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deathbecomesnerds · 2 years

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“The Missing Gentleman” | Chapter One

After Raymond Smith goes missing, Charlie Waldo is called to the case and flown to England by a mysterious Michael Pearson who is desperate to find his friend/consigliere. But things aren’t all what they appear to be.

A/N: The Gentlemen/Last Looks crossover

((GIF BY @boydswan))

It was a dark and stormy night in London, even the cab driver was having trouble seeing through the window when he finally pulled up to the brick manor and sighed with relief to know his chaotic ride was over. He paid the man and couldn’t help but feel sorry for him as he drove off.

Charlie Waldo adjusted his hat as he stood on the porch, glancing around to observe his surroundings and noted to himself that this seemed like every noir detective movie he had ever seen as a kid growing up. He turned to face the door and rang the doorbell, waiting patiently for someone to answer it.

The door opened almost immediately, and there stood in front of him, a broad, tan man who was sharply dressed and had a welcoming smile.

“Detective Waldo?” he asked.

“Just Waldo is fine…” Charlie responded.

The man nodded, inviting him in which Charlie immediately walked into. The house was warm, and the foyer was painted Tiffany’s Blue with minimal furniture, off in the distance music could be heard playing and Charlie couldn’t help but be slightly impressed.

The man shook Charlie’s hand after he closed the door “I’m Michael Pearson, but you can call me Mickey.” he introduced himself.

Charlie smiled as he shook his hand, “Charlie Waldo.”

“Yes, yes. You were highly recommended by my contacts in the states.” Mickey said, his southern twang becoming obvious the more he spoke.

Charlie nodded, “I understand that this is a missing persons case?”

Mickey nodded as he escorted Charlie further into the house “Yes, my friend is missing, and I would like an extra set of eyes on the case.”

The two men walked into the living room area where a tall, thin, brunette woman sat on the couch with a glass of scotch in her hand. She looked at Charlie and her frown immediately worsened as her brow furrowed.

“This is the detective your friends recommended?” she hissed.

Charlie didn’t take it personally, his grungy appearance wasn’t for the faint of heart, and after he grew out his beard again, he looked as though he could pass as a homeless person in Los Angeles.

Mickey frowned at her, “This is my wife, Rosalind. Honey, this is Charlie Waldo. He came all the way from L.A to help us.” he retorted.

Ros hummed, standing up to extend her hand out which Charlie shook before glancing around the elegantly styled room. The aesthetic did not appear to align with the couple that he had just met, he cleared his throat while continuing to examine the room before his eyes fell upon a wedding photo of a couple that was not Mickey nor his wife.

“Is this your home?” Charlie asked.

Mickey shook his head while he put his hands in his pockets “No, this is our friend's house. His wife is upstairs, and we refuse to let her be here alone.”

“And where is she?” Charlie turned to look at Mickey.

“She’s retreated to her bedroom. She honestly hasn’t left her bed since Ray went missing. The poor girl is absolutely broken.” Ros chimed in, Charlie could see the obvious pain in Ros’s eyes as she spoke of their friend's wife.

Charlie took another gander of the living room and open dining room. He saw children’s toys lying in a pile by the fireplace and he glanced back at Mickey and Rosalind “Are there children in the house?” he asked.

“Usually. Yes. But since Astrid hasn’t gotten out of bed in nearly two weeks, we had Astrid’s father take their son, Enniss.” Rosalind explained while Charlie looked around the room to see various pictures of the family. At first glance, they seemed happy, well adjusted…Charlie was almost envious of them before he looked back at the couple.

“Astrid?” Charlie verified.

Mickey nodded “Yes, Astrid Smith. Her husband is Raymond…we can try to get her out of bed, I know she at least needs to shower and eat.” he said.

Charlie smiled softly, “I don’t want you guys to push her.”

“Will you take the case at least?” Mickey asked, “It would seem rather redundant for you to come all the way here just to tell us ‘no’.”

Charlie smirked at Mickey, “I’ve done far pettier things just to say ‘no’.” he claimed.

Mickey let a smile out, taking his hands out of his pockets as he approached Charlie, “Mr. Waldo, I miss my friend. And the police, they barely looked into it before determining that he ‘ran away’, and I don’t accept that answer. Please help us. Me. Astrid.”

