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saerins · 1 year

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─── 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 7.1k | content: fluff, making out, college!au, mentions of insecurity, only very brief angst !!, alcohol, slight jealousy

notes: this was supposed to be lengthier and in smau format but i suck at that so here it is in fic format :’) i know i know, i write sae way too much </3

summary: you have a crush on sae. for a long time now. and he’s always known that. he just wants to see how long you can hold out.

HIGH SCHOOL: 2ND YEAR

itoshi sae knows you like him.

you’re really obvious it’s pathetic, really. once during recess, he’d wanted to go back to the classroom to get some shut eye because soccer was way too draining lately, and guess who he saw slipping a little love note into his locker?

of course you. you and your little pink heart-shaped post-it that read i think you’re cute and i really really like you. because it was valentines and you were one of the many to send him little scribbles of confessions.

even now, when you sit just a couple of rows in front of him, he catches you looking behind at him, and sae purposely doesn’t look at you, doesn’t let you know he knows you’re staring. he’s not really sure why. maybe he feels bad if he exposes you or something.

throughout the rest of your sophomore year in high school, he continues to observe as you so subtly (not really) try to be friends with him. you always try to get picked to be in the same group as him for projects (which never works out), you try to sit next to him in lecture halls (but his friends cockblock you always), and during phys ed classes you try so hard with soccer but you’re really quite bad at it.

maybe it’s sae not being able to continue observing your failures that he throws you a bone.

“you need to bend your knees a little more.”

frozen stiff from the unexpected company, you awkwardly try to bend your knees further, all while staring at the ground. if sae was nice, he’d laugh and joke around with you, asking why you seemed so scared of him. but he’s not, so he only sighs and stands beside you while you try.

after a few more seconds, sae understands you don’t really understand so he moves to push down on your thigh, and by then you really freeze up, falling flat on your ass in front of him.

sae wants to laugh now, really, because it’s amusing how nervous you are. for no good reason too.

the next time sae talks to you, it’s during lunch time when he queues up behind you. on purpose. he doesn’t even usually eat from this stall, but seeing you there makes him want to mess with you a little. he purposely stands a little too close, makes himself prone to an accidental bump.

which does happen. because you’re just like that.

“oh, sor—” you stop midway as if realising it’s sae immediately dissolves you of any obliged apologies. “sorry,” you force out before whipping your attention back in front. the both of you don’t talk in that moment and sae can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

but sae continues to help you during phys ed classes, and you still try to get assigned to be his group mate. nothing groundbreaking happens during sophomore year of high school because nothing is born out of it.

nothing, except maybe a tiny bit of sae’s inexplicable emotions for you.

HIGH SCHOOL: SENIOR YEAR

sae thinks maybe you went to a shrine over the holidays. how else would he explain you finally getting partnered with him on a project? and to top it off, it’s a two-person team for the entire year.

you get him all to yourself.

the moment the teacher calls your name after his, it’s like sae can practically see your tail wagging. you manage to compose yourself when you catch him staring at you though.

it’s a little cute, if he’s being honest.

“so, what do you think our project should be about?” your voice wavers a little when you speak to him. is he that intimidating?

sae wonders what if he tries to be a dick during this project. would you be obedient or would you actually bite back?

he tries to find out.

sae shrugs and acts disinterested, staring out the window of the second floor of the library where you’d both agreed to meet to work on it together. “don’t know, don’t care, think you could handle it for us? i’ve got too many soccer trainings, too tired.”

for a split second, you’re taken aback—he sees you sitting upright a little more, blinking twice at him because surely that’s not what you imagined your crush to behave like. not when he has straight As and is almost the top of your cohort.

and for a while, sae thinks you might actually be the former; obediently listening to him, making sure he’s happy. but then you furrow your brows and clench your fists and go “itoshi sae, who do you think you are” and oh, oh, you’re not the former, you’re the latter and you’d actually kill him if he was a dick. fuck.

somehow his hands instinctively come up in surrender and his mouth opens, “i was just kidding.”

it’s almost comical how your expression softens up immediately and you laugh, and sae keeps staring at you because you actually have a really nice smile. he never really noticed it before. and when the two of you actually get started on the project, sae finds himself observing you more than actually contributing.

yeah, you’re really quite pretty.

“any plans for the summer?”

it’s now almost july and summer break is around the corner, and to be honest sae’s kind of bummed about it. it’s beyond him why not seeing you would make him disappointed, but he’s not going to try and pursue the reason. he has his training camps to worry about.

“soccer. you?”

“mmm, a short trip with my parents.”

usually sae would leave it at that, but he asks about you, and he sees that tail wagging again. “where?”

“just gonna go to hokkaido,” you tell him. and you look like you’re anticipating him to ask more, but sae’s stuck. he doesn’t really know what to ask. he’s not exactly curious as to what you’d be doing there.

so you take matters into your own hand when you swiftly grab his phone from the table, key in your number and call yourself from his phone before putting it right back. sae watches you the whole time, wondering when exactly you’d gotten this bold.

“there, now you can’t escape me even over summer break.”

and he doesn’t. because you text him about your trip when you’re there, you send him pictures of the scenery and of the food you’re eating and you’re really inconsiderate because you send him that shit when he’s stuck in soccer bootcamp with twenty-four sweaty guys who’s none the better than him.

sae can end it by all means, just by not responding to you, but for the first time, talking to someone isn’t really a pain, and he thinks you’re kind of funny and the stickers you send are kind of cute so he’ll let this continue. even if by continue he means sending mediocre, lacklustre responses that just barely manages to keep the conversation going.

(in sae’s mind at eighteen, sending replies like okay and i see are considered acceptable and subjectively considered effort.)

when summer break finally ends and it’s early september, sae finally sees you again while he walks to school. he walks a little faster just to catch up to you before he adjusts his pace, acts like it’s coincidence that he’s right beside you.

and somehow he’s made it a routine; to memorise what bus you get off of and catch you on the way to school. even if he sees you in classes and even after classes in the library.

you’re acting a little less like he’s on a podium and more like normal friends and he kind of likes that. he likes being able to see you unfiltered when you gossip, likes seeing you laugh at stupid lame jokes, likes the way you hang close to him whenever you’re beside him.

okay maybe like is a little stretching it, he doesn’t mind being able to tolerate it. or maybe he’s just in denial, whatever.

winter comes and it’s somehow the time when more girls try to talk to him, mainly because somehow the school decides to hold a winter event this year; it’s going to be held near the edge of the city, where the biggest skating rink is.

by his guess, most girls are looking for a guy to have a skating date with.

in the library during your usual meetup for the school project, sae gets more than a couple visitors trying to get him for that same reason. you eye everyone that approaches the table, and sae can’t help but notice how he actually likes when you’re pouty. maybe it’s his twisted thinking that jealousy means you’re still into him.

“itoshi-kun, i was thinking whether you wanted to go to the winter event together?” another girl from your class, mizuno, asks him, and sae is tired of it, frankly. but he doesn’t show it. he only looks at you, and you look back at him because he doesn’t usually stare for this long.

then, he looks at mizuno and rejects her.

“sorry, can’t, i’m going with y/n.”

(you get home that day being completely flustered and completely happy.)

on the day of the event, sae keeps his word. he goes with you, sticks beside you the entire time. his friends snap pictures of the two of you and you always look so embarrassed. maybe you’re just not used to all of this attention. but that’s fine, it’s cute.

one thing he learns about you is that you can be real clumsy sometimes. like now, when you get so excited over your watermelon slushie that you somehow spill it all over your jacket and clothes.

sae ends up giving you his puffy winter jacket while he braves the cold with whatever he has left. that’s fine, he’s strong. besides, getting to watch you wear his jacket the entire time feels like a bonus somehow.

he thinks by now you should confess already, but you don’t. you’re happy to stay in this bubble with him right now, whichever phase the two of you are at. so is he. it feels kind of nice.

feels especially nice when you hang onto him for dear life in the skating rink even though neither of you are moving. sae’s aware that people are staring holes into both of you but it’s strange how much he doesn’t mind when it’s with you. that’s why he holds his hands out, lets you take them, makes himself pull you along. he finds himself wishing neither of you were wearing gloves so he could feel how soft your hands are.

by the end of the day, everyone takes it that the both of you are together, even though the both of you are too avoidant to talk about it.

“hey, sae? thanks for today,” you say later that night when everything is done and you’d had the giddiest experience with sae. he’s walking you home and he doesn’t even know why; it’s a mystery to him why he keeps himself close whenever he can.

“it’s fine, i was the one who told people i was going with you, so.”

when he gets you to your front porch, you don’t go in immediately, standing right there with your back facing him, and sae wonders what’s going through your head. if only he could see the expression on your face right now, maybe he’d know.

you let him; because you turn around, giving him a big smile before you take a step forward and press a chaste kiss on his cheek, immediately turning on your heel and running into your house.

neither of you say bye, both of you are just a little too stunned to speak. sae stands out there in the cold for a little while longer, his face and ears red—he’s not even sure whether it’s from the weather or from you—but even when he starts to leave, you’re still slumped at your front door, covering your face in embarrassment, knees too weak to stand up.

there’s only one more quarter left until you graduate and sae and you both act like nothing happened that day. you still gossip unfiltered and he still listens but acts like he doesn’t.

except now instead of sitting across from you, he opts to sit directly beside you. sometimes sits a little too close just so your arms will brush against each other. sae also lets you keep his puffy jacket because you said you liked it.

you wear it throughout winter.

when graduation comes around and it’s time for sae to choose his university, he can’t help but take a peek at your screen. a smile comes to his face when he sees your first choice is the same as his. you’re smart too, he doesn’t doubt you’ll get in.

“itoshi sae, you can smile?”

sae immediately turns it into a frown. “guess not.”

you take your words back. “hey, i’m just kidding! it’s just rare… that’s all.”

so you notice him a lot then?

sure, you might not have seen him smile a lot. but that’s fine. from what sae knows, you have the entirety of your university years to possibly catch it.

UNIVERSITY: FRESHMAN YEAR

of course you enter the same university as itoshi sae. it’s not on purpose, but you’re glad you both made it here anyway.

at least knowing one friendly face is better than none.

to be honest, you’re not really sure where you and sae stand. he’s never said anything about that kiss, but he also doesn’t stay away from you. can you take that as a positive thing?

if anything, he’s even closer.

somehow, his dorms and yours are practically next door. when you open your bathroom window, you can look right into his. it happened once, by accident, and you’d caught him, shirtless with just a white towel hanging around his neck, hair damp as he brushes his teeth, the droplets of water on his abs looking very inviting.

but then he caught you staring and you’ve shut your bathroom window ever since. thankfully, he never mentions it.

being in university and staying in campus meant that you were both hanging out much more informally. and you’d think that two people at the age of nineteen who’d known each other for three years would be less awkward than this but it’s you and sae and somehow there’s always an element of awkwardness.

it’s halfway into your freshman year and you’d just watched the first match that sae’s playing for the university team. you’re a little starstruck, honestly. to think that the guy you’ve always had a crush on is this good at soccer.

he’s amazing. you’re feeling like a potato sack.

“hey, you know him right?” hime gushes.

your friends are with you, so it’s natural they ask.

mira on your left sighs, “guess we have no shot with him since he’s with y/n all the time,” she says, nudging you in the elbow.

you’re starting to regret bringing them here with all the teasing. you’re also regretting coming here yourself because you see several girls running to him asking for a picture together. some of which you recognise, some of which are the popular girls.

sae doesn’t stop them from snapping what they can, but he also doesn’t stop for them at all. instead, he saunters over to you, hime and mira wordlessly disappearing to the side.

“gimme that,” sae says, gesturing to the phone in your hand. you obey, of course, and he smirks, then he snaps a selfie with you before tossing your phone back and walking off.

the pairs of eyes on you make you half-embarrassed yet half-proud. even with this many fangirls, sae chooses to come to you.

that night sae asks you to send him the picture.

yeah, maybe you can take that as a positive thing.

freshman year after that is generally uneventful. you and sae are both trying to find your footing, with him preoccupied mostly with soccer trainings while you’re drowning in assignments and projects that have nothing to do with him.

but you still see him in the mornings sometimes, when you walk past your common room and he’s in his, and you wave at him when he’s alone so you’re not so shy, and he nods in acknowledgement before he just walks away.

one night while you’re burning the midnight oil trying to cram some accounting knowledge into your brain, you get a text from sae.

wanna get supper?

both of you end up at one of the supper spots outside of school, a little cosy shop that sells boba and ramen even after midnight.

“why’d you wanna get supper?”

sae shrugs, taking a sip of his plain water. “just bored, couldn’t sleep.”

“isn’t this soccer season? you can’t even eat anything in here, it’s definitely not passable for your diet.”

he sighs, leaning back against his chair. “so? quit whining and start eating your shit already.”

if it was some other guy you’d be rolling your eyes and storming off. but it’s sae and you know him and he thinks he’s talking normally like this. besides, when you catch his eyes flicker up to lock with yours you get a little dizzy inside.

“what’re you up so late for anyway?”

sae’s fingers are drumming lightly against the surface of the metal table, teal eyes diligently observing as you bring the strands of noodle to your lips. “told you, i couldn’t sleep.”

you find that strange; he’s always been able to sleep, no problem. and he’s strict about his eight hour sleep schedule. what could be getting to the great itoshi sae?

(sae’s lying through his teeth; having his bedroom right across from yours means he can see when your lights aren’t out. sue him for being a little concerned.)

“so, heard you and the team are going on a soccer trip somewhere in europe,” you bring up. you’d heard it from your friends, strangely, instead of sae himself.

he nods. “yeah, just a select few,” he tells you, “only if we win the tournament though, then the team’ll officially invite us over.”

so-called team you heard about is real madrid, and you’d be crazy to think that sae couldn’t help your university team win on his own.

“guess i won’t be seeing you around when you go,” you mumble idly, not completely aware of what you’re basically saying.

sae is adept at reading in between the lines, but he doesn’t probe you on it. he’s not sure he wants to. he doesn’t know what this is. do you still like him? does he like you too? all these feelings are new; sae doesn’t know what to do with it.

so he keeps it to himself. for now.

he doesn’t really do a good job at following through with it though, because on the day of the tournament finals, he looks at you and winks right as he orchestrates that winning goal for his team, and you’re left wondering if you’re imagining things.

UNIVERSITY: SOPHOMORE YEAR

the final part of your freshman year went and gone, and it didn’t go exactly how you imagined it to be. you didn’t expect to hear from sae at all when he went on his trip after that tournament.

but you did.

he replied you whenever he had the time. told you anything you asked for. even called you when you had a mini meltdown because of finals.

to be frank, you don’t know what the both of you are anymore. you’re cursing yourself for being too scared to ask.

“hey y/n, have you seen hime anywhere?”

it’s oliver asking, captain of the university’s soccer team and also hime’s current situationship. he’d started hitting her up since that first time sae played and brought attention to you and the people around you.

“yeah, she’s by the pool with mira.”

oliver leaves as soon as you tell him, and you stand awkwardly at the corner of the living room, by the full panel of glass windows, wondering if you should just go home. you’d only came because hime and mira both said you needed to experience a party at least once this year but now you’re surrounded by people making out and drunkards slipping into the pool that it makes you regret giving this a shot at all.

especially since sae’s not going to be back till tomorrow, garnering as much interest as he did during his time in spain. you really have no reason to be here.

“hey there, pretty.”

startled, you find a familiar face up close in your personal space, his finger twirling your hair. you’d recognise that head of blonde and pink anywhere.

“oh, you’re ryusei shido right? you’re on the soccer team with sae,” you think out loud, and he nods, and you can see his blonde lashes so closely it’s making you flustered.

“mhm, fwhat’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a corner? seems like a shame,” he comments, though he doesn’t even give you a chance to answer. the next thing you know, shido drags you into a drinking game with hime and mira (which is why your first instinct wasn’t to run off, if you could trust anyone it’s your best friends). although, shido is getting annoyingly close and you can’t decide if you’re nervous or annoyed.

and the heavens surely love you when they let shido draw the card that corresponds to a dare, and they love testing your boundaries when some guy called otoya dares him to kiss you.

but no, you know that the heavens really do love you when someone yanks shido’s hair back and pulls him away from your face, taking his spot in between the both of you in the bid for proximity that you don’t mind because it’s itoshi sae.

“sae, what’re you doing here? i thought you wouldn’t be back till tomorrow,” you ask, a little shell-shocked but you still notice he’s discerning frown and how there’s barely any space between the two of you.

he looks at you, tilting his head, “what? my girl’s not happy to see me here?”

you don’t respond. half because you think you’re dreaming and fuck—really, did he just call you his girl?

“eh? i don’t recall you having a girlfriend?” shido leers, a hand on the spot of his head where sae had pulled on earlier.

“yeah, besides, shido still has to do the dare.” otoya sounds bored more than anything, but the guy beside him, karasu, if you remember correctly, is smirking.

sae sighs, and you feel like you must’ve crossed the boundary to another dimension when you feel sae’s lips on yours, and you think you’re in limbo when you feel his hand on your neck, pulling you close. his tongue pries your lips apart and people are whistling while shido’s behind him saying get a fucking room or i’ll beat off to this.

when the object of your affection finally pulls away, you’re met with the same pair of unbothered teal eyes, the pair that immediately turns to face otoya. “there, did it for him. now move on.”

you’re beginning to thank alcohol for its existence when almost everyone obeys wordlessly, moving on to some other guy’s turn. you really can’t remember who sits on shido’s right when all you can think of is that itoshi sae, your longtime high school crush, actually kissed you.

that’s enough to warrant the question, right? the question of what sae takes you for?

the inner debate sparks long into the night, even when sae walks you back to your apartment, the both of you side by side in silence.

“sae, what was that?”

he plays coy. “what was what?”

you’re only a little tipsy, so you can still tolerate his avoidance. “you confuse me a lot, you know that?”

sae doesn’t take the bait. “oh, i see.”

“you were jealous.” he was. he really was. you can tell; he was sour to shido the entire night. he stuck close to you too, sometimes your fingers brushed against each other’s.

“so what if i was?”

this one is new. sae’s actually admitting it. and usually you’d chicken out but you can see your apartment coming into view and you don’t want to let this go.

“what am i to you, sae?” you manage to choke it out a few feet away from the door, and sae stops in his tracks, hands in his pocket and teal eyes looking heavenward.

you’re beginning to regret your decision to ask; you’re not sure if his indecision is a good or bad thing. nothing seems to be simple when it comes to itoshi sae.

but he does nothing to appease your confusion when he steps in front of you, his body pressed flush against yours as he presses another kiss to your lips, and you think this one is special because it’s not done in the name of a dare or in front of anyone else. this kiss is for you and you alone and sae is doing this on purpose.

when he pulls back, you see him furrow his brows and you can tell that maybe he’s just as confused as you are.

