells your uncles that he’s peeling off to talk to me. Then, we sit down in a corner booth and your dad is, how do I say this nicely?”
You look down at Santiago.
“I was so off my game,” Santi shakes his head, still disappointed in himself. “I went from thinking I was getting drunk with the boys to blow off steam, to meeting the literal woman of my dreams. I couldn’t cope. I admit it.
I think I talked about baseball for fifteen minutes while your mom stared at me like I was a blank wall.
I wasn’t surprised when she made her excuses to leave. I asked for her number. She turned me down. I’ll never forgive her for that,” he says jokingly.
Santiago reaches up and rubs his hand over your thigh. “I told her I hoped I’d see her again.”
You take a long breath. “And I walked out into the fresh air, barely awake. Your dad talked about baseball teams from the 1980s for forty-five minutes. Unbearable. He was so hot. But so boring.”
“I was nervous,” Santi laughs.
“I didn’t know that then,” you laugh back at him. “I thought, there’s really something special about that guy. Shame about his personality. But, and this is important, I still kind of hoped I’d run into him again. You okay, hun?”
You look down to where Santiago shifts on the floor.
“Your knees?” You ask.
“No, knees are fine, baby. I know it was my idea to tell this story, but maybe we don’t have to say the next part.” He looks down at his hands.
“Dada,” your toddler says helpfully.
You reach down and rub Santi’s shoulder. “But it’s the part where you’re my hero. It has a happy ending.”
He rubs his chin, his jaw tight. “Let’s just say this, kid. I went outside to see if your mom would give me a second chance. She was walking through the parking lot. It’s dark. It’s night. Some men think it’s okay to walk up to a woman in a situation like that. Some men think it’s okay to grab a woman’s arm when she says no. So, some men get the shit beaten out of them by your father.”
Santiago flexes his hand, like he has to shake off the memory.
“We don’t like violence,” you say to your son.
“But we don’t let people put hands on your mom. We can make those people disappear,” Santiago smiles and your son smiles back a little too happily.
“You two are peas in a ridiculously handsome pod.” You shake your head. “Anyway, your Uncle Will was outside having a sm- um, looking at the stars, and he and your dad brought me back inside so I didn’t have to walk home alone. Your Uncle Will, by the way, didn’t intervene at all.”
“He knew I had it handled,” Santi says. “He also knows that women are suckers for guys covered in blood. So, your mom gave me that second chance after all. It went way better. She stuck to me all night. All over me. Completely in love, begging me to marry her and live with her and put a baby in her.”
“Mama,” the baby frowns up at you.
“What? Don’t give me that judge-y face,” you say to him. “It didn’t go exactly like that, but yeah, I maybe was a little bit in love once your dad loosened up. And your uncles kept telling these stories about what a hero your dad has always been.
How he helped his sister foster kittens when they were little. Dragged Uncle Frank fifty meters out of live fire, while he was shot himself.
How he could charm women with a single glance, but they’d never seen him have a one night stand. A fact I’m still not sure I believe.”
Santiago shrugs. “It’s true. I can’t be with someone I don’t have feelings for.” He sighs, “which makes the next part of the story a real fucking shame.”
“Dada,” your son says loudly.
“Sorry, I know. I’ll clean it up, bud,” Santi says. “So, your mom didn’t know your Uncle Fish is a lightweight. She got in a drinking contest with him. The Miller brothers are already off into the night and it’s just me, your mom, and your Uncle Frank, who at this point, can’t walk. I know I have to take him home. It’s the right thing to do.
But me and your mom, we have chemistry. Like, I’m already picturing you and your little sister.“
“Whoa, wait. You think this baby’s a girl?” You ask him, pointing to your stomach.
Santiago nods once, firmly. “Definitely. The Garcia Special isn’t just for seeing under clothes.”
You swear you feel the faintest movement from the baby.
“I think he’s asleep,” you say to Santiago, laying a hand softly on your son’s head.
Santiago gets up, knees cracking slightly. He gingerly takes the baby out of your arms and sets him back in the crib.
You wait by the door. Santi grabs your hand on the way out, holding it even though your bedroom’s only two doors down.
He folds back the covers for you and after you lay down, covers you back up. You roll over so you can watch him get ready for bed in his black boxer briefs. He smiles as takes off his watch and sets it on the nightstand.
“What?” He says with a smile. “You thinking about how I forgot to get your number and it was almost 3 weeks before we ran into each other again?”
You nod. “How we kept missing each other by like, an hour at that bar, even though we were desperate to see each other.”
Santiago slips into bed and puts his arms around you, pulling you in close to his warmth. He kisses your head.
“When I think about what would’ve happened if-“
“But it didn’t.” You say, knowing how his anxiety can flare up when he thinks of all the ways his life could’ve gone bad. “My hero.”
You take his hand and put it over your stomach.
“Think we’re ready for another one?” You ask with a smile.
“We have to be,” he says seriously. “Especially if we want more. Enough to make a team that might rival the A’s in the 80s. That team-“
You cover his mouth with your hand. “Please no historic baseball facts. I can’t leave you anymore. You baby trapped me,” you joke.
Santiago kisses your palm where it covers his lips, then moves it aside. “For the record, I wasn’t using the Garcia Special to look under your clothes that night.”
You roll your eyes, “uh-huh. Sure.”
He leans in and kisses you slowly, deeply. The kind of kiss that makes your entire body tingle, right down to your feet, which you wrap around his calves to try and pull him even closer. He hums over your lips, his hands wandering under your sleep shirt.
“I was using it,” he says between kisses, “because I fell in love with you the second I saw you. I was trying to see if you felt it too.”
You lean back so you can look in his dark eyes. “I felt it. But you make decisions faster than me. It took me like, another hour before I fell in love with you back.”
He smiles softly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “See? This is why we’re such a good team. You keep me honest. I’m decisive enough to decide what we have for dinner.”
You groan. “Is it weird that I’m so attracted to the fact that I don’t have to decide what we eat?”
“Nothing is weird if it means you’re into me,” he kisses you quickly, pulling your shirt back down in place. He probably notices your eyelids drooping. “I love you, baby.”
You hum something that means you feel the same way, already mostly asleep.
Santiago holds you for a few minutes, until he feels your weight go completely relaxed, feels you breathing evenly, deeply.
He slips out of bed and goes back to the new baby’s room to do a little more work. Pictures holding his little girl. Telling her how he’d never felt like a hero until the night he met you. The woman who’d changed his life, who’d stopped his running and hiding, who’d given him hope.
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