Charlie nodded, “I’ll do all I can to help,” he assured Mickey.

“Wonderful!” Mickey’s smile grew brighter, “I’m sure you’re exhausted from the trip, I can have one of my guys take you to your hotel.”

Charlie just stood in place with a smile while Mickey called out for ‘Bunny’, and Charlie did not expect the brute that approached him with a friendly smile and extended his hand towards the foyer where Charlie nodded politely, bid adieu to Mickey and Rosalind, and left with Bunny in tow.

The hotel suite was swanky, Mickey had insisted that he pay since Charlie had covered the rather expensive plane ride, and this trip was indefinite. Lorena is gonna kill me. Charlie thought as he laid in the comfiest bed he had ever laid on while nonchalantly snuggling with a pillow as he went through the case file that Mickey managed to get for him.

The disappearance of Raymond [Redacted] aka Smith seemed like an open and shut case on the surface, but Charlie felt that there was something more to it all as he looked at the photos of Ray’s 2018 Jeep Wrangler that was found deserted on the side of a country road a week ago. Unfortunately, the fatigue that was plaguing his body was proving too much for him as he put the file on his night table and kicked his shoes off to get even more comfortable in bed.

Charlie Waldo tucked himself into bed and turned off the lamp next to him and laid in the dark while the storm outside raged on. He thought about everything that guided him to that exact moment before he realized: I’m too tired to give a shit right now.

#the gentlemen #last looks #charlie waldo #raymond smith #charlie hunnam

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hotdamnhunnam · 2 years

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Congratulations on 2.5k followers!🎉🥳

now for the question:

Are you planning on seeing Last Looks? If so, would share your thoughts afterwards? I'm asking because it's something new with Charlie. (And according to the internet it's not releasing in my country and I'm sort of annoyed about it😔, but that's whole another discussion)

Have a nice day!

Thank you!! I’ve missed seeing my dear anons around here so thanks for sending in a q 😘

Oh I am FO SHO planning to see Last Looks!!! I’d be happy to share my thots afterwards too. The full movie isn’t yet available here so I’ve only seen clips/caps/gifs so far but Charlie looks so fucking good as a hobo (and then as a babyfaced bobo) asjdgalfjdhksh I’m SHOOK 🤯

I’m so sorry to hear that it won’t be releasing in your country!! I really hope something will work out for you to be able to see 🙏🏼 For now here’re some gifs of Sir Charlie Waldo (yes his character’s first name is Charlie!) looking deliciously lovely 😍

GIFs by boydswan

#charlie hunnam #charlie waldo #last looks #2.5k followers celebration

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cinebration · 3 years

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Written in DNA (Booker x Reader) [Part 11]

Booker and the immortals implement your plan to capture Quynh.

Tagged: @lucy-sky, @city-of-weird, @all-the-right-regrets, @alannister-always-pays-her-debts, @fleetwoodsmacabitch

Warnings: none

Gif Source: boydswan

Booker thrummed with tension as he drove back to the airfield. Waves of pain pounded in his skull, his neck and upper back a riot of knots. He glanced up in the rearview mirror, his hands clutching the steering wheel.

You and Andy sat in the backseat. Andy brooded, her face haunted. You sat unnaturally still, scanning the surrounding the area with just your eyes as Booker approached the tarmac.

It should work, the plan. Booker told himself as much, but he didn’t truly believe it. Maybe it was the migraine or the brutal streak of bad luck he was accustomed to, but he didn’t feel right, like an axe hung over his head, waiting to drop. He recalled the sound of the guillotines, the swish-thunk of the blade and the softer thud of a head falling off a body.

Focus, he snarled at himself, guiding the car down the stretch that led to the FBO hanger.

Early morning light had begun to crest the horizon, but the dark still reigned over the airfield. Booker slipped the car between pools of light cast by runway lights and eased to a stop in front of the hanger.

You were already out, dragging Andy along beside you, before he took his hands off the steering wheel. He scrambled out after you, struggling a moment with his seatbelt.

“I’ve brought her,” you shouted into the dark, your voice echoing in the hanger. “Now what?”

Quynh materialized out of a shadow in the hanger, striding forward with a hungry look on her face, eyes sharp even in the semi-dark. Booker stopped a few feet to your left, the gun in his waistband pressing hard against his lower back.