“when i managed to get an earlier slot for my flight, all i could think about was how excited i was to see you.”

is this… a confession? you’re even more confused now that you don’t even know what to say.

to be honest, so is sae, which is why he swallows the lump in his throat and relegates to his apartment, “goodnight.”

things after that change just a little.

you’d decided to go with the flow, just because you really don’t want to sabotage whatever friendship you and sae had left, although most of the time, sae is the one toeing the line. even though he doesn’t outright tell you anything regarding his feelings.

but you think you figured him out.

sae asks you out whenever you’re both free, and not for shit like studying or errands, but for movies and dinner and he drives you around in his car and looks at you like you’re the only girl he sees. his eyes don’t wander when he’s with you, and he lets you wear even more of his jackets. it’s also evolved to his jerseys and his beloved windbreakers. you have one of each in your own closet and he never seems to ask for them back anymore. he also lets you wear his rings, puts them on your fingers randomly.

both of you still go for parties, especially when it’s one of the soccer guys who are throwing it, because they practically force sae to go and they know you’re the key to convincing him.

most of the time the two of you just laze on the couch, drinking and talking about nothing at all, and he idly plays with your fingers when he’s tipsy, something you never tell him because you like it, because you don’t want him to feel self-conscious and stop. he also smells your hair after he sends you home and hugs you before he retreats to his place, and you wonder if he’s fully sober when he does that.

you resign to getting your answer some other time, because you don’t want anything to ruin this, if this is just an illusion. yeah, you’d talking feelings some other time.

UNIVERSITY: JUNIOR YEAR

you really had no right to be, but you are. try as you might, you can’t stop yourself from feeling the way you do. especially not when she’s sitting so so close to him, when her hand brushes his fingers.

she’s just his project partner, nothing more, but something irks you about the way she can get so close to him so quickly when it took you much longer. but then you hear from shido that kaori is rin and sae’s childhood friend, so maybe that’s why they’re so damn close.

apparently, she’d gotten back to japan after ten years abroad. with great timing too, right when you thought you and sae could amount to something.

“you know, i could help you make him jealous if you wanna,” shido whispers in your ear one time when he catches you staring at them. “we’ll make him feel how you feel, m’kay?”

and while that’s tempting, you shake your head. it’s unreasonable for you to take it out on him that way, not when he hasn’t actually done anything that proves he’s just leading you on.

lately sae’s been so busy around kaori that you’re just thinking too much. you’re wondering if he’s slowly replacing you. he still talks to you over text, but you barely hang out like you did before. you still spot him through the windows, but he’s always too tired to notice you. even his texts are getting slower.

“hey, you okay?”

trust it to hime to notice your personal dilemma. you’re not really surprised though, because she’s been watching you moping for the last few weeks. she now has oliver wrapped fully around her finger, with him sticking around her all the time, which is a surprise considering his reputation.

but hime will take your side, you know this, and maybe that’s why you play it off. you don’t want her to hate sae because of a momentary feeling, so you tell her you’re just sick and you’ll go back home.

the moment you get back to your apartment, you see sae waiting out on the front, car ready while he leans against the hood, waiting.

and you might’ve asked if he was waiting for kaori, but then he looks up and sees you and smirks and that’s all you need to know that he’s not. he was waiting for you, and now he’s opening the passenger side door and telling you to “get in, stupid.”

that’s how sae is with you, impromptu and surprisingly sweet. he drives you to the pier, a cute spot right next to an amusement park where he’d gotten you some candy floss before the both of you just sits on the hood of his car, enjoying the scenery.

“why’d you suddenly bring me here?”

sae lies down, the sun hitting his face in all the right places. he’s gorgeous, you realise for what seems like the thousandth time since you’d known him.

“oliver told me you’d been a little mopey lately,” sae says, and you’re already embarrassed. “sorry if i’ve been busy lately.”

you mirror his position, lying down next to him, and it feels oddly nice like this. you’re not sure if it’s the situation or the person.

“it’s okay, i heard that kaori’s your old friend right? you guys must have a lot to catch up on.” it doesn’t stop you from feeling jealous, but it’ll pass. you hope.

sae chuckles before he turns to you, and you turn to face him too, “you’re jealous.” he smirks, and you’re reminded of the same thing you told him that first night he kissed you.

“shut up, sae.”

he laughs because you’re being pouty, and because maybe it feels a little nice to know you can feel it too. just then, he mirrors what you did way back in high school, reaching across you for your phone. except he doesn’t key in anything—he opens up your camera and takes a picture of the two of you like this, sae looking naturally handsome and better than you because you’re stunned he’s doing this, eyes wide and expression puzzled.

“what’s that for?”

sae’s still fiddling on your phone as you ask, and then he passes it back to you. he’d set it as your phone’s wallpaper.

“to remind you that you’re the one i like, idiot.”

and even though you and sae aren’t physically too close in the wallpaper, you think maybe it’s enough to tide your feelings through for now. he doesn’t ask you for anything else after that, just leaves his confession at that and sends you home before saying he has to finish up his project, aka going to find kaori.

it’s fine by you though, because now you know where sae’s head’s at, even though he never explicitly asked you anything. you’re sure he knows how you feel too, especially since you’d been the one to kiss him first that day a few years back.

but how apt for you to go to sleep early and be woken up by dozens of messages blowing up your phone, the majority of them attaching pictures at a certain party.

still pictures of sae locking lips with kaori, and you feel your heart sinking.

sae’s message comes through just as you’re scrolling through your phone.

meet me at my place? not what it looks like, i promise.

and maybe it’s because you feel like you know sae well enough that you’re not even panicking. you respond within seconds.

sure, see you!

you take the liberty of going next door, entering when one of the other guys who lives there clumsily walks in drunk. it’s easy enough to find sae’s room, you recognise it from across your own room too well. and maybe it’s a slight invasion of privacy but you can’t help but turn your attention to his desk.

his room is all neat with the occasional laundry thrown on the corner of the room, trophies and medals on the bookshelf by the table. but what catches your eye is the little pink heart-shaped post-it note that looks all too familiar.

your handwriting fills the piece of paper.

i think you’re cute and i really really like you

you could cringe right now from how cringe you were being back then. but then you realise, sae kept this? did he keep this knowing it was from you? you hear the door opening downstairs and jump back a little, accidentally pressing on his keyboard while trying to place your note back in its position, and the screensaver that greets you renders you speechless.

it’s the picture sae took of the both of you at the bleachers of his first match.

someone closes the laptop before you can think any more, and you’re greeted with sae right next to you, cheeks flushed—either from alcohol or embarrassment. you can’t really tell, but judging from the lack of alcohol stench, you’d like to bet it’s the latter.

“you have me as your wallpaper?”

sae clicks his tongue, annoyed he didn’t get there in time for you not to see that. “who else would i put there?”

you bite your tongue to stop yourself from instinctively saying kaori out of spite. guess you’re still a little groggy from being woken up in the middle of the night.

“about earlier,” sae begins, not really sure how to continue.

“you mean the pics going around of you and kaori kissing?” you’re not even mad, you’re sure there’s an explanation—that’s how much you feel you know itoshi sae. he’s not the type to bother with leading someone on; if anything, he’s probably the type to immediately cut things off if he wasn’t interested and so far, he’s always been thinking of you.

sae sighs, rubbing his temple before taking a seat on his bed. “that was fucking stupid,” he grumbles, eyes closed. “she was way too tipsy and getting all up in my face and before i knew it she just—” his eyes are open now, briefly looking at you before looking away, hiding behind the sides of his soft locks, “she kissed me. i was stunned for a little so…”

you snicker a little, because sae looks so different from how he usually looks—aloof, ignorant, arrogant. now he looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the side and you can’t help but notice the difference.

“sae… why are you telling me this?”

screw his indecisiveness, if it was in the first place. you want his answer now, up straight. and sae seems to know what you’re thinking because he chuckles, relieved because he can read your tone—you’re not angry, not upset, you trust him somehow and it’s only because despite what you think, you know him better than anyone else.

“fuck off, y/n, you already know,” and he says this affectionately because you can feel the tenderness in the way he says your name, in the way he invites you into his arms—the way he pulls you close and lets you sit facing him on his lap. “you gonna be my girlfriend now or what?”

your lips are so so close and you’re both holding back so so much. “mmm i don’t know, itoshi sae, what if i wanna see you beg me for it?”

“god, i hate you,” he says, without meaning it. it’s the first time you’re actually feeling how strong he is, because he lifts you up from the back of your thighs and throws you on his bed as he hovers over you, a little squeal leaving your lips at the unexpected gesture. “hm, kinda like that sound you make.”

he’s saying it so monotonously that you’re embarrassed. “shut up, sae, before i leave.”

“that’s cute, you think you’d actually leave me,” he teases, and you curse yourself for finding that slight condescending tone of his hot. “but hey, really, be my girlfriend.”

“you asking me that after kissing another girl?” you act shocked, acutely aware of how his fingers are all intertwining with yours, your hands on either side of your head, sae pinning you down. if anyone walked in now, they’d get the wrong idea of what you two are doing. for sure. but you try to act unbothered, you don’t want to boost his ego even more.

sae leans down to press his forehead against yours, and you’re hoping your heart doesn’t leap out of your chest because he’d definitely feel it. “shit timing, i know. but you’re the only one i want, so.”

he’s pretty shit at talking emotions, you realise. and then you realise that this only works because you’re equally good at reading his. despite his reluctance to talk emotions, he shows you how special you are, constantly.

many girls want him, but you’re the one he spends most of his time with. you’re the one with his actual clothes in your closet and his rings on your fingers. you’re the one sae kisses and willingly so, the only one who’s on his wallpaper reminding him of what he’ll have each time he comes home.

“i told kaori i liked you and no one else too,” sae continues explaining, though he really doesn’t need to. you listen anyway. “she got mad and stormed off but shit, i don’t care. only care about you.”

and he’s pretty forthcoming with his feelings when he wants to be and that’s enough for you. you squeeze his fingers lightly and smile at him.

you don’t have to hear any more to know.

“i love you too, itoshi sae.”

the way he marks you that night lets you in on everything you need to know.

UNIVERSITY: SENIOR YEAR

six years.

it’s been six years since you’d first had a crush on itoshi sae. and now you’re his girlfriend, always in the front row for every match and the object of most of his fangirls’ hatred. that’s okay though, none of that matters.

whenever you come back home to your (shared) apartment now, it’s like all your worries melt away into the void, and sae reminds you just how much you mean. even if his pet names are less than swoon-worthy at times.

“you really need to stop posting shit like this,” you deadpan, showing sae your phone screen. it’s a picture of you asleep in the morning, drooling on his bare shoulder.

sae blinks, acting coy like he always does. “what? it’s cute.”

“you’re insufferable, itoshi.”

sae ignores that, switching the subject. “hey, you have any goals for your twenties?”

you hum, pondering. “well, i guess if i could do what i want, i’d travel the world,” you pause, sitting up on the sofa and looking at him. “why?”

it’s the last year of university, and the both of you are finishing your degrees, with the possibility that sae might be getting a contract with one of the overseas clubs. you’re not really sure; there’s a few of them who’ve expressed interest, but you’d always let sae think through it on his own.

does his question have something to do with that?

“was thinking i wanted to take you along if you wanted to come with,” sae half explains, because he’s bad with details like that. he continues when he spots your confusion, “if you wanted to explore wherever i decided to go.”

oh, he means he wants to take you along to wherever he decided to go. you’re flattered, honestly.

“you mean, the itoshi sae wants to bring me wherever he goes, huh?” sae is already turning red, sensing your big head. “you offering to be my sugar daddy too?”

sae sighs. “you’re so stupid, i swear,” he complains, his words lacking any bite because he’s rubbing circles onto your arms. “you said you found some remote jobs right? thought we could make use of that and just go wherever together.”

after six years, you finally see sae trying to plan a future where the both of you are together. he loves soccer, but he loves you too, and you’re not the kind of person who’d make him choose, so you appreciate his compromises instead.

“itoshi sae, i’ll follow you wherever you go.”

he presses a hasty kiss on your lips, “good, ‘cause i plan on keeping you forever.”

you grin, pulling him down to you and kissing him even deeper, “i’ll hold you to your words, then.”

sae smiles against your lips. because he knows he got lucky with you, lucky you were there at the right moment, slipping your love letter into his locker. lucky you continued to like him, lucky you knew how to put him in his place whenever. lucky you’re you and you love him.

maybe he’s always liked you, even back in freshman year of high school when he realised how kind you are, how gentle you could be. you looked pretty in the sun that day, when he first saw you trying out soccer in the yard and falling flat on your ass. you didn’t notice him back then but he noticed you, not that you knew. sae didn’t try anything because he was sure it’d fail. but who knew all it took for his mind to change was a simple nudge from you?

he’s pretty sure that you’re his human manifestation of a forever.

“when the time comes, just say yes.”

7K notes · View notes

delphi-shield · 5 months

Text

push and pull // leon s. kennedy & jill valentine

Leon x Reader x Jill Smut wc: 2,860 mdni - 18+

the plumber at my house reading this over my shoulder: 😲 this has been in my drafts for like two months, i finally ripped the bandaid off and touched it up. i cant believe people want the jill/leon ship name to be jilleon when 'breakfast sandwich' is right there. ohh nooo i had to cut the scene where they high-five after you cum...... guess i'll have to write more jill and leon......what a tragedy.....

summary: Jill said she'd be home two hours ago. She's stood you up for dinner again. You're so upset, Leon's got to fuck you about it to make you feel better.

content: fem!reader, all porn no plot, piv (reader receiving), some praise from leon & some degradation from jill, spit, crying, hair-pulling, masturbation, blowjob, dom!jill, use of strap-on, established poly relationship, sorry yeah there's more religious imagery, stealing the jill & leon dynamic from this post, fucking your relationship problems away does not work and you should not attempt. very loosely proofread.

Jill's late.

She promised. You cooked, you cleaned, and she promised she would be here. Bought a special candle and everything, three wick, fresh linen scent. Not your kind of thing, but you know she likes those clean, bright smells.

The first half hour, you’d clung to the idea that her physical therapy appointment was just running late. Forty-five minutes in, three unanswered texts, your hope diminishes. An hour, and Leon’s helping you put the food up and clean the dishes.

Leon’s not exactly happy with Jill. This isn’t the first time she’s done this to you. He hates to see you pout. Even more than that, he hates to see the way you’re trying not to cry in front of him. He does everything he can think of to make you feel better. Watch one of your godawful shows with you, play with your hair for you, give you a nice bath if you wanted - none of his offers made much of a difference. He knows better than to take it personally. He’s not Jill. He can’t fix what she broke.

He can fuck you about it, though. That always seems to take your mind off things, at least for a little while.

He let you use him however you like, dealer’s choice. You wanted him in the dining room chair, wanted to ride him slow, grind down on that fat cock till you unwound and your pretty tears weren’t because your girlfriend stood you up, and that’s what you’d get. Not his first choice, but he’s not the one who looks so pretty with those big, wet eyes.

The only downside is that you can't hear Jill's key turning in the door when Leon's got his cock stuffed so deep in your pussy you can feel him in your ribs, when you’re too busy rocking yourself to a gradual, slow-built end. You'd missed your ringtone too - and Leon's for that matter. You weren't intentionally being petty, but intentions never did soothe Jill's moods.

"Nice," she drawls, dropping her bag with a thud. "Real nice."

Your head falls back just enough to get a look at her, pouting in the doorway. Maybe it's supposed to be intimidating. Really, she just looks like a dejected cat, all puffed up for attention. The hand splayed on Leon’s chest flops back uselessly, reaching for her.

“Jill -”

Leon’s hips jut up, reminding you he's here, reminding you who's inside you. Whatever you were going to say melts away into a whine so pathetic even you want to roll your eyes.

"Got started without you," Leon says, callous on your behalf. His hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you back to him. It doesn’t take much prompting for you to curl back into his chest, walls fluttering around his cock, gripping him like your life depends on it. "Saved you some dinner. It’s in the fridge."

How can he be so casual? Feels like you’ve got lava running through your blood. His hands settle on your hips again, push-pulling you back and forth to get you to grind again. You oblige, faster than before, mouthing open kisses against his neck. They ought to canonize him for his patience, crown him Patron Saint of Not Plowing You Into The Carpet.

Jill doesn't say a word. She marches off to the bedroom, leaving her boots behind as she goes. Her cardigan gets flung over the couch - poor thing. It didn't do anything wrong.

She’ll come out when she’s ready, you tell yourself. Ignoring the ingrained need to manage Jill’s emotions for her is hard, but not quite as hard as Leon’s dick. Makes it a little easier to forget. You press your moans into Leon’s skin, let him have them for safekeeping.

Her footsteps pound back into the room. You don't know what she's done that's so funny, but Leon shakes with a laugh. You move to look, and his palm pressing against your cheek stops you. Something clatters onto the dining room table, a heavy thunk and buckles. He presses a light kiss to the crown of your head, strokes your hair.

"Go ahead and finish up, baby. Doin' so good. All yours."

It's all the permission you really need. It doesn’t take long - you’re good for him, after all. So good, you don't even need his help. You just need him to hold you up when that slow heat finally expands, spreads like fire through your limbs and leaves you making a mess of his lap, baptizing his cock with your release and moaning hymns for him.

You slump against him, eyes heavy and limbs loose. Your head nestles against his chest, his heart hammering like crazy. Poor guy. So patient. So sweet. You want to offer to take care of that for him - he's still inside you, sitting so still and so good, the stretch all you need. It feels like a bomb went off in your skull, though, scattered all your thoughts around the apartment. You need a moment before you can be considerate, before you can formulate any kind of offer. You reach up, pat his cheek gently to tell him how good he made you feel, lazily kiss at the hollow of his throat.

Jill's got plenty of words, though. She's not the one who just fell apart.

"You so needy you can't wait forty-five minutes?"

"Closer to an hour," Leon counters, and for the first time you hear the strain in his voice. "More like two, actually."

Jill’s irritation boils over. "Shut up. Why don't you go jerk off in the corner?"

After all, he's supposed to be on her side. He's the one who knows what this life is like, the one who knows what their work entails and the stress of it all.

He's also the one who texts when he's running late. He's the one still on active deployment, the one who hadn't been dodging home like the plague. He got over himself a year ago, figured ways to deal with his emotions that didn’t include running as fast as he could, drinking until they drowned, or working himself to the bone.

Jill’s still working on that part. Again - saint-like patience.

“Maybe I will,” he says, casual as he can. He jostles you in his arms. He’d say it’s to keep you awake, but it’s mostly to keep his dick hard. You pulse around him, groan into his t-shirt and drool a little dark patch onto his shirt.

You’re all soft and pliable when her hands slide up your sides, fingers curling in the spaces between your ribs. You lean back to her, longing for the softness of her tits under your head, and you glide back through the air unsupported, like you’ve faded through the ghost of her. Your head lolls back, pretty, pathetic pout on your swollen lips.

“Gonna be good?” She asks, staring down her nose at you, eyes half lidded. You nod your head. Her eyes narrow. “Words.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shifting you off of Leon's lap is a group effort, one that Leon doesn't particularly care to be too enthusiastic about. His poor dick is lonely, and fucking his fist is a poor substitute for the sticky warmth of your cunt. Jill cradles you in here arms - the first hint of tenderness you've had from her all night - and settles you on the floor in front of the couch. She kicks your legs into position, sways back to appraise your form, and gives you a long-suffering sigh that's a far cry from approval.