“Quynh,” Andy breathed. The surprise in her voice was genuine, the grief in it heart-wrenching.

“Andromache,” Quynh purred. “How nice to see you again in the flesh.”

Andy pulled against you, but you held her firmly in place. Her hands were bound loosely behind her back, giving her enough slack to slip the knot when the time came.

“How did you get out? Who found you?” Andy’s voice cracked.

“My saviors are not important. What matters is that you are here.”

“I tried finding you. I spent years—”

“No.” Quynh’s voice snapped in the early morning air. “I do not want to hear your lies. You left me.”

“I couldn’t find you—”

Quynh stepped forward and cracked Andy across the face. The slap reverberated through the air. You held Andy up, keeping her from pitching forward. The immortal raised her head. Licking at the blood welling from a split in her lip, she tried to meet Quynh’s gaze.

“Why are you not healing?” Quynh asked. She stepped forward, jerked Andy’s chin higher. “What is this?”

“Andy has lost it,” Booker mumbled.

Fury spasmed Quynh’s face. She shoved Andy away, staggered back a few steps. “No! Why!?”

Booker glanced behind her at the shadows in the hanger. They had begun to move, detaching themselves from the far walls. Joe and Nicky moved forward on soft feet, angling toward Quynh. Somewhere behind the hanger, Nile waited with their getaway vehicle.

“Fate would,” Quynh snarled to herself. “I wanted you to experience my pain, but now you cannot. Not without dying.” The rage in her face died, replaced with something cold, dead. “I can still find a way to make you suffer.”

Andy slipped the knot. She lunged forward as Joe and Nicky closed in behind her. Quynh snarled as the three immortals converged on her. She landed an elbow in Joe’s throat, a kick to Nicky’s thigh. Her hands raked at Andy’s face.

Then she was sobbing, thrashing against Andy’s chest as the woman held her tight, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Quynh’s anguished wails rang through the hanger, drowning out Andy’s voice.

Booker turned away, unable to stomach it. The grief drove daggers through his heart, reminding him of the rage of his distraught son.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Glancing up, he met your kind gaze. “What now?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Your favorite words,” you laughed.

He risked a glance in the other immortals’ direction. They had gathered around Quynh, trying to soothe her while restraining her.

Reunited.

Chest constricting, he exhaled shakily only to frown. Nile hurried toward them, her gun drawn at her side. “What is it?”

“There’s a convoy setting up a perimeter,” she announced.

“What?”

“General Howzer,” you whispered.

“I called him,” Quynh muttered. “I only wanted to borrow you.”

Your expression didn’t change, but Booker felt the anger in you.

“Who?” Nile asked.

“You need to get out. All of you. Cut across the field and jack a car before the perimeter closes.”

Booker recognized the edge in your voice. He stepped up to you, dropping his own. “What about you?”

“I told you.” You met his gaze. “He’ll just keep sending them.”

Something dislodged within Booker. “No, you can’t give yourself up.”

“It will buy you time. You can’t let him get his hands on any of you.”

Andy and the others were already moving across the tarmac, heading for the field lining the landing strip. Booker could hear the cars slowing to a stop, boots hitting the ground. In the distance, a chopper approached.

“Go,” you hissed, shoving him away.

“But—”

“Don’t make me make you.”

A hand closed around Booker’s elbow. Nile appeared beside him, tugging on him. “Come on.”

Booker glanced back at you, but you were already across the airstrip, firing your gun into the air. He followed Nile into the unkempt grass, trying to keep his eyes on you.

The chopper’s searchlight clicked on, bathing you in white. Men poured in from around the trees, screaming at you to put the gun down. You went down to your knees.

“Come on,” Nile insisted, yanking on Booker.

“We have to do something,” he said. “She can’t go back. She can’t.”

Nicky seized Booker by the waistband and yanked him across the field. A gunshot cracked the air.

Booker jerked back to see you collapse.

#Booker x Reader #Booker #Booker imagine #Sebastien le Livre x Reader #Sebastien le Livre #Sebastien le Livre imagine #Matthias Schoenaerts x Reader #Matthias Schoenaerts #Matthias Schoenaerts imagine #The Old Guard

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kizzyedgelll · 1 year

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Hi, everyone! Welcome to my 4th shoutout series! I've already explained it here, but this series consist of me praising content creators and showing my favorite creations every week.