"Whatever," she mutters under her breath. "It'll do. Don't move."

She shuffles off to the side. You hear the rustle of fabric. You turn your head to look, and -

"I said don't fuckin' move."

Your head snaps to the front again, hands fisted against the tops of your thighs. No arguing with that tone. Your back is ramrod straight. There's movement to your right, and Leon finally comes into view, settling against the far side of the couch. He's at least kind enough to give you a show, stroking his cock for you in long, slow strokes, massaging his palm over that shiny red tip and sliding his own fluid down to squeeze at the base. Makes your mouth water just looking at him.

Not that you have to wait long for a treat. Jill finishes her prep work, drags herself back over to the couch and drops down in front of you, strap-on making you go crosseyed.

“Go on,” she sighs, waving her hand lazily. Like she’s doing you a favor.

And she is. It’s a privilege to suck her strap.

You rock onto your knees and take too much of her at once, gag yourself right off the bat in your eagerness. They both groan, Jill in exasperation, Leon because holy fuck, if he hears you make that noise again he's going to blow his load immediately. His hand shucks his t-shirt up. He's not trying to stain this shirt with cum. Not his cum, anyway.

"Your mouth is so perfect for this," Jill says, leaning forward and fisting a hand in your hair, "and you're still so bad at it. Do I have to show you how to do everything?"

You nod uselessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Jill rolls her eyes, smothers the hint of a smile that threatens to twist her lips up. She guides your head back to the head of her silicone cock and sets an easy pace for you. Lets you take it nice and slow, get accustomed to the weight of her cock on your tongue as if you haven't done this a hundred times - as if she knows you went too hard right off the bat just to get her to guide you like this.

"There you go," she drones, the praise feeling like anything but. You bob your head freely, her hand in your hair just a suggestion now. "Finally figured it out. Not as dumb you look."

You push further, tucking your thumb tight in your fist and gagging only a little when the head of her cock prods at the back of your throat. Leon's hips buck into his fist, quick and rhythmless, swearing under his breath. His leg kicks out, nudges Jill's calf and you swear she's going to snap at him.

Your eyes cut from Jill to Leon, a tear rolling down your cheek, and that’s the final push that has him cumming all over his stomach, head tipped back into the arm of the couch, pretty moans so loud, so perfect that it makes you feel your heartbeat in your pussy.

You don’t have time to savor the way that he looks, paint him in your mind and hang it up on the walls around your skull like a pin-up. Jill lifts you off her cock, stuffing her hands under your armpits like you’re a stray kitten. You would be, for her, if she asked. Let her slip a pretty collar around your neck, hope you’re lucky enough that it’s got a bell.

She doesn’t wait for Leon to recover, just manhandles the pair of you so your back is pressed to his chest, his cum smearing against your skin. Leon’s got that loose limbed laziness that comes with a release that built-up.

“Hold her,” Jill growls. “Stop fucking around.”

Leon's hands curled around the back of your thighs, spreading you wide for Jill. A warm chuckle rumbles through his chest and pours into you. His head ducks down, mouth by your ear.

“She's mad ‘cause I had you first.”

You turn your head, stifle your giggles in his shoulder. The silicone head of Jill's cock slides through your sopping folds, nudging at your clit. Her hips rock agonizingly slow. It’s tough to tell whether she’s teasing you or herself at this point, but your sensitive body twitches and jerks with every pass of her spit-slick cock.

“Gonna make a mess?” Her hand grips your jaw tight, pulling your face from Leon's shoulder. It’s less a question and more a demand. You nod as best you can in her grip, remember too late to try and bumble out words. She taps your cheek twice, hard enough to sting, hard enough to make those pretty eyes water again.

Jill doesn’t wait for you to say it. She enters you in a quick, jerky thrust, no hint of warning, your breath stuttering and back tensing. She rabbits her dick into you, your moans falling as staccato as her pace. Her head bows to spit a fat glob of spit onto your clit. Her fingers rub you frantically, a pace so at odds with the slow push and grind of her hips that it makes you burn. You try to squirm back, the way your blood starts to singe a little too quick for your liking, but there's nowhere to go when you're pressed so tight against Leon's broad chest.

His hand slithers up and over the point of your hip, pressing down firmly just below your navel. Betrayal. You thought he was on your side. Your whining sharpens into a moan that has to have rattled the windows. Jill huffs a laugh, low and cruel. She pulls back just far enough to leave you wanting - and when you claw at her shoulders to drag her back home she's already moving, hard and slow, the light dancing in front of your eyes, her hips driving the breath out of your lungs, your chest caving in. It feels like you've imploded, blood on fire, singeing your bones and leaving the ash to remember it by.

She’s not done. You promised her a mess. Your voice is splintered, her hips still driving into you. You don’t feel yourself gushing around her until it’s already happening. You sniffle, your moans choppy and your tears falling quick, humiliation warming the embers in your stomach. Her pace slows and finally stills, finally lets you find yourself in the pile of ashes.

"Already?" Jill mocks, hands rubbing your quivering thighs soft and sweet despite the way she sneers.

You want to scoff, but you haven’t got the breath. Already, she says, like she hadn’t just ripped that orgasm out of you fast enough that you’ve got cartoon tweety-birds spinning around your head.

“My turn,” Leon pipes up.

“Fuck off. You’re not even hard. I'm just getting started.”

“Shoulda thought about that before you made her cum.”

God, they’re like lions fighting over a piece of meat. You push yourself up on shaky arms, give Jill your best gazelle-trying-not-to-get-eaten pout.

“M’tired,” you slur, your brains thoroughly fucked out. You form a T with your hands, calling for a time-out. “Need a break.”

Jill looks like she wants to bite anyway. But you were good, used your good girl hand signal and everything. She sighs, her shoulders slumping, and loosens the straps around her hips.

“C’mere, pumpkin.” Leon gathers you into his arms easily. “Gonna get you all cleaned up. Tuck your ass in.”

You ache when he moves you, in places you weren’t quite sure could ache. It’ll be worse later. Always is. They always have to fuck you at some weird angle. Can’t ever let your muscles get used to it, like you’re some kind of glorified exercise equipment. At least they wipe you down after they use you. Very polite of them.

Leon hands you your water bottle and settles in behind you, slotting up against your back. He’s got the both of you cleaned off even though he seems just as tired as you, bless him. Say a prayer to the patron saint of the bedroom.

Jill found dinner, apparently. You hear the microwave beeping distantly and share an amused look with Leon. Sure enough, she’s got a bowl of food in her hand when she settles at the end of the bed, legs crossed.

The silence lays somewhere in-between battlefields, landmines hidden all around your bedroom. Everything you want to ask is too loaded, too heavy. You’re not even sure you have the energy to stay up for a serious conversation, much less an argument. Jill looks so soft right now, the bags under her eyes seeming lighter in the warm lamplight of your bedroom. You don’t want to see her eyes sharpen. You don’t want to hear her teeth click together when she bites back her words. You search for some other topic, something that will make the tension evident in her shoulders melt away.

"We should do one of those clone-a-willy kits," you murmur, eyes shut, head tipped into the pillow. You open your eyes just enough to gauge her reaction. Warmth blooms in your chest when you see her eyes crinkle and her smile lines deepen.

"Why?" Jill laughs.

"You don't wanna fuck me with Leon’s dick?"

It’s the first time you’ve heard Jill laugh like that in a while. Pride spreads in your tired little grin. Leon's cock gives a tired twitch against your thigh. He groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder blade.

“You two are gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

#leon kennedy x reader #jill valentine x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil imagine #leon kennedy smut #jill valentine smut #resident evil x reader #x reader #resident evil #jill valentine #leon kennedy

446 notes · View notes

f1rodrigo · 2 months

Text

ᡣ𐭩 valentine's day with f1 boys ᡣ𐭩

summary: valentine's day posts celebrating love with your favorite formula one boy. featuring: lando norris, charles leclerc, and daniel ricciardo ❤︎‬ a/n: well, it's two days after valentine's i had this idea pretty late & it took me longer than expected! but here it is nonetheless! hope you enjoy! for anyone waiting on my series to continue i am so so very sorry there hasn't been an update in so long. break was busy and i feel like i haven’t not been busy since then. not sure when an update will come but i can promise you it will at some point<3.

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .°

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, and 892,619 others

yourusername wish i could express how much better life is with you in it. thank you for loving me i promise to keep on loving you right back, this valentine's day and all the rest. happy valentine's day my love<3

view all 3,212 comments

maxfewtrell just threw up actually

⤷ yourusername shut up you know you love us

⤷ maxfewtrell 🦗🦗🦗🦗

⤷ landonorris your jealously is showing mate

pietra.pilao awwww love you both sm

⤷ yourusername 😙😙 love u more sweet p

landonorris the last photo... was that necessary

⤷ yourusername absolutely

landonorris loving you is the easiest thing i've ever done

⤷ user1 just gonna walk into an open flame don't mind me

landonorris happy valentine's day baby i love you sooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much

⤷ yourusername i don't think that so was long enough :/

⤷ landonorris sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much

⤷ yourusername i guess that'll do

⤷ user2 literally how could you not love them

riabish the cutest couple ever 🫶🏻

⤷ yourusername ria!!! ily

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .°

yourusername added to their story

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .°

liked by yourbestfriend, charles_leclerc, and 671,910 others

yourusername no doubt that i am the luckiest girl in the world. to love you is the greatest joy of my life. happy valentine's day charles, i love you so much 🫂

view all 2,109 comments

charles_leclerc mon amour, i am the lucky one. i love you even more. happy valentine's 😙

⤷ user1 "i love you even more" hahahahaa when i take a long walk off a short pier than what

⤷ user2 real 🫠

charles_leclerc the last slide........

⤷ yourusername am i not allowed to profess my love for my boyfriend

⤷ charles_leclerc well when you put it like that

⤷ yourusername thinking of getting it printed on a shirt tbh, new race day fit

⤷ charles_leclerc now let's not get ahead of ourselves.....

⤷ yourusername too late, arriving in a week 🥰

⤷ user3 don't be shy share with the rest of us......

⤷ user4 omg new charles merch just dropped

user5 literally name a hotter couple....... you can't

lewishamilton ❤️❤️❤️❤️

⤷ yourusername hope you enjoyed your valentines lewis<3

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .°

yourusername added to their story

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .°

liked by danielricciardo and 1,291,819 others

yourusername danny, you make everyday feel like valentine's day. you never, and i mean never fail to make me smile. to know you is to love you. let's just do this forever ok? 💌

view all 2,871 comments

danielricciardo yn, forever isn't nearly enough. i love you so much happy valentine's💖

⤷ user1 "forever isn't nearly enough" i'm choking on my tears

danielricciardo have to say i've never looked better than in that last photo

⤷ yourusername have to say i absolutely agree

maxverstappen1 happy valentine's day @danielricciardo

⤷ yourusername MAX STOP TRYING TO STEAL MY MAN

⤷ maxverstappen1 can't steal what was mine first 😁

⤷ danielricciardo ladies, ladies there's enough of me to go around

⤷ maxverstappen1 who are you calling a lady-

⤷ user2 glad to know maxiel is alive and well

⤷ user3 PLS i know yn is tired of both their dumbasses

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find my sweet relief series here!

#lando norris #formula 1 #formula one #f1 2024 #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #charles leclerc #daniel ricciardo #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #valentines day #lando norris x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #charles leclerc imagine

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farfromstrange · 2 months

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Halloween | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 5 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt hasn't been paying attention to you lately. So, on Halloween, you decide to try and get his attention in a way he can't refuse.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), Dom!Matt, choking, praise, degradation, unprotected p in v, no foreplay, slight orgasm control, mentions of oral sex, use of "good girl", Matt looks like a bore in the beginning, there is a stranger who can't take a hint, a very common Halloween costume, protective!Matt, cliché tropes

Word Count: 4.7k

A/n: This is... well, let's just say that you can tell that it was written a while back and then rewritten in parts by Me today because the smut lacked depth, BUT I do kind of like it. It's a Halloween fic, so apologies about that. For this, I got inspired when I bought my "I'm Not Daredevil" sweater in 2022. Plus some general horny thoughts during my first Kinktober on Tumblr that I didn't participate in (2022). I hope you like it anyway.

He hasn’t paid enough attention to you lately.

Between work and the nights spent protecting the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, he is hardly home. He tries to be, but he fails almost every time. The bed is starting to grow colder, and his scent lingers only half-heartedly in the atmosphere. You miss him. You miss his touch, his skin, his voice but most importantly, you miss the spark. It has been two weeks of Matt being slumped, but that is more than enough to drive you crazy.

When it gets colder outside, you need your boyfriend by your side, to hold you and cherish you like he usually would. You miss being desired by someone. You miss being the center of his world. Not that you want him to ignore his responsibilities forever, but just for a few hours, you want him to yourself wholeheartedly. Missing him when he isn’t gone is the worst feeling, and it often leads to tensions in your relationship.

Matt can be so selfless that it sometimes starts to look and feel like he is being selfish by going after what he deems to be right. He doesn’t realize it though, not until he is hit over the head with it and suffers a concussion.

As Halloween rolls around the corner, having an absent boyfriend grows into a problem you can no longer ignore. And you don’t want to, either.

Karen decided to throw a party, and she sent out invites to her closest friends months ago to make sure everyone could somehow fit it into their schedules. She has invited everyone she knows and encouraged those to bring their friends as plus ones. Costumes are mandatory.

Halloween used to be your favorite holiday, but this time, you aren’t even sure if you can make it to the party without getting pitiful glances because your plus one has to be busy—the plus one that Karen also invited separately because he is her colleague and friend.

Matt doesn’t seem to care much about Halloween, especially not this party. Even though it’s not only important to Karen but to you, he has expressed how much he doesn’t want to go because he can’t neglect his Daredevil duties for one night. Not right now.

When you reminded him a few weeks ago, he told you that the 31st of October is boring and overrated, kissed you, and then you both went to bed.

You decided that night that it was time to use a different set of weapons. If Matt knew, he would go crazy, but that is what you aim for. You want him to go crazy. Crazy for you.

The first step of your plan sounds easier than it is: convince him to come with you.

“You going to Karen’s party?” he asks you one evening before going out into the night.

You answer curtly, “Yeah.”

“Got a costume?”

“You know I do.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “Are you going to let me feel it? Or do you want me to guess?”

“I want you to come with me.” You help zip his Daredevil suit back up. “I want you to put the mask down and come with me. Karen invited the both of us,” you say. “She’s gonna be asking questions.”

If it’s the disappointed cadence of your voice or the fact that he’s curious about what you’re going to wear, you’re not sure, but when he suddenly agrees, you’re taken aback. “I’ll join you guys later,” he murmurs. “Right now–“

Your excitement falls flat again. “The city needs you. Yeah, I know.”

You’re starting to grow sick and tired of that sentence. He doesn’t deserve this. He is trying his best, and you act like a needy child. You’re angry while he is saving lives and making sure the streets are a little safer. But you stood by for weeks without complaining once that you felt a bit neglected. You always show him unwavering support. Even now, you want nothing more than for him to do what he needs to do, but you do so with a bitter aftertaste. And a lot of misplaced jealousy.

Not having him close is torture. You need him. Even dressed in protective red leather, he looks too hot to handle, and that makes you crave him even more.

You brush off the ache in your core and focus on getting him dressed for the night. You don’t want him to get hurt.

“You going to wear the costume?” you ask.

He cocks an eyebrow. “You mean the sweater that says ‘I’m not Daredevil?’”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, it’s a joke only the four of us will understand. It’s perfect!”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says, his unfocused eyes darting up toward the ceiling. “I just… How about I just put a suit on and say I’m James Bond?”

“Please?” You wrap your arms around his neck.

He sighs warily in response. “Will you tell me what your costume is?”

“No,” you answer plainly.

That’s the second part of your plan; wear the most revealing costume you could wear, and drive him crazy when he does appear at the party and hears you mingling. When he smells your bare skin, and when he realizes that you’re getting all the attention he should be giving you.

“Please,” he copies your pleading tone, lips pursed into a frustrated pout. The conflict in his eyes is not yet covered by the red mask.

He’s contemplating. For a moment, he considers staying. He wants to spend time with you; he wants to go to the party and have fun. You love Halloween and he would do anything to make you happy, but he can’t. The city is busier than usual. Louder. More intense. His ears can’t seem to catch a break. He tries to focus on you, to tune out the noise, but he fails miserably every damn time.

He doesn’t sleep, not much, and he barely eats anymore because he drowns himself in work so deeply that he forgets his basic needs. He just needs it all to stop. He has to go out to get some semblance of relief—to fight, to get his fists bloody, and come home exhausted enough to get a few hours of shut-eye before the cycle inevitably repeats itself.

It has been like this for weeks now. He is always overstimulated, always overworked; he can’t even kiss you sometimes because the thought alone burns his skin. It hurts that much.

He isn’t going to stop. You know that. You understand, but even the devil’s advocate grows tired sometimes.

You’re so tired of the distance. You are so tired of him not talking to you when something is bothering him, and you’re tired of having to pretend it doesn’t bother you.

Still, neither of you want to start the conversation. It’s a series of petty attempts to gain attention, a constant tiptoeing around each other until one of you caves.

You peck his lips. “You come to the party, you find out,” you say. “You don’t, I guess I’m showing all of this ass for nothing.”

His ears perk up. “You’re what?”

“Nothing,” you wave him off.

“No, what did you just say?”

“I said you should come to the party.”

“After that. Is it—I swear to God if you’re wearing something short…”

“Then what? You gonna drag me home and spank me?” You scoff, trying your best to hide the fact that this is exactly what you want him to do.

The silk of your dressing gown hits the floor. It’s time to play even dirtier than before. Your plan is made to be adaptable, after all.

Matt stops breathing. “This isn’t fair,” he growls.

You smirk. “You should go.”

“You’re torturing me, you know that?”

“You decided to go out tonight,” you counter.

“Because I have to.”

“Do you?”

He curses under his breath, “Fuck. Okay, whatever game you’re playing, sweetheart, I need you to stop.”

You’re nowhere near satisfied. In all of your naked glory, you take a step forward. “Or what?”

“Or,” he says, and his voice lowers barely above a dangerous whisper, “I’ll stuff your cunt with my fingers until you’re begging me to come. And then, just when you’re about to, I’ll pull away and leave you to take care of it yourself because I know you won’t be able to come without my help. That’s what I’m gonna do if you keep teasing me like that.”

Your jaw drops. You’ve got him right there, with his teeth buried in the hook, but he knows that if he lets the trap fall shut, you win. This isn’t just a desperate attempt at getting his attention anymore—you’ve got that now. This is turning into a game.

Matt smirks, hearing the uptick of your heartbeat. He thinks he’s so smart. Reaching out, he cups your bare pussy with his rough palm, eliciting a sweet moan out of your mouth that shoots right to his cock. “Already so fucking wet for me,” he purrs.