Under the cut are my favorite creations from the past week (apr 30 - may 6):

Stranger Things' Vecna/Henry/001 gifset by @machine-slays-dragons

Guardians of the Galaxy gifset by @sersi

Pride and Prejudice gifset by @userstarling

Zero Dark Thirty's Maya gifset by @boydswan

Alien artwork by @thervssian

My Neighbor Totoro gifset by @naiey

Everything Everywhere All At Once gifset by @mayfieldmaxs

Tenki no Ko gifset by @titlecard

Taxi Driver artwork by @fullllsun

Stranger Things' Steve gifset by @angela-bassetts

Star Wars gifset by @mcgregor

Stranger Things gifset by @hellshee

Star Wars gifset by @cobbbvanth

Interview With The Vampire's Lestat de Lioncourt gifset by @usermunsons (blood tw)

Grand staircase entrance in films gifset by @sarahmichellesgellar

Stranger Things gifset by @anya-chalotra

Saoirse Ronan photoset by @sineva

Dissolve in films gifset by @obsessed-artist

Boygenius artwork by @jiyaneru

#*laroccp

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mbdmnts · 1 year

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boydswan: Gary Cooper in Wings (1927)

#Gary Cooper

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byneddiedingo · 2 years

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To Have and Have Not (Howard Hawks, 1944). Cast: Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Walter Brennan, Dolores Moran, Hoagy Carmichael, Sheldon Leonard, Walter Szurovy, Marcel Dalio, Walter Sande, Dan Seymour, Aldo Nadi. Screenplay: Jules Furthman, William Faulkner, based on a novel by Ernest Hemingway. Cinematography: Sidney Hickox. Art direction: Charles Novi. Film editing: Christian Nyby. Music: Franz Waxman.

Beatrice and Benedick. Rosalind and Orlando. Viola and Orsino. "Slim" and "Steve"? Does this most enjoyable of movies really have a lot in common with Shakespearean romance? If so, it's all Howard Hawks's doing, with a little bit of help from screenwriters Jules Furthman and William Faulkner. Hawks had done this sort of romance before, in his comic masterpieces Bringing Up Baby (1938) and His Girl Friday (1940), but leave it to him to see World War II (and Ernest Hemingway's "grace under pressure" fiction) through the lens of screwball comedy. And to do it with the movies' most famous tough guy, Humphrey Bogart, and an unknown 19-year-old actress who had her name changed from Betty Perske to Lauren Bacall. And to treat it all as a semi-musical, with Hoagy Carmichael at the piano. Blood is shed and causes are espoused, but nobody takes it terribly seriously. Instead, Bogart and Bacall surf through the film on some of the best dialogue ever written, working out their fine romance as deftly as Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers ever did on the dance floor. Walter Brennan adds another memorable figure to his impressive gallery of old coots, and Marcel Dalio brings the kind of charm that might threaten to upstage lesser performers than these stars. It's certainly not a perfect film: Dolores Moran (clambering from shore to ship in heels) and Walter Szurovy are rather tediously noble as the de Bursacs. (Watch the bit when Mme. de Bursac faints and spills the chloroform and Bacall's Slim, sensing a rival for her Steve's affections, casts a stinkeye on the fallen form and intentionally fans some of the fumes in her direction.) As the Vichy police captain, Dan Seymour seems to be trying to do a Sydney Greenstreet impersonation with the worst of all French accents. And does anybody really believe that the odd company that sails off at the end to rescue a Resistance fighter from Devil's Island is going to succeed? But no matter. It's all the stuff of which legends are made.

gifs from boydswan

#To Have and Have Not #humphrey bogart #lauren bacall

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

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Not in Kansas anymore (Santi x reader)

Summary: Santi shelters you when you’re afraid of a storm. Honestly, there’s no better man for the job.

Rating: TEEN

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs this week bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (I’m doing these quickly so I can complete as many as I can for you, so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!) I wanted to post this one yesterday but it wasn’t working and I was tired, and I hope I fixed it enough now for it to be okay!

Warnings: it’s fluff, sweeties. Swearing, and steam at the end but no smut. Theme of storms throughout, but they’re never in real dager or peril. Incorrect Spanish, probably (feel free to correct me, I try!). Wizard of Oz references.