His touch feels like electroshocks shooting right into your bloodstream. It has been way too long, and you’re already burning for him before you can even fight back.

You want to beg him to keep going, but as quickly as he has put his hands on you, he retreats again.

Matt marvels at the feeling of your slick between his thick fingers. He takes a whiff. Your arousal is so prominent in the air that his face contorts in agony. And then, he slides the digit into his mouth. Your distinctive taste explodes on his taste buds, and he moans, “Delicious.”

The show he’s giving you is utterly erotic, and it takes everything in you not to drop to your knees and take his aching cock out of his suit.

Pressing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, he whispers, “I’ll see you later.”

He’s gone before you can protest.

He’s not the only one who has tricks up his sleeves though, and you’re more than ready to seek your revenge later tonight and finally get what you so deeply crave from him. He has to let go eventually, and he has to pay attention to you for longer than five minutes. You both need it.

Dressed in your costume and with a bottle of liquor, you make your way to Karen’s apartment. You’re determined to make this night last. Well, at least long enough for Matt to arrive, and then it’s showtime.

Your friend greets you with a welcoming hug. Her small living space is already crowded, and you make your way through toward the table with the drinks. You can feel several eyes on you. Without your coat on, the costume you’re wearing leaves little to the imagination. You wonder if Matt can smell you across the city, wherever he may be right now. Maybe he does, and maybe he can tell what the thought of him is doing to you. Maybe he can tell that this is exciting you and he will cut his patrol short tonight. But you know he isn’t paying attention to you. He only does so when he fears that you’re in danger.

“And who are you supposed to be?” a low voice asks beside you.

You turn to find a tall guy dressed as a werewolf approaching the punchbowl to your right.

“The tag said ‘slutty witch’,” you answer. “But I find the term a bit… problematic, so I’m a witch who likes to wear very short clothes on very cold days.”

He chuckles. Underneath his makeup and the fake fur, you can’t make out his features, but it’s not like you care anyway. “Well,” he says, “you’re a very beautiful witch.”

Oh, now he’s flirting with you.

Your plan for tonight includes mingling to draw attention to you and make Matt jealous when he gets here, not flirting with strangers. You would never do that to Matt. You also don’t feel the need to flirt with anyone who isn’t your boyfriend, even though the attention does make you blush for a moment— mostly out of discomfort.

You’re not interested in this man. Werewolves are only your type when they’re fictional, and even then you will always prefer your devil over hairy mythological creatures.

You take a sip of your drink. “I accept the compliment,” you say. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the man answers. He takes another step toward you. “Are you here alone?”

You take a step back. “Yes, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Playing hardball, huh?”

“No, actually, I’m just not interested.”

“Nah, I don’t believe that. Is it another guy? It’s a guy, right? It has to be a guy.”

You glare at him. “Why? Because you’re so hot and irresistible and can’t take no for an answer?” Your voice drips with sarcasm.

He leans toward you, and he’s getting dangerously close to your personal space. “You think I’m hot. You said it,” he says.

Thankfully, he turns around to pour himself a cup of punch before touching you against your will. You wouldn’t hesitate to snap his neck like a twig.

Your heart is pounding as the adrenaline mixes with fury in your veins. You forget about Matt and the fact that you dressed like this for him. He will appreciate it, and his opinion matters most to you. You just hope that this guy will leave it be so you can join your friends on the other side of the room.

“No offense, dude,” you tighten your grip around your cup, “but I think I’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Karen and Foggy are mingling somewhere, and you know that you’re definitely safe with them.

The werewolf smirks. “Can I come?”

Before you can tell him off, the very thing you thought wouldn’t happen happens.

“I believe the lady said she’s not interested,” Matt pipes up behind you.

So he was listening to you from across the city. His locked jaw is an indication that he is fuming inside. More than fuming. He’s about to explode.

Oh fuck.

He appears next to you, and one look at him makes you beam. He is wearing the red sweater with the big, white “I’m Not Daredevil” written on it. He even put on the antlers.

The werewolf takes a good look at him when he wraps his arm around your waist, and he finally retreats. “She’s all yours,” he says.

“Yeah, she is,” says Matt. You can’t see his eyes, but the rest of his face is expressive enough to give the other man a faint idea of what he is capable of. As innocent as he may look, he isn’t.

There’s a certain dominance he carries that could make any grown human being weak in their knees. You are the only one who would voluntarily do so and thank him, and beg him for more.

Once the werewolf has disappeared, Matt turns you toward him. His feral demeanor slips for just a moment. “Are you okay?” he asks softly. He cradles your face in his hand, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, and you once again find yourself on fire.

For you, he put the costume on. For you, he came. And everything you have been struggling with these past weeks while he was absent feels so stupid now because he has been trying from the start, you just didn’t want to see it because you were so upset and needy.

You nod weakly, leaning into his touch. “He was just…weird,” you murmur. Reaching out, you touch his sweater. “You’re wearing the costume.”

Matt shows the faintest hint of a smile before it completely fades from his face again.

“Yeah,” his answer is breathless. “But what the fuck are you wearing?” His hand slips from your waist to your exposed thighs with a low growl. A shiver ripples through him.

“A costume.”

He brushes over your ass, and there is hardly anything there to cover the fishnets you’re wearing. If he grips a little tighter, he will hold your flesh in his hands. Just a little lower and he will touch your wet cunt. Your scent is overwhelming, and the feeling of your skin in the crowded room makes all the lights in his brain go dark as they burst. He’s already so hard in his jeans.

“Was this your plan all along?” he asks. His grip on your cheek tightens, and the other hand grabs your ass. “Get me to come with you just to hear your thighs brush against each other? To smell how wet you are with barely any fabric covering your pussy? Did you want me to bend you over in front of everyone just so I’ll touch you? Are you that desperate?”

You’re in trouble. Big, big trouble—and it’s exactly what you wanted. To be fair, it stands in a slightly different light now, but it’s Halloween. Things always go differently than planned on Halloween.

You swallow thickly, fluttering your lashes at him as innocently as you can. “You’ve been so busy,” you confess, “and I just missed you. I missed you so much, baby. I had to do something to get your attention.”

He bares his teeth. Those gorgeous teeth behind those gorgeously plump lips. You can only imagine them on yours. You can only imagine what it will feel like to have him between your thighs now, wildly licking at your slick folds while thrusting his skilled fingers in and out of your cunt. God, you want that. You need it. The thought alone is enough to make your thighs clench, and you cross them. You’re positively dripping.

“Listen to me,” he demands, and his grip moves to your chin. “You’re going to finish that drink, alright? You’re gonna drink up, you’re gonna say goodbye to Foggy and Karen, and then we’re going to get out of here so I can fuck that feeling of inadequacy right out of that beautiful head of yours. Are we clear?”

You stare into your reflection in his glasses. The blood is rushing in your cheeks. You don’t trust your voice; all you can do is nod.

“Good girl.” His hand drops from your face.

You’re shaking. Your knees are weak, and your legs feel like jelly. You breathe and you live solely for him. He has a power over you that is almost embarrassing to admit to.

When you try to down the rest of your punch in one gulp, Matt stops you. By slowing you down, he’s teasing you. You suppose that you deserve it, but you’re not sure how much longer you can wait.

It takes an agonizing while for you to finish your drink, say goodbye to your friends, and call a cab. Matt keeps his hands to himself. It’s so unlike him, but it gives you an idea of what’s to come, and the anticipation is killing you.

The door to his apartment hasn’t even fully shut behind you when he flips you around and pushes you against the wall, chest first. He does it with such force that your palms burn upon landing. You gasp.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he rasps into your ear. “I put this costume on for you. To be nice. If I’d known you would make it your mission to make my dick hard in front of dozens of people, I would have fucked you before going out tonight.”

You know that he wouldn’t have, but the thought still sends shivers down your spine. Not a single coherent thought is left in your mind.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t–” you break off into a moan.

Your tights are torn in two by his eager hands, and you moan when he pulls you back against his hard cock. You can feel his straining against your pants against your now bare skin. You want to reach out and touch him, but he won’t let you.

And then, his palm lands flat on your bare ass cheek. He doesn’t even bother to take the rest of the costume off.

“You didn’t mean to?” he asks. “Are you sure about that?”

You buck your hips. His dark chuckle grazes your ear.

“Answer me, sweetheart.”

“I meant to,” you cry out when his hand comes back down on your red ass cheek. It stings, but the pain shoots straight to your middle where it settles in your needy core. “And I don’t regret it.”

“That’s better.”

“Please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but this aching emptiness is driving you crazy. You need his cock, and it’s becoming pathetically obvious.

Matt gives your backside another slap before pressing you further against the wall. “Don’t ever doubt that you’re the most important thing in the world to me,” he says. “But slutty witch? You know what that does to me?”

You can’t help but smirk. “Yeah.”

He tears the underwear under your skirt in two.

“If you want to be a slutty witch,” he presses his lips to your ear, “then act like it.”

Without a warning, without preparation, he thrusts into you. Your lips part in a lustful moan.

Matt is relentless. One arm wraps around you, the other around your throat. He thrusts his hips upward, filling you to the brim with his cock. He pulls out just enough to move past your G-spot and directs the tip of his cock toward that spongy spot that makes you see stars.

His name tumbles from your lips like a mantra. Matt, Matt, Matt…

Your chest deflates. The corset of your costume is so tight, you can’t breathe. Your nipples ache underneath the fabric. They want to be free. They want to be touched.

“Matt,” you beg.

He doesn’t hesitate to open the ties at the front, pulling you free from the metal cage.

The air gets knocked out of your lungs. He tightens his grip, locking the oxygen in your windpipe. Skin slaps against skin, moans fill the air scented with the stench of sex and every time his cock penetrates your tight walls, he pushes you further to the edge of the precipice.

From around your waist, he moves his arm down and his hand to your pussy. He catches your clit with precision. His thrusts speed up. They hit deeper and harder, and your eyes roll back into your head.

Matt, Matt, Matt…

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he grunts. “Such a good little slutty witch for me, sweetheart. Push back against me.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You move your hips back to meet his thrusts. He lets out a moan of his own, digging his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

“That’s it.” He rubs in rapid circles over your clit. Your body is begging for a release.

The wall feels cold against your heated forehead. His fingers tighten around your throat again, causing you to clench around his cock. He twitches. You can feel every desperate drag of him inside of you, and he only keeps on giving you more, and more, and…

Your hand finds his against against the wall. The warning of your impending orgasm gets lost, but he doesn’t need verbal confirmation for something that he can feel every time he thrusts into the walls of your cunt that are hugging him so tightly, he is holding on by a thread.

As if to distract himself, Matt lands another harsh slap against your bottom. “Who do you belong to?” he asks, feeling the flesh jiggle under his touch.

You moan. “You, Matthew. Only you!”

Your screams of pleasure are music to his ears. He repeats the motion of his hand. You will have imprints on your skin tomorrow, and he will proudly feel them before you have to go to work. Leaving his mark on you is an exciting thought.

His balls tighten. He won’t last much longer if you keep squeezing him like that—if those thoughts keep popping into his head, and he barely manages to keep himself from coming right then and there, coming deep inside of you and fucking his cum into you until you#re overflowing.

The pain from the sloppy spanking—he isn’t capable of seriously hurting you—floods your system and your pussy at the same time, amplifying the lewd noise echoing in his otherwise silent apartment. With the added wetness, the circles he rubs over your clit with his calloused fingers become impossibly faster. The sensitive bundle of nerves starts to scream; you can barely take it anymore, but you need his permission to come. In this scene, at least. You must always wait for his permission when he punishes you like this.

You have a safe word for a reason, but you’re too blissed out to care. You love what he’s doing to you. You love how it feels, and you love how well the little pain he introduces you to every time mixes with the pleasure that consumes you whole.

He buries his nose in your neck. You smell of sweat, salt, and his shampoo. It makes you feel better, you told him. To him, it’s a sensory dream. You complete him, and your scent complements him in ways he doesn’t fully understand. All Matt knows is that it makes him feel good, and not just because he gets a little possessive sometimes. It’s a warmth that runs deeper than the words of the English language could describe.

Again, he flicks your clit. “I want you to come,” he finally says the five words you have been waiting for. “I want you to come all over my cock, and I want you to scream my name so this entire city knows who’s taking care of you.”

Your pussy clenches around him again, and with a shout, you come undone. Your legs shake as the coil in your lower stomach snaps, tearing down your walls. You spasm, and you cry out his name. No feeling could ever be as powerful as the orgasms that Matt manages to give you. They are like tsunamis, and they know no mercy. They are a force of nature that no one can control. You know it will happen, but you never know the force of it until it happens. And every time it does, you feel like you’re floating in a world far from home where only he, his godly hands, and his cock exist.

Matt fills you with his cum after a few more sloppy thrusts. He comes hard, and it doesn’t seem to stop for quite a while. He’s leaking onto your thighs at this point, but the stickiness is only another reminder of him, and it makes you feel warm inside.

With your breathing slowed to a more acceptable pace, you allow yourself to lean back against him. “Wow,” you mumble.

He catches some of his cum from the inside of your thigh. “Yeah,” he says. “Wow.”

You greedily open your mouth. The salty essence of him spreads over your tongue. He’s the only man whose taste you would carry with you proudly for days.

The kiss Matt delivers to your cheek is sweet.

“Did you like my—”

He cuts you off, “Yeah. Too much.”

“But it did work,” you say.

“You could’ve just talked to me.”

You look over your shoulder, you notice that he’s still wearing his costume, minus the glasses. His hazel eyes are full of hurt. Shame. Guilt.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t think you’d listen.”

“I always listen,” he says. “Even when you think I don’t.”

You whimper at the loss of his cock when he pulls out. Matt doesn’t turn you around right away, and for a split second, you fear that this will turn into an argument.

Instead, he sweeps you up into his arms.

“Don’t disappear on me again,” the plea is whispered directly into his ear.

His hold on you tightens, carrying you toward your shared bedroom. “I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

“I love you.” The sincerity in his voice lights the candle in your soul that threatened to go out.

You answer without missing a beat, “I love you too.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

Matt throws you down on the mattress. “Keep the costume.”

Halloween might just become his favorite holiday, after all.

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x you #no y/n #daredevil #daredevil x reader #charlie cox #from the vault

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avastrasposts · 3 months

Text

A Baker's Dozen - Eleven**

A collection of fun and fluffy one shots set in the same bakery. Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stories, twelve recipes.

Hello!

The second to last visitor to the bakery is here and I can hardly believe it! Eleven weeks of Pedro boys have flown past and I've had so much fun with them!

So before we get started with number eleven, this series was meant to be all fluff, but then this Pedro boy arrived and just really got out of hand and I had nothing to do with it, he just took over!

So I had to ask my friend @morallyinept if I could use her very handy Scoville Smut Rating to issue some warnings. Thank you, Jett!

Series Master List

This chapter is rated:

🌶 - "Don't hurt me, cadejo."

Scoville Level 15,000. The Donis Cadejo Hot Sauce. (Buy the sauce here) The story contains mildly spicy smut. Tingles left on your tongue.

The week’s been slower than usual, as it always is in February, post-holiday blues setting in, everyone trying to be extra healthy and save some money. No time to be indulging in sweet things. Your shop does fine though, planning and prepping for Valentine’s Day and the upcoming wedding season.

But the slower hours in the shop makes you take note of the black car that’s been parked across the street all day. Nothing odd about that, but there’s also been someone sitting in the car all day. You’ve been glancing over as you go about your business, studying the man behind the wheel as he makes notes and phone calls, focused on something further down the street, out of your view. From the way he’s dressed, a crisp, well ironed, pale blue shirt, you’re guessing he’s an agent for some agency, or maybe a very well dressed private eye. He’s not doing a very good job though, he sticks out like a sore thumb on this street of small businesses. When he glances over at you just before noon, you give him a quick smile, to hide the fact that you’ve been staring at the way he’s been rubbing his large hand over his chin for the past five minutes. He locks eyes with you, surprise flitting across his face, before he gives you a crooked smile in return.

This is the beginning of a dance; you glance over to find him looking at you rather than the street in front of him, you raise your eyebrows in challenge and he seems to chuckle, looking away. You study his strong nose, the dark curls brushing over his forehead as he makes more notes, and he catches you staring when he looks over, one eyebrow arching in a questioning look and you shrug with a smile, going back to the cake you’re decorating.

It’s late in the afternoon when you notice movement in the street, a second car parking behind the first and a man getting out and walking over to the first car. Quick words are exchanged, you steal glances from the corner of your eye as you finish up an order for tomorrow. Bending down to put the order away, you hear the bell on your front door chime.

“Hi, I thought I’d stop by and say hello properly,” the man from the car is standing in front of the counter with a small smile as you straighten up.

“Hi,” you say, returning his smile as you take the chance to get a better look at him for the first time. He’s taller than you expected, and broad, so much broader than the side view you’ve had all day indicated. The light blue dress shirt is stretching over his shoulders and arms and you immediately decide that he must be an agent, no private eye is ever this fit, not that you have much experience, but still.

“I just wanted to introduce myself and explain what I’m doing,” the man says, nodding over at his car on the other side of the street, “And I hope I can count on your discretion too.”

“Uuhmm, sure,” you say, looking at him as he pulls a badge from the pocket of his suit trousers, “I was kinda assuming that you’re on some sort of stake out.”

“That obvious, huh?” the man chuckles, showing you his ID.

“Yeah, your sleek car and nice shirt gave it away a little,” you smile, “and the way you sat out there all day, I’m pretty sure every business owner on the street has spotted you.”

“I’ll need to fix that for tomorrow then,” he smiles, “I’m special agent Dave York, I’m with the CIA, and we’ve got surveillance on an apartment further down the street. I can’t tell you what it’s about but you don’t have to worry, it’s nothing dangerous for the neighborhood.”

“That’s good to know,” you reply, “And you’re welcome in for coffee or something to snack on whenever you want,” you thumb at the coffee machine behind you, “I’d offer delivery service but that might be a little bit too obvious.”

He chuckles at that and you notice the dimple on his clean shaven cheek, a slight five o’clock shadow indicating that it’s been a while since he got up and shaved this morning.

“I’d love a coffee right now, if you don’t mind,” he says and you point at the menu.

“What’ll it be?

“The dark roast, black, please,” he says, “You’ve got a good selection.”

“Thanks, people mainly buy bread and cakes, the coffee machine is mainly for me and a handful of regulars who like good coffee, we like trying different beans and roasts,” you throw him a smile over your shoulder as you prepare his coffee to go.

“I’ll have to become a regular then, keep your coffee business going,” he taps his card on the machine as you hand him the cup.

“I just realized I know who you are,” you say, the penny finally dropping, “One of my regulars, Mrs Levinson, knows your mom. Mrs Levinson bought a Lemon Meringue Pie for her a while back.”

“Oh yeah, those two are as thick as thieves, always trying to set me up on blind dates,” he chuckles, taking a sip of the coffee, “I’ve been blaming my workload to avoid them." He raises the cup to you with a smile, “Great coffee, I’ll definitely come back."

“If I don’t spot you, I’ll know you’ve done a better job of hiding,” you tell him and he laughs, giving you a cheesy thumbs up as he leaves.

You watch him take long strides across the street to his car, the coffee still in his hand, and just as he gets in the car, he turns and looks back at you, a smile cracking across his face as he raises his hand in a wave.

You do spot him the next day, but you are keeping an eye out for him, glancing out to see if he’s arrived. He parks a different car across the street this time, a beat up, rusty looking banger, and he’s in a ratty looking t-shirt and a beanie pulled low over his forehead. Much less ‘agent on a stakeout’ this time, but you still glance over at him from time to time, far too often in fact. And you bite back a smile when you catch him glancing over at you too, catching your eye on a few occasions as he winks.

Half way through the day he’s relieved, and he steps out of his car, coming over to the bakery again.

“Hi,” he says, giving you a dimpled smile as he pulls off his beanie, “Did I blend in better today?”

“Yeah, better,” you smile back at him as he comes up to the counter, “The distressed t-shirt was a good choice.”

“I had to dig it out from the bottom of some box left over from when I moved,” he holds up the front of it and studies the suspicious looking stain on the front, “I swear this is not my usual casual look.”

Holding up the front has resulted in the hem of the t-shirt lifting up over the edge of his pants and you can’t help but glance down as he flashes a few inches of skin, his sweat pants sitting low on his hips. The trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband has you momentarily distracted as you follow it down to-

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say, snapping your eyes back up to his, but not before he notices, giving you a small smirk, “NIce sweatpants.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles, “not as old as the t-shirt, but still not my best look, I promise.”

“I don’t mind that much,” you smirk back and he flashes a crooked grin, his eyebrow cocked, before he looks up at the coffee menu behind you and tilts his head to the side.

“What do you recommend today? I’m feeling adventurous,” he says, looking down at you again with a smile, “blame the sweatpants.”

“A single espresso shot vanilla hazelnut latte with salted caramel and whipped cream on top? I usually add some cookie crumbles too,” you say and Dave’s face falls, his eyebrows pulling together in a concerned look.

“Ah…uhh…” he stutters, rubbing his hand over his jaw, clearly looking for a polite way to decline your suggestion and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing at his panic, but he catches the mirth in your eyes.

“Holy shit, you’re kidding,” he gasps out, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow as you start giggling.

“Sorry, I had to check if you’re serious about your coffee,” you wink at him as he shakes his head and puffs a relieved breath.

“Had me worried,” he says, “I thought I’d have to drink one of those to be allowed to stay a regular.”

“No, I think I’d have to kick you out if you did order one of those,” you smile, picking up the bag of new beans that just arrived, “Here, smell these, I just got them so I haven’t even tried them yet.”

Dave takes a deep breath and nods with a satisfied look, “That’s nice, can I try that?”

“Sure, I’ll make us one each. Single or double?”

“Double, please, this stake out thing is kicking my ass,” he says, leaning against the counter as you start the process of grinding the beans.

“Do you want some cake or something else too?” you ask, nodding at your selection.

“No, I’m good,” he says, “It all looks really good, but not today.” He does let his eyes drift over the cakes on display though and you smile to yourself, you know the type, sooner or later he’ll cave and get something as a treat no matter how strong his resolve it.

“Here you go,” you say, passing him his espresso, in a cup this time, “let me know what you think, if it’s good I might give it a permanent spot on the menu.”

You both take a few sips of the coffee in silence, humming at the flavors.

“It’s good,” Dave finally says, “Really good, I wouldn’t complain if it was a regular on the menu.”

“I agree, I’m going to order more,” you reply, draining the cup as he pulls his wallet out of his pants.

“Let me pay for both coffees,” he says, holding out his card, “as a thank you, for letting me come in and disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing, Dave,” you smile, “you can come in whenever you want.”

“Even if I’m not on a stake out?” he asks, a small smile playing around his mouth and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Especially when you’re not on a stake out,” you smile back and his dimple makes an appearance as his smile widens.

“I’ll remember that,” he says, tapping his card to pay for both coffees, “I’ll see you tomorrow though, more stake out.”

“See you tomorrow,” you say, returning the wave he gives you as he leaves.

He’s back the next morning, already sitting in the car as you come out into the shop to open up for the day. He looks tired, yawning big and rubbing his hand over his eyes as he leans his head against the headrest. You glance over at him while you work and serve the small morning crowd, but he doesn’t look back at you. Saying goodbye to the last customer you look over at the car again, Dave’s head is flopped to the side, mouth hanging open and eyes closed, sound asleep. The sight is adorable, the big CIA agent clearly exhausted if he’s passed out on the job. You grab your travel mug, the one you keep filled with coffee through the morning, and give it a quick clean. Filling it up with a triple espresso shot from the beans you’d had with him yesterday, you screw on the top and exit the shop. He stirs as your shoes scuff over the asphalt, jerking up as you lightly tap the window.

“Hey, want some coffee?” you ask, holding up the travel mug and he gives you such a look of relief and gratitude that it melts your heart.

“Thanks,” he says once he’s cranked down the window in the old car, “I’m dead here, can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Doesn’t do you much good on a stake out,” you say, “drop off the mug when you leave, and just wave at me if you want more coffee, I’ll come over with a refill.”

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” he smiles, and you smile back, giving him a wave as you cross the street to the bakery.

Dave stays a bit more alert through the rest of the day, and gets relieved earlier than usual. You smile when he comes into the shop.

“Any luck with whatever you’re waiting for?” you ask as he hands you the travel mug.

“No, and we’re running out of time, this might be a waste of resources,” he says, shaking his head and yawning widely, “I’m sorry, I was up late last night, working on this and then I couldn’t fall asleep, too much stuff on my mind.”

“Go home, Dave,” you say, shooing him out of your shop with a smile, “You’re no good to anyone when you’re like this.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says, “But I like our chats, makes this stake out more enjoyable than any other I’ve been on,” he suddenly looks a little bit shy as he’s half turned towards the door, a small smile as he looks back at you.

“I like our chats too,” you say, butterflies erupting in the pit of your belly, and for a few seconds you’re just ogling each other like a couple of fools, both too shy to say anything else. Dave clears his throat, a small chuckling sound, and looks at his shoes before he glances up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“See you tomorrow, Dave,” you give him a wave and a small smile, biting your lip to hold back the bigger one that’s being pushed up by the butterflies as he returns your smile and leaves.

But the next morning you don’t see his car, or any other car that might be a covert CIA operation and you wonder if the stake out got canceled. The day passes slowly, the usual February slump slower than usual without Dave outside your window. Realizing you don’t have his number, you can only hope he’ll come back even though he’s not on a stake out. And when you finally see him the next afternoon, crossing the street at a slight jog to avoid a car, you feel yourself smiling before he’s even spotted you. When he pushes open the door he gives you a wide grin.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asks, coming up to the counter as you put away your phone.

“Hi,” you smile at him, thanking your past self for changing the stained t-shirt and apron into something cuter, “I’m good, but things are slow today so I’m glad you’re here, it’s been kinda boring without the stake out to distract me.”

He chuckles at that, looking out onto the spot where his car had been for the past three days.

“Yeah, orders came yesterday to can it, another team has picked up a hotter lead so we’ve been working on that. But that place doesn't have any nice bakeries nearby, so it's a complete loss,” he says with a smile that makes your insides liquid.

“So you’re actually here when not on a stake out?” you tease him and he laughs.

“Told you I’d be back,” he says, pushing the sleeves of the sweatshirt he’s wearing up over his thick forearms and crossing his arms, scanning the coffee menu. “Should I go for another one of those nice beans, or should I be adventurous?” he asks.

You give him a crooked smile, tilting your head like you’re assessing him and he raises an eyebrow in question at you.

“What do you have in mind? That look is making me nervous.”

“I’m thinking….” you begin, “the regular coffee, but…you get a snack too, one of the cakes.”

Dave gives you a grin in response and begins to scan the cakes, “The carrot cake,” he says, pointing to one of the smallest slices covered in white cream cheese frosting.

“Good choice,” you smile, “it’s a best seller and I made it this morning.” You plate the slice and start making the coffee for him.

“It’s kinda healthy, right?” he asks, eyeing the carrot cake with suspicion, “It’s got carrots and all?”

“I mean, it’s still got sugar and fat in it,” you chuckle, “but it’s made with vegetable oil and not butter, so there is that.”

You bring the coffee to the counter and start making a coffee for yourself as Dave picks up the plate.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” you sputter out as you watch him scrape the frosting off the cake with the spoon, “That’s the best part!”

“It’s just fat and sugar,” he says, putting the dollop of frosting on the side of the plate, “I’m trying to stay healthy.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dave,” you smirk, “if you don’t eat that frosting on the cake like the baker intended, I don’t think this friendship is going to last.” You point to yourself and raise your eyebrows in a challenge.

“You know, I usually don’t eat sweet stuff, it’s the job,” he says, “I need to stay fit for it.” He’s toying with the cake, the intonation heavy on the 'eat'. He's not looking at you, but there’s a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.

“So indulge a little, it’ll be worth it,” you smile and he looks up at you, his smirk suddenly changing into something more challenging as he seems to evaluate you in silence for several long seconds.

“Only if you’re on the menu,” he says, his dark eyes pinning you in place while he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, “Are you on the menu?”

The question is direct as he slowly raises his eyebrows, the intention clear.

You feel your brain grind to a halt, Dave’s dark brown eyes are boring into you as you slowly inhale, you feel like he’s flicked a switch and turned on his professional side, but he’s not using it to interrogate you. Instead he’s using it to put pressure on you, to get you to tell him what you want.

What he wants.

Glancing down at the plate still in his hand, he swipes his finger through the frosting and slowly rounds the counter, coming up to where you’re still standing frozen by the coffee machine.

“Are you?” he says, repeating his question and slowly bringing his finger to his mouth, sucking the frosting off with a pop.

The tip of your tongue comes out to lick across your top lip and Dave glances down at your mouth, following the movement. Taking a step closer, he’s almost touching you now, you can feel the scent of his cologne wash over you as his eyes come back up to yours.

“I’d really like it, if you were on the menu,” he says, his voice low and dark, “but if you’re not, tell me, and I’ll leave.”

You swallow, still transfixed by his dark eyes on you, the way he’s looking at you, like he’s trying to read you and succeeding. You slowly nod your head yes.

Dave inhales softly, putting down the plate, “Use your words. Tell me I can kiss you,” he says, the frustration clearly thrumming just below the surface of his low tones as his breath skates across your cheek, his hands hovering just inches from your body, ready to grab as soon as you give him permission, “You’ve been driving me fucking crazy all week but I couldn’t do anything.”

A shiver runs through your body, your hand shaking as you put your coffee cup down, slowly putting both your hands on the front of his gray t-shirt, feeling the bunched up muscles flex under your palms as you slide them up to his shoulders. Dave is watching you intently, a small crease between his eyebrows, his fingers twitching by your waist.

“Not here,” you say, dropping your hands to your sides, and side stepping him. He turns as you slip out past him, quickly walking the front door and locking it, flipping the ‘Back in five minutes’ sign. When you turn back, he’s still standing by the coffee machine and you pass him.

“Less nosy neighbors in here,” you say, holding out your hand to him.

He reacts in a heartbeat, taking your hand and crowding you as he pushes you further into the kitchen, out of sight. He lets go of your hand and grabs your waist, the other landing on your neck, his large hand easily spanning across it and up, cupping your cheek as he walks you backwards. The cool metal of the walk-in fridge hits your back and Dave’s towering over you, bending his face down so that his strong nose brushes against yours, his eyes almost black under his eyebrows, pulled together tight, and the hand at your waist bunching up your shirt.

“Now?” he husks and you nod.

“Yes, now.”

His mouth is hot when it reaches yours in a flash, he’s pushing you further up against the fridge as he angles his head to have more. There’s an edge of desperation to the way he holds you. The hand on your cheek keeps you where he needs you as he licks the seam of your lips. When you part them, his tongue is eager and needy, a groan escaping from somewhere deep inside of him and you pant into his mouth as his sounds fire up your brain. Heat shoots through your body like rocket fuel ignited, the cool metal behind you a sharp contrast to the solid warmth of Dave’s body in front when he pulls you closer with his hand on your waist, tugging you into him.

It’s messy, tongues and teeth fighting for control, your hands in his hair, his thick fingers grabbing your neck, his thigh between your legs. There’s no hiding the arousal coursing through you both as you moan at the way he rubs over your core, his low groans mixed in when he rolls his hard length into your hip.

He tangles his fingers into your hair, pulling back your head and trailing wet kisses across your throat, sucking a mark into where shoulder meets neck, moving up again, his teeth gently tugging on your earlobe before you gasp when he nips at the soft skin just underneath.

“I’ve been fucking dreaming about how you’d sound when I did this,” he growls when you moan loudly into the silent kitchen, “sound so pretty, so fucking sweet.” His hand on your waist tightens, he’s pulling you down onto his leg, rocking into you as you clamor for a grip, tugging at his hair, loud, satisfied groan coming from Dave.

“I wanna hear what you sound like when you come,” he mutters, moving his mouth up to yours again, biting your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, tongue coming out to caress it, taste it, before he lets go.

Pulling back a little, he looks down at you. You meet his dark eyes, lust clouding them as you gasp at the way his thick thigh creates just enough friction to make you convulse under his firm grip.

“So fucking sweet,” he mumbles, a tone to his voice like he’s been craving this, “always looking at me from the bakery, always smelling so good, so tempting. Been wanting to do this since the first day, just get you in here and make you come all over my leg, hear you say my name.”

You try to unscramble your brain, it’s hazy with arousal, the coil that he’s wound so tightly about to snap. But all you can feel is the tell tale tingling that’s started in your core and you close your eyes, the feeling radiating out from where his thigh rubs against you.

“No, keep them open for me, baby,” Dave growls, “keep your eyes on me,” his voice forcing you to look up at him as it hits.

“Dave…” you gasp, “Pl-please, Dave…”

It shoots through your system like electricity, your legs closing around his, your skin burning as he kisses you, swallowing down your cries of his name as he keeps moving his leg, working you through the high until your muscles finally relax.

He holds you up, his arm around your waist now, as his kisses soften. Soft movements across your lips, his tongue gently teasing yours until he pulls back a little, pressing his lips against yours, foreheads touching as you take a deep breath and you can feel him smile against you.

He moves his leg back, bending down and grabbing hold of your thighs, picking you up like you weigh nothing. With your arms around his neck, you hold on until he sets you down on the workbench, his hard erection is pressed tight between you but he seems to ignore it.

“You ok?” he asks quietly, bending down and pressing a small kiss to the side of your neck, “seemed like you needed that.” His chuckle is low and amused as you sigh deeply.

“That’s how you indulge?” you ask, caressing the back of his head, raking your fingers through his thick hair.

“Better for your body than that carrot cake,” he smirks, pulling back a bit so that he can look at you while he cups your jaw and strokes his thumb over cheek.

“I told you, this friendship won’t last if you don’t eat the frosting,” you give him a small smile, your body still humming.

Dave gives you a smug look, “I don’t want your friendship, I want your frosting,” he says with a grin, tugging gently at your chin so that he can press his lips to yours and slip his tongue inside before your addled brain can come up with a comeback.

The kiss is languid and slow, Dave takes his time, holding you back as you try to pull him closer, your hands still in his hair. After several long minutes he reaches up and untangles your fingers and pulls them down to your sides.

“I’m leaving now,” he says against your mouth, his lips brushing over yours, “And I want you to be good. I have to go take care of something on that case. Close the shop when you’re done, go home, I’ll come by later.” There’s a promise in his low tone, in the way he nips at your bottom lip one last time and his fingers dig into your hips as he moves around your neck.

“Listen,” he whispers, his mouth close to your ear, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Part Twelve

Series Master List

Ok, so that got spicier then intended right? I don't know what to say, Dave just stepped in and took over.... blame him or thank him!

For the cake, this recipe uses pecans but I prefer walnuts but you can also leave them out if you want too. But it really is a very good cake...

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers

#pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #dave york #dave york x reader #hot damn!

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ramblingoak · 2 months

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Naps With Copia

Nap #10: Napping With Your Valentine

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

For @pinklunarprincess 💙 who wanted Copia to play with their hair

Cardinal Copia x gn!reader

These are all stand alone chapters so you do not have to read one before the other! This series came from my post about wanting to nap with Copia all around the abbey. The stories will all have gender neutral readers and soft Copia naps.

Warnings: a very sappy Valentine's Day themed nap, I'm not sorry, sfw, 1k words, enjoy! (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers)

You were going to be late.

Of all the days to be running behind it had to be today. A day that Copia had been teasing you about for weeks now. Weeks of silly clues and guessing games. You had used every trick in the book (and in bed) to try to get him to tell you his plans for Valentine’s Day but he wouldn’t fess up. It had gotten to the point he had started to avoid you, even turning heel and jogging away from you in the hallways.

He was lucky you loved him so much.

But now you had probably ruined everything. He had been very specific about you being back to his quarters by noon. Copia had planned a big lunch to treat you since there was a larger event for the entire congregation that evening. The whole place had smelled amazing already as soon as you woke up. He had been quick to usher you away, practically throwing your clothes at you so you didn’t try to sneak peeks into the tiny kitchen.

You had been huffy but finally obliged him, trudging down the halls to your office. Thankfully today was supposed to be relatively easy. No tours on the horizon, no conferences, no trips…just a morning of receiving deliveries for the party and then you’d be free by noon. Free to eat whatever amazing meal Copia was creating and then free to hopefully make out a little on his couch.

It was Valentine’s Day after all.

Unfortunately it seemed your special lunch and making out time was doomed. Delivery after delivery had been late and one truck had somehow managed to crash into the gate to the abbey grounds. It had been 2pm by the time everything had been sorted out. You were tired, starving and ready to snap at anyone that started your way with a clipboard in their hand. Thankfully you were saved by Secondo who must have noticed you were at the end of your patience.

“Go on, let me take care of all of this.”

“Really?” You took a few careful steps back, not sure if he was just teasing you or not. “Are you sure?”

“Sì, I don’t want to deal with mio fratellino pouting the rest of the week.”

Secondo held out his hand for the delivery folders you had been balancing all morning, a soft smile on his face. You couldn’t help but squeal, shoving the folders against his chest and then placing a loud, obnoxious kiss on his cheek. He was sputtering something in Italian as you took off down the hall but you’d deal with his irritation later. Right now you had a lunch date you were very, very late for.

As you stumbled into the main room it seemed like you were too late, Copia was nowhere in sight. There was a cold meal on the table in the kitchen, candles long since gone out. You couldn’t help but let out a groan, feeling absolutely terrible about ruining something Copia had spent so long planning.

“Amore?”