GIF by @boydswan

Wind howls and rain lashes, rattling the windows and begging to be let inside, thunder rumbling and rolling like it’s hunkering down right on the roof of your house.

“Princesa, you’re adorable,” Santi coos as he holds you close beneath the covers, feeling you jump and whimper sweetly as pulses of lightning illuminate the room, the sky splitting overhead.

The tumult rages like two fists of God have reached into the sky to tear it open. You whelp as another fork blitzes through the dark, sending shadows skittering for cover across your bedroom. This room is usually your sanctuary, but right now it doesn’t feel that way at all.

Your hands -bundled against Santi’s chest- fist into his soft sleep shirt, and you bury your head in the crook of his neck, hoping he can shelter you from this storm.

“Baby, holy shit, you’re genuinely scared,” Santi realises, feeling your heart thud as you crush yourself against him and try to climb him like a spider monkey. He presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head and wraps you in his arms, even as his chest shakes with a gentle, good-natured chuckle; no doubt due to how goddamn cute he thinks you are right now.

He hasn’t seen you scared often. As far as he’s concerned, ordinarily you’re a badass, and he likes to remind you how he’s sure you could give any one of his squad a decent run for their money. That’s why you’re loathe to let him see you so frightened, lest he starts to think you’re soft, but at the same time... you need him to throw his body over you and bundle you under the covers like a little sushi roll right now, thank you very much, because fuuuuuuck. This storm is loud and you are terrified and if he doesn’t hold you tighter you think you might actually start to cry.

At least Santi seems to find you precious in your current state. At least he seems to get a kick out of protecting you. He always likes to make a fuss of you - feel like your big, strong man, but you’re so independent and capable that you rarely give him the opportunity to take care of you. It’s usually the other way around.

Right now though, you are clinging to him. More tightly than you ever have, perhaps, until his dog tags press uncomfortably into your chest. In fact, Santi lets out a choked, crushed sound from the pit of his chest which is only half-mocking.

“Shit, preciosa, when this blows over we should talk about entering you in some kind of wrestling league. Are you for real?” There is a beat as he squirms a little in your grip. As he wriggles though, he seems to grow a little more comfortable in it. “Why don’t you ever pin me down so hard in other contexts, baby?” Again, you think he’s only half-mocking.

You exhale a pathetic little whimper in response and Santi’s heart must melt at the sound, as when he speaks again his voice is like caramelised sugar; warm, and slow and liquid.

“You know, we’re perfectly safe, hermosa,” Santi promises in a calm, slow voice as thunder shakes the house again, rain lashing even more ferociously against the window pane, rafters creaking above your heads and tree branches being whipped around in the yard. “Tranquila, mi amor. Yo te protegeré. Estás a salvo conmigo.” He does his best to lull and calm you.

You know this is starting to get out of hand, but you can’t seem to hold on to the rational thought that everything will be alright. You hate storms. Have since you were a kid. Even as Santi’s gorgeous voice soothes you and his gentle hands smooth over your back, the sounds outside continue to stoke your panic.

“You don’t know that we’re safe!” you respond irrationally, in a voice two octaves above your normal pitch.

“This isn’t some Wizard of Oz shit, baby,” Santi snickers fondly, a deep, rich laughter rumbling in his chest. He makes sure to keep his tone soft and calming. “I promise you won’t blow away into some trippy dream where ‘Fish is trapped behind an emerald curtain.” He soothes his broad hand steadily over your back, and the sheer Santi-ness of him helps to distract you. “Shit - you’d look cute in that little gingham dress though.”

You can’t help but exhale a little guffaw into his neck at his comment, but you remain all tense and coiled up as you cling on to him, another sky-splitting rumble sounding overhead.

“Clearly I’d be the cowardly lion,” you say in a small, self-pitying voice, and Santi squeezes you just a little tighter, despite the already suffocating nature of your embrace.

“You had the courage all along, mi pequeña leona,” he calms, tone hushed.

This cuddling is all very well, but apparently Santi is overheating, and he taps your back a few times in quick succession as he tells you as much. With effort, he finally extrictaes himself from you enough to pull back and examine your face. He regards your wide, worried eyes in the dim light. Your knitted eyebrows. The way your lips are pinched together into a thin line.