Copia’s sleepy voice broke you out of your spiraling thoughts and you quickly turned to the sound of his voice. All you could see was his head poking up over the back of the couch, his hair sticking up all over the place. He gave you a sleepy smile when he saw you and it grew when you moved closer. You snorted when you made your way around the couch, seeing him stretched out in his bright red suit and covered in empty chocolate wrappers.

“You look like a valentine.” He rolled his eyes but held his hands out for you, smiling when you kicked your shoes off and gently climbed onto the couch to lay against him. “Cutest valentine ever.”

His cheeks pinked up a bit as he leaned in for a kiss but before his lips touched yours he jerked back, his eyes narrowing.

“Is that black lipstick?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s from Secondo.”

“Sec–? Wha–mmph.”

He relaxed as you kissed him, his fingers slipping up to comb through your hair. You made a soft noise in your throat as he rubbed his fingers along your scalp. He always knew just how to touch you, just how to hold you and kiss you and make you feel like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. After a few moments you pulled away, matching his sleepy smile with one of yours.

“I’m sorry I ruined our lunch.”

“Shh, no need to apologize, amore mio. I already put the leftovers in the fridge, I can heat those up for you.”

When he made to get up you pressed your hands down on his shoulders, kissing his nose when he gave you a confused look.

“Let’s stay here a bit longer. Please.”

Copia nodded and settled back against the couch again, his fingers running through your hair once more. He had started to braid parts of it, something he did in moments like this. Moments where you were both relaxed and doing nothing more than enjoying each other's company. You only moved when his chest rumbled under your ear as he spoke.

“How about we take a little nap, eh? Then we can have an early dinner before the party.”

“That sounds perfect.” He tilted your chin up so he could reach your lips, giving you a gentle, lingering kiss. It was one of your favorite kinds of kisses from him. Although this one had the added bonus of the hint of chocolate leftover from the candy he had eaten. You couldn’t help but give his full bottom lip a little nibble before finally pulling away. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Copia.”

“And Happy Valentine’s Day to you, amore. Now stop distracting me with your lips, let me nap.” You rolled your eyes but dropped your head down onto his chest, sighing when one of his hands went back to your hair. “But when we wake up you’re going to explain why you were kissing Secondo.”

Despite your body shaking with laughter, sleep was still quickly creeping up on you. It wasn’t long before you were drifting off, your arms wrapped tightly around the best valentine anyone could ask for.

Up next is a nap for an Anon 💙

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

#oakie's writing #naps with copia #copia x reader #cardinal copia x reader #copia fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #cardinal copia

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wardenparker · 2 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 3

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Disagreeing amongst partners, disappointments, unexpected turns, denial of feelings, unwanted revelations. Summary: It's Valentine's Day and no one's date seems to be going quite the way they expected. Notes: Apologies for the posting delay, my lovelies! Please enjoy 💖

Ch1 ~ Ch 2

When you still haven't heard from Marcus the next day, you're really pretending not to be bothered by it. You go about your work as usual, take care of your guests, manage a few nibbles of lunch, and work through the Valentine's check-ins with Malachi to make sure that everything goes smoothly. The whole day is chaotic and the inn is completely sold out, and yet you can't stop glancing down at your phone to see if you've gotten a text back.

You've just slipped into the kitchen after your shift to see Sydney after her spa-and-afternoon-tea date when the restaurant's hostess on duty comes in with a reservation slip to add to the board. The restaurant is basically fully booked now, with a few last minute cancellations and reservations working themselves out throughout the day, and a part of you wishes you could just stay here tonight and keep working, but you promised Sam. And you promised your mother's office that there would be social media updates tonight. This date might as well be public, so there is no backing out now.

“Hey babe!” Sydney grins as she looks up from the cake she is decorating, the piping bag in her hand full of dark chocolate buttercream. “Checking in before going to get ready?”

“Yup. Just came in to say hi and check the last minute reservations.” You take the slip from Sydney’s hostess with a flourish to tack it up on the board, and immediately make some sort of inhuman squawking noise that has your best friend whirling around in the kitchen.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She demands, rushing over to the board. From the noise you made, it’s either incredibly good or incredibly bad.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Not technically, anyway. But you hand over the slip with obvious discomfort — or maybe a tinge of something else deeper and darker — on your face. “It’s…I guess…Marcus has a date tonight.”

“What? Oh…” she takes the slip and reads it, frowning slightly as she looks up to see you fidgeting and looking away from the paper. “Well, um, I guess that means he will be here and it’s good that you are going out with Sam.”

The frown that has formed on your face cuts deep, and you put down the empty mug you had grabbed to pour yourself a late afternoon cup of coffee with a slam. “Of course it’s a good thing.” You state unequivocally, not wanting to deal with or admit to the burning feeling in your chest. “He’s my boyfriend. It’s a very good thing.”

Sydney doesn’t comment, just pins the reservation to the allotted slot: 7 pm for two. There’s a note on the reservation to have a bottle of champagne brought to the table with dessert, so she’s not sure what to make of that. It seems unlikely that he’s taking his mother or sister out for a romantic meal.

“I have to get changed.” Comes the unnecessary announcement as you pace a little square around the corner of the kitchen only to end up facing Sydney again. “I just wanted to say hi, and I hope you and Juan had a good day.” Before this…intrusion into your thoughts, you had wanted to know everything. Every single thing they ate at tea and did at the spa. Now you feel like throwing up from pure discomfort.

“We did.” It seems wrong to rub it in your face right now, since you seem to be having some sort of reaction to the idea that Marcus would book a date here. She has to wonder if there’s meaning behind it, or if he had just imagined bringing someone here because it was a wonderful little place. The dining room of the restaurant is intimate, perfect for romance, especially tonight with the lights lower and the decor that had been brought out for the holiday.

“Good. I—okay. I’m going to go up, then. Malachi has a full reservation book and there’s an extra bellhop on tonight for the full house.” Sweeping out of the room is probably an overstatement, but you certainly move fast enough that Agent Bailey has to hop to in order to keep up with you as you head for the back stairs. Suddenly you have all the nervous energy in the world to walk all the way up to your apartment instead of taking the elevator.

“Okay…bye.” Sydney calls out, eyes wide at the dramatic exit and she pulls out her phone to send a quick text to her husband.

You might have tried a little harder than was strictly necessary to look good tonight. Not because Marcus might see you — that doesn’t make any sense — but to try to shut up all the whirling thoughts in your head about your loyalties and your attachments. You’ve been with Sam for almost a full year. It’s eleven months next week. And he deserves your complete attention. So if he gets you in your best little black dress and the earrings he gave you for your last birthday? That’s good, too.

Sam is nothing if not punctual, actually showing up fifteen minutes before you needed to leave. One of his office aides had run out to get you some flowers, now in hand, and he smiles widely when he sees you. “Wow.” He hums, whistling appreciatively. “I feel underdressed.” He jokes, wearing a smart suit like he normally does.

“You haven’t been underdressed since the day you were born.” Sam is perpetually put together, so you have definitely stepped up your game from the jeans and cheeky blouses that would normally have been good date clothes in the past. “Hi honey.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He offers you the flowers with a smile. “You look incredible. These are only half as beautiful as you.”

“Thank you, honey.” The large bouquet is all red and pink buds, clearly done up for the holiday, and you let the day’s earlier tension roll off your shoulders as you inhale the sweet scent. “Let me put these in the vase in my office and we can get going?” Upstairs in your place they’re beautiful, but downstairs means anyone who sticks their head in your office will see them.

“Of course.” He nods and looks towards Agent Bailey. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Agent Bailey.” He tells her politely. “Would you mind following us to the restaurant tonight?”

“No surprise stops, Congressman?” Following behind isn’t unusual, but Bailey still had to do her job. Any unexpected additions to the night just complicate matters.

His smile tightens slightly. “Just the itinerary you have planned out.” He comments, slightly irked that he has to have plans approved through the Secret Service. It’s not exactly his idea of pleasant.

“Ready to go?” It only takes a moment to get your flowers in water, and you reach for Sam’s hand. After spending your time getting ready reminding yourself to focus on your relationship and stop being so wishy-washy, you’re trying to put your best everything forward for tonight.

“Absolutely.” Sam smiles broadly, his shoulders rolling back and he puffs his chest out proudly. “Let’s go get romantic.”

The restaurant that was picked out is small and welcoming, a homespun but upscale bistro owned by a couple from New Orleans that moved up to Maryland sometime during the raising of their children. You had read the website while you were getting ready for tonight. The place boasts an impressive menu and a fan favorite étouffée, as well as an entire family working every aspect of the restaurant. From what you can tell, it looks like a perfect date spot. When you pull up it’s brimming over with people, too, which makes you even more excited. Busy means tasty, of course.

“Well this looks promising.” Sam comments, looking over at you. “What did you say the menu was?” He hadn’t really paid attention to where it was, just that you had said it was a good choice for a dinner out and photographs. You know how to work PR from your mother’s campaign, something he admires.

“New American through a New Orleans lens.” That’s what the website had said, and you could swear you already hear jazz pouring out the front door.

“Interesting.” He doesn’t particularly care for spicy foods, his stomach never agrees with it, but he trusts your judgement. “It’s perfect for the photographer and I’m assuming there’s some heartwarming backstory to the place?”

“Family owned and family run.” You can practically hear the silent commentary in his head, and you touch his arm as he holds the door for you. “I read the reviews in advance. Not everything is spicy. Don’t worry.”

“You know me too well.” He throws you a grateful look and leans forward to open the door for you to enter the bistro.

“Good evening.” The hostess at the front of the restaurant knows exactly who you are, just like everyone working tonight does. Just like their entire family does. Getting a visit from the Secret Service and having a discreetly placed photographer arrive just a little while ago gives the whole night an extra flare of the unbelievable. With two menus in her hand, she smiles a shaky, bright grin. “Please come right this way.”

Sam’s hand is on your back, knowing that a lot of eyes are turning from the staff to the patrons. It’s expected when your significant other is a recognizable face. He doesn’t miss that they put you and him at a table in the middle of the room.

There are small vases of red carnations on every table, and candles, and neat purple tablecloths that look like they have been given a little extra pressing for the occasion. You thank the girl politely and smile, not thrilled to have all eyes on you but already knowing that there is nothing you can do about it.

Sam is the one to pull out your chair and help you sit down before he pulls his own chair out. “Shall we order a bottle of wine?” He asks. “Or would that not look good?”

“How about a half bottle?” You suggest, showing him the part of drinks menu that lists half bottles. “Celebratory but responsible.”

“Perfect.” Same agrees, knowing. It wouldn’t be a positive image to have drinking and driving be recorded.

“Whatever you want to choose.” He’s pickier than you are in general, and definitely about wine, so it’s up to him.

He smiles at you in gratitude and immediately dives into the wine list to see what they have available.

“Oysters Rockefeller to start?” As a Maryland boy he loves seafood, and there’s some sort of odd determination in your mind to prove to yourself that your focus is entirely on Sam.

“Absolutely.” He agrees while wholeheartedly and when your server approaches, he finds in a polite smile to give them.

He orders the wine and your appetizer, and beams a smile at the flustered waitress before the two of you are left — sort of — alone again. Agent Bailey has gone to sit with the designated White House photographer at a separate, discreet table. It leaves the two of you to pretend that this is just as normal a date night as any other. “So,” you hum, looking over the menu. “How was work?”

“It was good.” He had kept his office hours short today, like most of the House, so he could get out on time. Plenty of other members had plans or just didn’t show up at all today. “Worked on the bill I want to introduce.”

“How close are you to having the draft done?” The House Judiciary Committee has been an important posting for him, and though you can’t claim to understand the nuance of every single detail of the bill he has been working on, you know that it is a big offering to make from such a new member of the committee.

“First draft is almost complete.” He tells you proudly. “Only a few more hours of work to be honest. My team has been working hard on it.”

“The first bill you’re sponsoring yourself is a big deal. I’m glad you’re proud of it.” Given how much of his work is paperwork and legal-ease, it’s good to have something tangible to work on and be proud of. Certainly not everyone who works in the government can say the same.

“Thank you.” He smiles, leaning back as the waiter comes back with the glasses of wine. “Hopefully it’s just the first of many.”

"I hope so, too." He has high hopes for his career, and you know he'll work hard for it. There's just the tiny voice in the back of your head reminding you that he might not value your success as highly that is bothering you. Still, you raise your glass to him and smile. "Happy Valentine's Day."

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” Sam smiles and taps his glass to yours before taking a sip. “Have you given any thought to my proposal?”

“I thought we could talk about it tonight?” The mention of a proposal specifically makes you shiver in a way you didn’t know you could shiver, but here you are. “Starting with…the logistics of it all.”

He admires the practicality of your statement and nods. “What are your concerns?” He can hear that you have them and hopes that the two of you can come to some kind of agreement. He’s negotiated a lot in his position and knows there is always give and take for things to work.

“I…” He’s practical. Pragmatic. And you know that. It’s something that you have always said you liked about him because it balances against your tendency to dream. “I want to move forward. Take another step.” In your impulse, you reach across the table and take his hand. “But I’m not sure I’m ready yet. So I’d like to do it slowly.”

“Maybe a drawer for when you stay over?” He offers, lifting a brow. “Space for a toothbrush?”

“That’s kind of what I was thinking, yeah.” A relieved smile spreads, glad to see that he isn’t upset at your still moving slowly in this relationship. Moving too fast in the past is what you blame some very serious relationship failures on. “Maybe try to see each other more than just once a week? Work permitting, of course. I know we’re both busy.”

“That was kind of the point of moving in together.” Sam reminds you, although he’s not put out by it. “Maybe we can, but you will have to spend less time at the inn.” He hums. “You are always there. You even live there.”

"I know." That's on you, and you know it. But you still shift in your seat like you've been called to the principle's office. "I have to cut back on late nights. Malachi is more than capable of running the place any time of day and the new night manager is doing really well."

Sam nods, it’s a conversation that he’s had with you several times but nothing has changed so far. “I understand being passionate about your work.” He reminds you with a smile, reaching for your hand. “But I also want you to be passionate about other things too.” He squeezes your fingers. “Maybe kids, one day?”

"You know I want kids." That is never something that you have hemmed or hawed about. Wanting a marriage and a family is something you were pretty up front about. "Kids, a dog, the whole white picket fence thing."

“I know.” It’s a good thing too, because he wants the same thing. Although he knows that can’t really happen if you are running yourself ragged at the inn. “Just wanted to make sure that was still the case.” He jokes.

"It is." Your fingers squeeze his gently. "I haven't changed my mind about what I want."

“That’s good.” Sam smiles and feels a little better about the fact you aren’t jumping at the chance to move in with him. He had expected less resistance if he was honest with himself.

"So the next time I come over I'll bring some things to keep at your place?" A little bag of work clothes and duplicate toiletries at his house sounds positively quaint, but very sweet.

“If that’s what you want.” He agrees, leaning back again when the waiter comes with the appetizer. “Are you still planning on staying tonight?”

You pause long enough to thank the waiter and for both of you to order your entrees and have a sip of your wine after the waiter goes again. "Of course I was planning on it. It's what we talked about. But...I felt like packing a bag to bring over tonight felt a little...presumptuous? I didn't want to jinx it."

“Nothing presumptuous about it.” Sam disagrees with a smile, knowing he would have loved if you had started bringing things over. “But we will do things on your schedule, as long as our end goal is the same.”

End goal. That part still bags at you a little and you still aren’t sure if you’re overreacting. Marcus seemed to agree with us, and so did Sydney…and it’s making you wonder. But will it ruin the night to make a fuss over it? There’s really no way to tell. “I want to make sure we’re on the same page about all of it.” You decide, making sure there is no worry or waver in your voice as you reach for an oyster. It’s just a conversation. Just a conversation with your boyfriend. No big deal. Just clearing the air.

“Good.” There’s a moment’s pause where the two of you start to split the appetizer, each of you tasting it and Sam hums in approval. “I say we live together for at least a year.” He looks up at you. “What do you think?”

“At least a year before what?” The clarification seems important, since the two of you seem to have slightly different expectations. It’s slight, but it’s there.

Sam chuckles slightly. “Before the next step?” He asks playfully, shrugging slightly.

“That makes sense.” But not knowing exactly what he meant makes you feel a little foolish, so you huff a laugh and have another sip of wine. “Of course. That makes perfect sense.”

“You seem off tonight.” Sam tilts his head curiously. “Fight with Sydney? Never thought I would see that.”

“No, god no, nothing like that.” A fight with Sydney is about the farthest thing from the truth. The trouble is…you can’t really tell Sam the truth. It would be a ticking time bomb in the middle of your relationship. To not only think that you might have met your soulmate but to suddenly find yourself caring immensely about what that could mean? Hell, even being attracted to him? It would be a disaster. And you can’t blame him because you would feel exactly the same way if Sam came to you after meeting the girl that the universe says is his perfect match. Instead? All you can really do is make an excuse. “I haven’t really been feeling myself for the past few days.” That is very much true. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let it affect tonight.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Sam’s brows pull down. “Do we need to ask them to box up our meals? The photographer can take their photos now and we can go home if you aren’t up for a night out.” Despite his own views of how the night would go, he would never drag you around if you’d rather be in bed sleeping.

It’s sweet of him to offer, but you know he would be disappointed. And, unfortunately, no amount of sleep is going to pull you out of the Marcus-shaped funk you have found yourself in. No, sleep won’t help. And tonight is supposed to be about you and Sam, so it’s going to be. “That’s okay,” you assure him, shaking your head and promising yourself that the smile on your face won’t falter again tonight. “I’d rather spend tonight celebrating with you.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” He’s giving you a doubtful look, but he doesn’t call the waiter over. “Maybe it’s just that you need a night away.” He suggests. “I have a late morning scheduled so we can sleep in.”

“Unfortunately, I have an early morning.” You bite your lip, knowing he’ll hate that. “We have a big event tomorrow night and they’re showing up early in the day. Early bird check in, venue set up, all of it.”

Sam is quiet for a minute and then looks down at his plate again. “Well, I guess that can’t be helped.”

"It's all hands on deck right away." And suddenly you feel horribly guilty about it, even though it's your job. It's something you do out of love and a deep passion for the industry that you've chosen to work in. But a morning of just sleeping in sounds so nice.

“You don’t need to explain.” It’s not like you would change your plans anyway, but it definitely sours the idea he had for the next morning. “You have priorities.”

“Yes, I do. Just like you would if you had a day full of meetings to handle.” He sounds cold, and it bothers you so much more than you would have thought. Like you’d had disappointed your parents with a bad grade on your report card instead of telling your partner than you’re anticipating a demanding work day. “I would support you if that was the case, so I don’t understand why you seem so upset with me.”

“Because we had talked about it.” Sam reminds you. “Two days ago.” He clenches his jaw and takes a breath before releasing it. “You’re right, you have work and it’s important.” He agrees. “Forget I said anything.”

“We did talk about it two days ago. And we talked about me staying over, but not about doing anything the next day. Because I told you weeks ago when this group booked their party that it was going to be a big deal.” Barely managing not to drop your fork in the table, your eyes drop to your lap and you can feel the pressure of disappointment driving at the backs of your eyes like fire and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself. “I feel like we haven’t been communicating as well as we used to.”

“After we talked about you staying over, I asked if you wanted to have a lazy morning and you said ‘sounds good’.” Sam realizes you had told him about the booking. “We got our signals crossed. It happens. We will need to work on it.”

“Yeah.” You nod, quietly sitting back in your chair again while being very aware of the pairs of eyes that have all turned to witness the First Daughter argue with her boyfriend over their romantic Valentine’s dinner. Fuck. Mom’s going to kill me. “Yeah,” you agree with a vague nod of your head. “We’re just a little off. We’ll work on it.”

“It’s okay.” Sam promises with a smile, reaching out and taking your hand again. He doesn’t want you to be photographed looking unhappy, because then rumors would fly. Public figures aren’t allowed to have bad moments. “We will make the best of tonight.” He tells you. “Or…we can go back to your apartment if you’d prefer?” He offers. “That way you can sleep a little longer?”

"You normally hate staying at my apartment." The water pressure is better at his house, you'll give him that. And the bed is bigger. But the breakfast at your place is far superior every single time.

“I know, but I also know that you have an early morning and I would like to compromise.” He offers.

His hand fits around yours, anchoring you to the table and to him, and you remind yourself to breath. A miscommunication isn't an argument. And even if it is, an argument isn't the end of the world. "I would really like that," you agree, squeezing his hand just a touch. Trying to show him silently how much you appreciate that he's willing to bend a little for you. It has never bothered you that you go to him — stay at his place, attend his work and social events, usually let him pick restaurants for dates as well. But it's nice to feel a little give in your direction as well.

“Alright, then it’s settled.” He nods quickly and smiles at you. “We will have to swing by my house to pick up a change of clothes though.”

"We can do that." You'll tell Agent Bailey after dinner, and the message will get relayed. It will all be fine. Whatever is causing this gap between you and Sam, you'll figure it out. Starting with a little bit of compromise. "And tonight we'll clean out a drawer for you at my place. We'll each have a drawer."

It’s on the tip if his tongue to refuse, to remind you he doesn’t like staying at your place. It’s too busy and he likes privacy in his home, not people coming and going at all times. “It’s a plan.” He decides to say instead, happy that the meal is coming out.

The restaurant is busy tonight, full up with reservations for dates and girls’ nights out. Tables are packed full and the kitchen is bustling, but Malachi sits calmly at the reception desk making sure that all of the inn’s reservations for the night are being taken care of to the best of his ability. The less you have to worry about tomorrow with that incoming party, the better.

Marcus smiles as he walks up to the desk, guiding Vanessa up with a warm hand on her lower back. He hadn’t wanted to be alone, especially on Valentine’s Day, so he had once again tried one of the dating apps. Tinder Without Marks was kind of the opposite of Mate Marks and he appreciated that. There wasn’t any emphasis on tattoos or scars, just on personalities. He had been talking to Vanessa since you had bailed on his offer of dinner and tonight was the first date. “Reservation for Pike.” He greets Malachi warmly.

"Special Agent Pike!" Malachi was not going to forget that face or those shoulders anytime soon, and he smiles genuinely for what seems like the first time all night. Holidays are always a lot of extra running around. "Reservation for the restaurant tonight?" He would have noticed the name if the FBI agent had reserved a room at the inn. He definitely would have noticed that.

“Yes.” Marcus nods and smiles. “How are you Malachi?” He remembers the concierge’s name and greets him like a friend. “I knew that coming here would be a fantastic treat.”

“And…Miss D’Amario.” When the concierge’s eyes light on the woman beside Special Agent Pike, he nearly bursts out laughing. This is going to be the biggest gossip amongst the staff. Multiple staffs. “Does chef know to expect you? Or should I let her know?”

Marcus tilts his head and looks at Vanessa. “I didn’t realize you’ve been here before.” He had told her where he had made reservations, but she hadn’t said. “Do you come often?”

“Once or twice.” She admits with a sheepish smile as Malachi comes out from behind the desk to escort them into the restaurant. “Usually just to run errands. My boss…he comes here a lot.”

“Interesting coincidence.” Marcus muses as the two of them follow Malachi. “You never actually said who you worked for.” He reminds her.

She hadn’t. That’s true. Because on a dating website all kinds of information can get taken out of context or photoshopped into other things. All she had said before now is that she works on Capitol Hill. “Congressman Chase.” She tells her date, a little more secure in handing this information over after having looked into him and agreeing to this dinner. A girl can never be too careful, after all. “I’m the senior aide in his office.”

To his credit, Marcus doesn’t freeze, although his eyes blow wide. He can hear Malachi snicker quietly, although the agent isn’t sure why. Even though he doesn’t have anything against the congressman, the knowledge that she is his senior aide dulls the excitement of the date almost immediately. “I met him just the other day.” Marcus admits. “My friend and former colleague is the event planner here.”

“You know Juan?” Vanessa seems to ease immediately, the tension of meeting a stranger off the Internet soothing with the knowledge that Juan Badillo is an excellent judge of character. “Okay. So you know who owns the inn, then. And why I’m running errands here fairly often.” She smiles when Marcus pulls out her chair for her and thanks him before sitting. “I’ve always wanted to try the restaurant but never have a chance.”

Marcus smiles and nods, even though he’s not exactly sure how this dynamic would work. “Then it’s a good thing I got reservations here.” He tells her and picks up the menu. “Do you want some wine? I think I would like some.”

“That sounds great.” She nods happily, not catching the change in his demeanor even in the last few seconds.

He’s still not going to be rude. Vanessa is a lovely woman, and he shouldn’t feel guilty for being here on a date with her. Not even if you know her and she works for your boyfriend. “Are you a red, white or rosé kind of woman?” He asks, scanning the selections and looking back up at her.

“Usually white. But if you like red I’m happy to try something new.” Vanessa is happy to let Marcus take the lead, not feeling strong enough one way or the other to have a preference.

“There’s a wonderful Prosecco on the menu.” Marcus offers, lifting his brows. “It’s Valentine’s Day after all, and we aren’t alone. We should celebrate.”

"Perfect." Her smile spreads again and she sits back, looking over the menu and regarding the man across from her. "So what department of the FBI are you in? We haven't really talked about work yet."

“Art Crimes.” He supplies wondering where you and Sam are. A discreet glance around the restaurant was a relief and a disappointment not to come up with you. “I’m actually the head of the department.”

"So...is that forgeries and thieves? Like in caper movies?" Vanessa sounds suitably impressed even though it isn't the part of FBI work that gets glorified on tv or in movies. "I didn't know that was a whole department on its own. You must have a lot of responsibility."

“It’s a lot of paperwork.” Marcus admits. “Although I’m sure you have plenty yourself.” He chuckles. “I wish that it was like the movies, or that show White Collar that was on a few years ago. I could use a Neal Caffery sometimes.”

"Oh, I don't think I've ever seen it. I guess I have a little homework to do." On whatever the show is, plus on art as a whole. Art class or art history...museums in general aren't really Vanessa's thing. It just never seemed very practical. "Paperwork is okay when there's a rhythm to it. Sometimes I even turn on music quietly in the office while I'm copying and filing. It's really helpful even though it's kind of a no-no."

“Why would that be a no-no?” He wonders if Sam is a stick in the mud. “Most of the time, I encourage my team to listen to music, it helps engage your mind.”

"We try not to have anything on in the office that could interfere with being understood on the phone," she explains, like it's some kind of party line or sage advice that has been handed down to her. "Staying on message is important. And it's hard to stay on message if you can't be heard."

“And what’s your message?” He asks, finding it slightly intense, but he’s not the politician.

"Right now, our message is about serving our community. Working to bring business into our district without threatening existing small businesses, and making sure that we take safety standards into account." Obviously very proud of her work, Vanessa sits up straight in her chair and folds her hands in her lap with the air of someone being interviewed. "The Congressman is paving his own path and we're all on board for the ride."

“I see.” He can approve of such a message, admire it even. The congressman is obviously working for the best of his district and there is something noble about that. “That’s a good message to have.”

“It really is.” When Vanessa nods, it’s eager. “He’s on the fast track to the White House. It’s a privilege to get to work for him now.”

“A fast track, you say?” Marcus works so hard to keep from frowning, not liking the way that it makes it seem as if you are a steppingstone for Sam. Even though that shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

“Absolutely.” She pauses long enough for the waiter to return for their drink order and explain the beautiful Valentine’s prix fixe menu before leaving them be again for a few minutes. “Congressman Chase has seven more years to be the youngest president ever elected, and he can do it.”

“That’s a lofty ambition.” Marcus agrees, wondering how much of dating the current president’s daughter is included in those plans for the White House.

“It’s going to be great.” She laughs, not the least self-conscious, but shrugs her shoulders. “I like my job a lot. Sorry if I get carried away a little.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Marcus waves that away, although he’s sure he sees hero worship in Vanessa’s eyes, and perhaps a crush on her boss. Nothing wrong with that unless they are being inappropriate and he can’t see the congressman doing that with his ambitions. Some congressmen, sure, but not Sam. “I wish a lot more people enjoyed their jobs like that.”

“It makes hard work worth it,” she agrees, though she does demure and tuck a stray hair behind her ear. “You…must love art? To be so involved with those crimes specifically?”

“I have come to really appreciate it.” Marcus tells her. “I never really stopped to look and think about much art before, but some weekends, I enjoy going through the museums for pleasure and not trying to research a piece.”

"DC is a very good place if you like museums." Even if she's not very big on them herself, she knows that to be absolutely true. It's where she ends up bringing family whenever they visit, so she has seen quite a few of the Smithsonian museums by now. She'd just rather be at a game.

“They are nice. Especially if a game gets rained out.” Marcus agrees, leaning back when the waiter comes back with the first course. “Thank you.” He hums and looks up at Vanessa. “This looks amazing.”

“It really does.” Vanessa looks as delighted as Marcus does and she offers him a sincere smile. “I’m very glad you decided to ask me out tonight.”

“I am too.” He smiles at her even if he feels guilty that he’s not as glad has he had been before he realized the connection to Sam Chase and therefore….you. He picks up his Prosecco and holds it up. “To positive first dates.”

“Absolutely.” Their glasses make lovely clink as they tap together and Vanessa smiles again, very glad that she decided to take this step to try to get over the crush she has on her boss.

“Looks like the inn is fairly packed tonight.” Sam hums as he pulls into the employee only portion of the oyster shell parking lot. He’s not upset for you business-wise, but he wished there weren’t so many people there.

“The night manager had the idea to keep our sitting room open for some live music, and it seems like people have stayed. It must have been a success.” The rooms aren’t sold out tonight because there are early check-ins for that party in the morning, but managing to keep people in house and engaged is a huge deal.

“Interesting concept.” Sam’s not really sure if that would attract the kind of clientele that you want here, but he’s a politician, not an inn owner. “Hopefully not too late?” He asks, wondering if it will be noisy into the late night. That’s not romantic.

“It should be over soon,” you promise him, seeing that your watch reads almost eleven o’clock.

“Good.” Once out of the car, he rushes around the hood and wraps his arm around your waist. “I don’t want them to interrupt our plans for tonight.”

“Nothing’s going to interrupt us.” Heading for the back door, you can pop right into the elevator to head upstairs without having to interrupt anything that’s going on or get sidetracked by Malachi. You just want to take a peak into the sitting room but that’s all. “And you can sleep in, in the morning after I’ve tired you out.”

"Is that a promise?" Sam asks playfully, allowing you to lead him away from the elevator and down the hall.

"Absolutely." The rest of the date had smoothed out, being a relatively quiet and pleasant night Now that you're back at the inn with a bag of Sam's things to stash away in your bureau, you're feeling a little bit flirtier and more upbeat. "And when you come downstairs after you finally drag that excellent butt out of bed, I'll have Syd make you some breakfast."

“I do love her breakfasts.” Sam groans, smirking at you playfully. “So you are planning on wearing me out completely?” He squeezes your waist and looks ahead towards the music.

"I'd say you deserve a night of intensely deep sleep, and I intend to make sure you get it." There is a little line waiting for the elevator as guests start to go up to their rooms for the night, so you hang back with Sam and look toward the sitting room instead. The music coming through is atmospheric and sweet and you are right about to lean your head on Sam's chest while you wait — when you spot someone unexpected in the sitting room.

Marcus had decided that just because Vanessa works for Sam doesn’t mean that he can’t have a nice night with her. The music had sounded lovely floating from the sitting room and he had asked if she wanted to stay. Now, they are dancing and he hasn’t thought about you in at least five minutes.

It's not exactly a gasp, but you end up trying to swallow whatever noise of surprise you were going to make when you spotted Marcus with his date in the the other room — and instead of keeping your reaction to yourself you end up choking on your own damn spit and coughing hard enough to worry Sam.

“Are you alright?” Sam pats your back and leans in with a worried look on his face while you wave him away. “What’s—” he glances around the room and immediately stiffens. “What is he doing with Vanessa?” He asks, his voice bristled with a slight anger he can’t shake.

"Vanessa?" You hadn't even seen who he was with, just choked at the sight of Marcus enjoying a quiet, romantic moment with another woman — something which you know shouldn't bother you but it had been a whole five minutes since the last time you thought about him so apparently that is your maximum. "Like your aide Vanessa?"

“How does he know her?” Sam ignores the question, staring holes into the FBI agent that is currently slow dancing with said aide and making her beam up at him in a way that has Sam wanting to drag her away from him.

"I don't know." He's practically fuming, and your forehead furrows as you turn your eyes back from the couple in the other room to Sam beside you. "Why does it matter?"

“I find it funny—” his tone definitely says otherwise, “that this man just magically shows up, gets invited to a game night and is now cozying up to my top aide.” Sam knows that he’s already been tagged by the DNC as a rising star, his own seat on the council is indicative of that, and now there’s this FBI that is showing up everywhere.

"He's friends with Juan." The defense in your voice is impossible to miss, and you cross your arms defiantly over your chest like you're waiting for him to pick a fight. "Maybe they were introduced by a mutual friend? Met in a coffee shop? Found each other on a dating app? Who knows?"

“And they just happened to book your inn as a date?” He scoffs slightly, unable to believe that fanciful tale and narrows his eyes as Marcus twirls Vanessa around and pulls her back against him.

"Why don't you go interrupt them and find out if you're so curious?" This has taken a very deep turn for the worse, and you can only be glad that the last guests waiting for the elevator near you have gone up so you're more or less alone now. Of course Agent Bailey is nearby, but she never comments.

“No.” He wants to. That’s the problem, and he knows it’s not a good move. Frowning, he turns away from the dancing couple. “Let’s go upstairs. The music is horrible.”

It's not. At all. But this isn't about the music and both of you know that silently even if it isn't said out loud. Sam jams his thumb in the 'Up' button for the elevator again but you say nothing, glancing back at the sitting room one more time to wonder if Sam is upset about the date that is happening for the same reason you are. And if he is...what does that mean for the two of you?

Once upstairs, Sam steps out of the elevator and sighs. “Can we just have the apartment to ourselves?” He directs his question to Agent Bailey, not looking at you.

There are certain protocols that have to be upheld, and Agent Bailey looks to you before starting them. “Ma’am?”

In your mind it’s awfully rude, knowing that asking her to sit in the hallway means hours and hours of uncomfortable sitting, but you also know that Sam is…in less than a good mood right now. And while you’re cranky too, you would rather try to smooth things over if you can. “If…you wouldn’t mind?”

“Please stay here.” Bailey directs you both. She’ll do a sweep of the apartment to make sure no one is waiting for you, and then she’ll take a chair into the hallway. She won’t say so, but she doesn’t mind not hearing a fight if it happens. Or the makeup sex. Neither one is her favorite.

Once you two are alone, Sam sets his bag down, aware that the mood of the evening is ruined and it’s his fault. “Do you want me to leave?” He asks, not even sure if he wants to stay at this point. Especially if Vanessa and that agent will also be spending the night under this roof. He’s not happy to see his best aide here, and usually he’s always happy to see her.

“Can you explain to me why you’re so upset?” It’s definitely uncomfortable, this tension that hangs in the air now, and you try not to let your eyes drop to the right before going back to him. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just surprised. He’s the one who got mad.

“It’s— I’m not—” There’s not a rational reason why he’s upset, and logically he knows this. “I don’t like the fact this man seems to be everywhere.” You had told him about meeting Marcus at the market and it seems as if he’s suddenly everywhere when a few weeks ago, no one knew this man was even in the area. “Strange in my eyes.”

“It’s just a coincidence.” That’s what you’ve told yourself, anyway. It has nothing at all — nothing whatsoever — to do with the universe putting you into situations where you’ll bump into each other. Not at all. “The Secret Service did a background check on him. He’s totally clear.”

“Then I guess I’m just overreacting.” Sam sighs and wipes a hand down his face. “I should go.” He knows that if he stays, the night won’t proceed like it was planned and he’s better off going home. You don’t seem too happy with him. “Unless you want me to stay?”

What you want, and what you should do, and what seems like the healthiest decision for your mental health all are different things. You should tell him to stay, brush it off, and try to salvage the evening. You want to go downstairs and interrupt that damn date to find out if Marcus Pike is as good a dancer as he seemed to be in the small space of the sitting room. But what’s best for your mental health? Is probably neither of those things. “Maybe I can come over this weekend and we can try to have a less stressful night at your place instead?”

Sam is silent for a moment and then nods. Understanding that something has fundamentally shifted in your relationship and trying to figure out what that might mean for the future. “Sounds good.” He agrees and looks at his bag before picking it up. “I’m sorry about how the night ended.”

“So am I.” The air between you feels different. Colder or heavier or just more tense, but you won’t back down just for the comfort of having him next to you in bed tonight. That isn’t fair to either of you.

Instead of a romantic kiss, Sam leans in and presses his lips to your cheek. “I’ll text you when I get home.” He promises, stepping back and frowning slightly before nodding. He had honestly expected you to change your mind, but he won’t beg to stay, knowing it’s not the best idea.

“Get home safe.” A long moment passes with thick air hanging between you before Sam nods again and opens the door, stepping out of your apartment and back in to the elevator. “It’s just us tonight,” you tell Agent Bailey, who comes back into the room the moment she hears the door. “The Congressman has gone home for the night.” And of referring to him by his title instead of his name isn’t a big fucking clue to you right then and there, it should be.

It’s not surprising, given the way the evening has turned sour, but it’s not her place to say anything. “Very well.” She nods. “If you need anything, let me know.” She intends to stay outside and let you sulk if you need to. She hadn’t missed ’the Congressman’ title instead of Sam.

“You can stay inside.” Banishing your Secret Service detail to the hallway is one more thing that rubbed you the wrong way. “I’m just going to go to bed. But the coffee you like…the vanilla caramel one? It in the cupboard above the coffee maker. Any time you want to make some.”

“Thank you.” The couch you don’t mind her sitting on is a lot more comfortable than the chair in hallway and she appreciates that you don’t mind her using the bathroom either. “Is there anything you need before you go to bed?”