His eyes are soft as he looks at you, tipping your chin up delicately with the hook of his thumb. You can see words on the tip of his tongue. Perhaps something about how cute you are, fond but gently teasing, but he evidently opts to bite them back.

“Okay. Well, shit. We’re obviously not gonna be sleeping,” he says, reaching towards the bedside lamp. You consider reminding him for the tenth time that evening to stay the fuck away from any electricals, Santi, I need you alive, but you can’t imagine it stopping him when it didn’t the nine times before. He flicks the light on, and you can see now how wide awake he is, despite the dark circles under his eyes. You feel a little guilty for keeping him up, but it’s not as though you are doing this on purpose, and you know he understands.

“Give me your hand,” he says softly, slipping out from under the covers, his deep voice still even; comforting and steady, like him. “I have just the thing to make you feel safe,” he promises.

You look sceptical, but you would rather go where he goes than be left at the mercy of the storm, and so you take his hand and he guides you to standing.

“I’ll grab this duvet. Could you bring the pillows, and a bunch of blankets from the chest, baby?”

You pad tentatively towards the chest at the foot of your king bed. It’s not lost on Santi that you crouch slightly, hunkering down as if the storm might reach through the ceiling or the window and grab you at any moment. Ingoring the fond amusement in his eyes you lift the lid of the chest, scooping out a pile of blankets before actually beginning to wonder what he’s up to.

“Santi? You’re not going to suggest we sleep in the yard are you? Just know I will not take kindly to exposure therapy right now,” you warn, voice fraught.

“Just trust me,” he replies mysteriously, and so you oblige and follow him, his destination a surprise as he traipses through the house, the duvet bundled up to his person like a huge cloud.

You cower behind him like he’s your shield, Santi fearless in the face of the malestrom. You follow as he jostles the duvet through into the living room, and plonks all of the items down in the middle of the floor, getting you to follow suit.

“Baby, can you go and get that box of spare string lights from under the sink?”

Your face scrunches up at the thought of moving through the house alone, but Santi gives you a kiss to the forehead to smooth your worry lines, and an inspiring little pat on the ass. “You’ve got this, cutie.” You see the flash of his white teeth as he smiles at you through the half-dark, a soft glow from the streetlamp filtering through the window.

You do as requested, and it takes you a little while to root around for the lights, but by the time you return, you see exactly what Santi had in mind. Boy, that man works fast!

He’s stripped off all of the couch cushions, moved your easy chairs, and created an elaborate (and suspiciously sturdy looking) blanket fort in no time at all. All that time erecting military tents in hostile locations has apparently come in handy.

When he becomes aware of your presence, he turns and looks at you with the softest puppy dog eyes as you survey the room. “This okay, Princesa?”

This man.

Your man. How did you get so lucky again?

He never fails to surprise you. He keeps you safe. He is your shelter in a storm. His warmth finds you in any weather. And you hope he can see you smiling at him in the half-dark, a beam of light cutting through the panic which clouds you.

At that moment, a particularly loud rumble of thunder sounds, causing you to grab for Santi’s hand. He uses the contact to bundle you into his chest, sneaking a few soft kisses from your lips as he does so. You wind your arms around his neck as his sturdy circumference loops around you, his warmth finding you.

“Now you’re doubly safe from the storm,” he reassures. “You have me to keep you safe and everyone knows blanket forts are impenetrable.”

“Impenetrable?” you repeat, the corners of your lips twitching up into a cautious smile.

“Of course,” Santi deadpans. “That’s why the military uses them exclusively. When me and the boys were out in the field, Princesa? This shit is what we were sleeping in.”

You laugh gently, as his soothing hands begin their roam up and down your back again. He makes you feel so safe. So loved. So sheltered.

“This is the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me, Santi,” you say, a small break in your voice. “I love you. So much.”

His eyes are full of softness again, his thumb hooking under your chin and tipping your mouth to his for another soft kiss. He says “I love you” back with his lips, in a way that you recognise from being told a thousand times in a thousand ways, his words written again and again all over your body. This time his tongue says it gently against yours, letting you know he’ll take care of you in all the ways he knows how and any ways he can possibly learn.

Reluctantly, he pulls away and gets back to this important business of the blanket fort.

“Pass me those string lights, baby, and let’s get this shit up to grade, huh? Gotta see this change of station through, and I need you inside for snuggles by oh-two-hundred hours.”

You giggle at his faux serious tone, and he gently pats your ass again as you hand the lights to him. You wonder if he asked you to grab the battery-powered lights on purpose so you wouldn’t worry about them connecting to the mains. Knowing Santi, you reckon he probably did.

You watch him kneel down and crawl face first into the fort, and you see the cosy, cushioned interior illuminate with a backdrop like stars as he drapes the lights around the place. As he crawls you get a particularly nice view of his ass sticking out of the fort too, which you are definitely not complaining about.

“Nice ass, Santiago,” you purr, feeling better already with the thought of clambering inside this magical cosy den with your love, even as the storm continues to rattle the windows.

His voice returns to you muffled by the blankets, but you can hear the smile in it. “Gotta get my lady a room with a view.”

Once he’s done with the lights, he scoots over and makes space for you to to clamber in alongside him. He reaches towards the blanket he’s fashioned as a doorway and clasps it in his hand, turning his head towards you.

“You ready? These things are inpenetrable, so you’d better be sure about this. Once we’re inside, babe, they might never find us again.”

A happy grin splits your face, your shoulders shaking in mirth. “Fine by me, mi angelito. I’ll happily lay here with you forever.”

Santi smiles, the reflection of the fairy lights dancing alongside the adoration in his eyes, and he quickly batterns down the hatches and slots in beside you. He tugs a plush, fleecy cover over the two of you, wrapping you up in his strong arms. You lie on your sides, face-to-face, and you nuzzle closer, throwing your thigh over his body, twining your legs with his.

This time, rather than suffocating him, you leave a space between you - just enough so you can see his face resting on the pillow, the ambient, yellow light gently picking out the contours of him. That shapely jaw, those plush lips, and those big beautiful eyes, shining softly for you.

Suddenly, it’s so easy to forget the storm raging outside, when you’re doubly protected. An inpenetrable blanket fort, glowing softly with the yellowed light of stars, and, most importantly, Santi’s warm, sturdy arms providing you shelter from the storm.

“You still scared, baby?” he asks gently, voice little above a whisper, hooking his thumb delicately under your chin once again.

“Not so much,” you reply honestly, captivated with his twinkling eyes.

“Feel safe with your man?” he asks, as you can feel the swell of pride in his tone - can see it inch over his face as his eyes glow with the thought that you are his to take care of.

“I do,” you answer, leisurely smoothing your hand over his chest, his shoulder, and into his grizzled hair. “I feel very safe with you, Santiago Garcia.”

Santi’s delicious lips curve up into a smile, even as he tips your mouth up to his, telling you he loves you with his kiss once again. This time, though, he lets his kiss grow, languid but gradually building until it is swelling between you like a storm surge, a rumbled groan coming from his throat like gentle thunder. Now, this... this is the kind of storm you can get on board with.

He smoothes his hands over your back again, but this time his hands continue their journey down your body sweeping over your ass and down the thigh you have thrown over his torso.

He hums softly as he feels the warmth of your bare skin, and breaks from you, lips still puckered and eyelashes fanned on his cheeks. He opens his eyes and searches yours, checking that you’re on board with where this might be going.

“We’re obviously not sleeping, right?” he probes playfully. “This shelter is far too comfortable and romantic to waste?”

Searching your face, Santi finds your eyes shining with hunger. Your hands move to cling to him again, like earlier, albeit towards an entirely different end. Your hands fist in his sleep shirt to pull him closer, and you arch your hips towards his.

“Hmm. Well I much prefer the sound of you keeping me up all night, my love,” you purr, tugging his lips back towards you and tilting your head so they find that sweet spot on your neck.

He groans eagerly into your neck, nuzzling his lips and nose into you. “Fuck. I love storms,” he enthuses, his breath hot on your skin.

“You know? I’m starting to like them too, mi alma,” you confess, rolling lazily on top of him and enclosing him safely beneath you. “Let me take care of you.”

Santi has kept you safe in this storm, and suddenly you’re feeling brave enough to shelter him too. Perhaps you had the courage all along.

The End

BONUS:

Look, but just imagine ‘Fish as the Wizard of Oz. I CANNOT.

“And you were there. And you, and you!” pointing to all the boys?

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #santi x reader #pope x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #oscar isaac #santi fluff

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