“No.” You’re too afraid to ask if you did wrong by letting Sam go home, so you don’t even consider it. “Tomorrow’s an early morning. Agent Sisson coming to relieve you early?”

“Five.” She nods. “If you need to be up earlier, I will be here.”

"I won't be up until after that." Unless you can't sleep, which is a serious possibility considering how poorly the night went and how half of your thoughts are currently downstairs in the sitting room. "So I'll see you tomorrow, Agent Bailey."

“Goodnight, ma’am.” It’s best to keep things formal, although she feels bad that your evening did not end up like it was supposed to. And incredibly interested in the reaction of the congressman to Marcus Pike’s presence.

"Good night." Going to your room alone isn't what you wanted for tonight, but it feels like it's for the best. All you can do now is hope that you sleep.

The next morning is a flurry of activity, but Sydney notices that you aren’t rushing in from the parking lot when you come into the kitchen, looking like you didn’t get much sleep last night. “Good morning sunshine.” She teases, reaching for the coffee pot to pour you a cup.

Teasing barely earns her a grumble in return, but you gratefully accept the cup of coffee she pours you and turn to doctor it immediately. “That early check-in group should be here in a half hour.”

“I already have a breakfast spread ready for them.” She motions to the counter and the baskets she has already started filling with baked goods. The bowl of fresh fruit is inside a hollowed-out watermelon. “I couldn’t sleep.” She explains. “Indigestion.”

“There’s a joke in there about swallowing too much cum, but I’m too tired to make it.” You huff though, trying for a smile for your best friend. “It looks great, Syd. Thank you for working so hard.”

She sees through you instantly and frowns, moving around the counter and wiping her hands on the ever present rag tucked into the pocket of her chef’s jacket. “What’s wrong?” She asks, feeling your forehead and looking like an over anxious mother hen worrying over her baby. “Are you not feeling good? Juan, Malachi and I can handle this if you need us to.”

“Not a chance.” Considering you never take sick days even when you’re actually sick, there is no way you would make your team handle a big event without you. “It’s nothing. I just…had a bad night. That’s all.”

“Everything alright?” She frowns, tutting at your stubbornness and moving over to the espresso machine to give you a shot to help boost you up.

“Sam and I had a little…series of tiffs,” you admit with a sigh. There is a pan of her fresh baked broscia nearby and the Sicilian brioche-style bread is calming to you to be crammed full with jam and butter so you grab one still warm. “We got into it at the restaurant over me having to be at work early today and then again later when he flipped out about Marcus being here on his date.”

“Marcus?” Her head whips around and she gives you an utterly confused look. “One, why was he here? Two, why was Sam upset about that?”

“He must have stayed after dinner. For the musician that Malachi brought in.” Sam had been cranky about it, but you thought the singer at the piano had been lovely. “He…uh…Marcus, that is…did you see who his date was? When they came in for dinner last night?”

“I didn’t see, it was crazy in the kitchen, but Malachi told me that it was Vanessa.” She huffs. “How the hell do they know each other?”

“I don’t know. But the same question made Sam so upset that he ended up leaving my apartment last night instead of staying over.” The best you can do is shrug your shoulders. Because as much as it bothers you? You know why it does. There’s no mystery there, only guilt. “He thinks there’s something suspicious about Marcus, apparently.”

“Something suspicious about Marcus Pike?” She chokes out, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it. “The FBI agent? The man who was an Eagle Scout?” She and Juan had pulled that nugget of information out of him at game night.

“Because apparently, he’s ‘suddenly everywhere’ when none of us had seen him before.” Jam and butter join your bread roll and you sigh a little at the comfort of it. “I think it’s just confirmation bias. Like we probably were in the same places as him before, we just didn’t know to look for him.”

“Well…Juan would have recognized him.” Syd reminds you. “So that’s not exactly true, but I understand what you mean.” She sighs and hesitates for a moment. “Do you think it’s him or because he was with Vanessa?” She knows the other woman has a crush on Sam, it’s obvious from the hero worship stars in her eyes when she’s around. She knows Sam isn’t the type to cheat, but maybe there’s some feelings there that are repressed.

“I feel like that didn’t help.” Coffee and a little breakfast is helping. You can think a little straighter even if you don’t like the thoughts. “I know Vanessa has a thing for him. It’s not subtle. But before now I didn’t think there was cause for concern the other way.”

“It could be that Sam thinks that Vanessa could give away information that he could use if Marcus wanted to cause problems between you and Sam.” She rationalizes. “Slightly conspiracy theorist in my mind, but I could see how it could be construed.” Sydney enjoys playing Devil’s advocate, even if she likes Marcus and doesn’t think he is angling for anything.

“Before last week, I didn’t think there were problems between me and Sam.” It’s disconcerting to realize, as you stand here and talk through it with your best friend, that your relationship has not been as steady as you once thought. “Now? I don’t know.”

“Other than his overreaction, what makes you think that?” She asks, aware that you’ve been a little edgy lately but every relationship has ups and downs at times.

“He seems…really agitated lately. Much more upset than usual about having an agent around. Last night he wanted Agent Bailey to sit out in the hall while we slept, how does that make sense? And making comments about the future of our relationship to other people?” To Vanessa’s parents, now that you think about it. It sometimes slips your mind that his most trustworthy aide is also the only daughter of one of his largest donors. “Everything just feels on edge.”

“Have you talked about all this? Like really sat down and talked?” She frowns, not liking what she is hearing, although it could just be a case of miscommunication.

“Before now there hasn’t really been a reason.” Or at least, there hasn’t been such an obvious compilation of reasons. “And considering he never texted me back when he got home last night, now I’m wondering if he’ll be willing to sit down and hash things out.”

“I’m sorry.” She slides the shot of espresso over and reaches for your hand. “I like Sam, but if it doesn’t work out, it’s better to find out now, than down the road.”

“With the whole soulmate thing and now this kind of…weird accumulation of things?” You shake your head and just sort of shrug awkwardly. “I feel discouraged in a way that I really wasn’t expecting.”

“I’m sorry.” Immediately feeling guilty, Sydney’s shoulders drop and she bites her lip. “I shouldn’t have teased you about finding out what kind of hummingbird tattoo he has.” She hadn’t expected it to cause so many problems, or for you to be so resistant to it. Before Sam, you would have demanded to see the tattoo right away just to disprove the soulmate theory. “What can I do to help you?”

“Honey, you’re growing a literal human. You have enough to deal with.” It’s disheartening, and confusing, and frankly you’re shocked that you’re so willing to throw up your hands. That’s not like you at all.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t and won’t be there for my best friend.” She argues, frowning at you. “Your shit is my shit, remember? I’ll be expecting you to do a rotation getting up with the baby.” She jokes, wanting you to laugh a little.

"If we still lived together, I absolutely would." Being in this apartment upstairs is actually the first time you've ever lived alone — taking over the role of caretaker for the inn when Sydney moved out of the apartment you had been renting in Old Town to buy a house with her soulmate. "At this point I feel like I'm between a rock and a hard place...and one of those blockages is purely made up of how confused I am over...just feeling like I want to throw in the towel instead of working things out. That's not who I am. Or not who I have been."

“Honey, sometimes you just…don’t want to work things out. That doesn’t make you a failure.” She hums. “You might just realize that you have different goals.”

"But why do I feel that way?" There's only a few bites of your bun left and you know that today is going to be a peckish day. You tend to nibble when you're worried. "Is it just because I'm having doubts? And why am I even having doubts? It's...soulmates never mattered to me before this."

“Maybe it’s because of the man and not the soulmate aspect?” She probes gently. “Let me ask you this….if you weren’t in a relationship with Sam, would you be interested in Marcus. Even without the soulmate possibility?”

"I—" It feels dirty. A kind of guilt you really don't like and makes your skin crawl. But this isn't a situation you're going to lie about. Not when you're literally asking your best friend for help. "I mean...probably. Yeah."

“Then you should step back. From Marcus or Sam, that decision is yours. But some space might be needed to figure out what you are feeling.” Syd suggests.

"All the social media shit from our date last night is going to go viral really fast if anyone gets a whiff that we've broken up." Just as astonishing as the idea that you would even consider ending things, it's alarming how fast your heart knows the right decision to make. Or at least what you perceive as right in this moment. "It's going to be a shitshow..."

Sydney doesn’t comment on the fact that it seems like you’ve made up your mind, just humming. “Take it slow. It doesn’t have to be some kind of announcement.”

"The last thing I want is to have to make an announcement." The end of your coffee cup comes all too soon, and you fill it up again with a sigh. This morning is going to be a lot for many different reasons. "Syd...you would stop me if you thought I was making the wrong choice, right?"

“I would definitely try to talk to you.” She promises. “I like Sam, I really do, but if you don’t see yourself marrying him, well—” she shrugs. “Just give yourself a week, how about that?”

"Have I really reached the point in my life where it's not worth staying with someone that I don't see myself marrying?" That is a fairly rude awakening because of how honest it is, and you stifle a groan in one hand. "You're right, and I know you're right. But the State Dinner for the Spanish royal visit is in just over a week. The last thing I want is to have to go to that alone."

“To make it fair, give yourself that time.” She tells you. “Give him an honest try and if you still can’t see it, then you have your answer because Sam is the type to want marriage.”

"I want to get married, too." You always have. Ever since you were little. You reveled in family weddings and dreaming in your own big day. You had even talked to Marcus about it at the market. But whenever the future comes up with Sam, it ends up feeling tense now. "I just...it's a lot to even think about, Syd. You and Juan just...you're so good together. I don't think I'll ever get that lucky."

“I think you will.” She encourages. “My relationship with Juan isn’t without work.” She reminds you. “We still have to communicate and work through issues.”

"But it's worth it because you love each other so much." The sentence is out of your mouth before you have a chance to really sit on what you're saying, and just seconds after you hear yourself say it, your shoulders fall in defeat. "Oh...fuck..."

“What is it?” She asks, frowning at the way you just seemed to deflate.

"It's worth it for you and Juan to work through your issues because you love each other so much." Repeating the phrase makes it hurt all the more, because you didn't realize until this exact moment that it doesn't apply to you. At least, not anymore. "I...don't think I feel the same way..."

“Oh honey.” Her expression softens and she is immediately around the counter again, this time pulling you in for a big hug.

"I'm okay," you insist, through very obvious tears that announce the contrary. "I'm okay." You have to be. You have work to do, and you can't greet a large family party here to announce and celebrate an engagement with runny mascara. "I...have to be okay."

“Listen.” She lets you go and takes your shoulder to look you in the eyes. “You are going upstairs. Ahhh.” She stops you when you start to protest. “Take ten minutes, take an hour, take all day, but take some time to yourself before you start running around dealing with the very obvious results of love.” She tells you. “I can get them started with food and then Juan can take over to take them to the venue.” She shakes her head, huffing when you open your mouth again. “No, I’m not listening. Now go.”

"I'll be back in ten minutes." The best thing you can do for yourself today is keep busy, but she's right that you need to have a clear head for things to go well. "I just...I didn't know this was going to happen today. Or ever."

“I know, babe.” She squeezes you again and sighs. “But I’m here for you. Completely.”

"Thank you, love." Squeezing her tight against you as much as you can, you steal your second coffee away with you from the kitchen and head back upstairs with Agent Sisson following behind.

Sydney sighs as she looks at the door you disappear through for a moment before turning back to her work. The best way she can help you right now, is to make sure the incoming clients are happy.

Walking out through the back hall, you clutch your mug of coffee and try to hang onto a thread of dignity until you get back upstairs. There are more tears pressing at the back of your eyes and you absolutely do not want them shed in public. The elevator is in use, apparently, and you jam your finger in the button a second time for good measure before blowing out a sigh. What a great fucking Valentine’s last night turned out to be, and what a terrible fucking day this is looking like…

The little toiletry kits provided in the rooms are a godsend and both Marcus and Vanessa quickly clean up after the alarm had woken them. “Can’t believe we drank so much and we don’t have hangovers.” Marcus hums, riding the elevator down to get a quick breakfast with his Valentine’s date. They had ended up finishing a bottle and then having another few glasses while dancing. Feeling too drunk to safely get home, the night manager had agreed to let them take one of the rooms on the promise they would check out early. He has been grateful and eagerly agreed. “How about you?”

“Normally I would say I’m still drunk,” Vanessa admits with a sheepish laugh. “But I’m okay. I think it’s just a miracle and I’m not in the habit of questioning those. Though I could use some breakfast.”

“I’ll get you fed and then get you home so you won’t be late to work.” Marcus promises. He will be late, but he had already told his team to come in late, so it’s just paperwork that he’s missing.

“In case no one has ever told you before, you are a consummate caretaker.” It makes a girl like Vanessa feel very special, who spend her working hours caring for someone else and her downtime making sure to live up to her parents’ expectations, and while Marcus Pike isn’t quite her dream man — he’s handsome and sweet and she would be stupid to ignore that.

"I like to make sure people are happy and safe around me." Marcus shrugs off the praise with a small grin. "I took you from your house, it's only right I deliver you back to it." He hums as the elevator stops and dings before the doors open. "Now to get you fed."

When the elevator doors slide open in front of you, the most unwelcome sight in the world is waiting. The vision of Marcus Pike and Vanessa D’Amario in the same clothing you saw them wearing last night, looking refreshed and giddy huddled together in one corner of the elevator car makes you want to turn on your heel and flee back into the kitchen. And you probably would, if you weren’t rooted to the spot in shock and trying to remember how to breathe.

Vanessa murmurs your name in surprise. "I—I didn't expect to see you here this morning!" Her eyes dart around, almost nervously as she expects Sam to pop up. "I—uh, is Congressman Chase here?" She asks, "I thought— he said that you had a date." Normally dates between you and Sam included sleepovers.

“He’s not here.” You won’t invite questions by giving extra information, but when your feet remember how to work, you step out of the way to let them off the elevator. “I—um—I was just headed upstairs.” Sam is going to be in a very foul mood if he’s coming off a bad night and Vanessa walks in looking freshly fucked, and that almost makes you sob all over again. “N—nice to see you, Vanessa. Marcus.”

Marcus can't even do more than just nod and lift his hand and wave slightly, feeling foolish as he watches the doors slide closed and your eyes meet his in a kind of silent agony. "Well," Vanessa giggles and Marcus can't help the way that he swallows guiltily, like he's done something wrong. "I guess that's one way for my boss to learn I had a date."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @storiesofthefandomlovers

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #love triangle

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espresseo-cafe · 2 months

Text

a kiss & a dress shirt | johnny | oneshot

genre: syrup, fluff, valentine’s day special

pairing: johnny x fem!reader

bean count: 4.4k+

a/n: not me crying in singleness while writing this 🥹this fluffy coffee was meant to be posted a day ago but i kept rewriting because i wasn’t satisfied and now it’s longer than i expected lmao 👀 anyway enjoy my very late valentine’s day gift for you my beans ☕️💚

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people have been talking about the popular trio in your year. they even got other students from different universities seeing them outside the gates after classes.

among the three of them were the handsome and musically talented lee taeyong, the smiling sunshine and varsity football player nakamoto yuta, and the ever sexy, volleyball loving sweetheart photographer johnny suh.

they were always the talk of the campus since freshmen year and their presence emitted a strong pull that you only knew how celebrities did. were they that attractive? yes. although the trio were indeed popular, most of them were gushing on the so-called “twins”: taeyong and yuta, with the latter being a transferee from osaka, japan.

the third one, however, didn’t have everyone’s eyes on him as much as taeyong and yuta. he was still talked about though, and they’d talk about johnny suh being the sexy one out of the three and only loved- and i quote: only talked about his bread-like abs during sport events.

it was a biased statement and agreed consensus that everyone had to which you beg to differ. there was so much more to him behind than his muscular physique, you guessed.

as the recent saying goes: “in every trio, there is…”and in this particular trio in your year, johnny suh, who hails from chicago, was the one to have got your attention the most. he was your type, so much that he was the only one you noticed behind the sparkles that shone around the other two.

johnny simply stood out. and quite literally. he was mysterious like a cat, but aggressive like a tiger in the court.

you weren’t one to be so smittened with just anyone. your heart has never been swayed this much as far as you could remember. because you- out of your friend group at least- was hard to please and very choosy.

mina at the moment asked how you managed to have a crush on johnny. and you smiled so stupidly recalling how he stood in front of you and used his hand to block a powerful spike that nearly hit your face.

you remembered the gush of wind that swept in front and his perfume that was oddly refreshing despite it being mixed with sweat. looking up, there was one feature of his you definitely liked. and you simply answered, “he.. saved me from a spike.”

and by the time you looked up at her while your fork spun around the pasta, never have you ever seen mina with an expression that was close to a meme.

“that’s it?” she put down her spoon. “you fell in love because of that?”

you rolled your eyes, “i’m not in love with him, it’s called a crush. they’re different.”

she giggled softly, “well it’s leaning towards that, y/n. i’m glad you finally opened up your heart this time.”

lisa laughed at that comment, “clearly at someone real and not a fictional character. johnny’s in my photography major. he’s usually alone but he got people staring at him more than the actual professor in every lecture.”

“and you’re telling me this because?” you chewed on your food but still maintaining eye contact with her.

“because despite being the “sexy one”, i heard he’s single and is planning to ask someone out in our year for valentine’s.” lisa shrugged and snorted at how you choked on your meal hearing that.

mina gave you a glass of water and lightly slapped lisa’s shoulder, “you good? i mean, y/n, this is your chance to ask him out too.” making you cough on your drink. your best friends turning to each other and giving each other a high-five.

“they’re probably just baseless rumours, girls.” you wiped your mouth, trying to ignore whatever they were saying.

though at the back of your mind, going on a date with johnny suh was a wishful thinking. you guys were friends to begin with, acquaintances rather, through lisa and taeyong’s relationship.

the faint cheers and giggles from your table had johnny’s group of friends looking. taeyong smiled at his girlfriend lisa, who was obviously aware with the fact she might’ve told you about how johnny’s current relationship status was.

yuta nudged the sides of taeyong’s waist, “you think johnny will ask any of lisa’s friends? we could go on a triple date this year.”

taeyong sipped from his juice box, his doe eyes never leaving her side profile. “you bet, johnny’s already decided on who to take for valentine’s.”

yuta crossed his arms, his black nail polish evident on his fingers. he grinned while he stared at a certain someone. “he better not take mina, i got dibs on her.”

“who says i’m taking mina?” the guys immediately turned around to see johnny behind them. johnny took a peek the girls they just conversed about. “i’ll be asking y/n out for valentine’s.”

the two snickered at him, “about time. but you say it as if it’s your first valentine date ever.”

“please, i was asked more than you two combined but i expected that they always want one thing. so i declined.” johnny pointed out blankly and the guys knew already.

“shoot, a one night stand after the date?” yuta licked his lips before breaking out in a laughter. “well someone’s choosy. you are built better than us so i get what the girls want.”

johnny just smirked at the ridiculous claim he has heard quite a number of times. for once, he just wanted to have a normal date. the previous dates he went on before weren’t what he wanted or even looking for.

taeyong put his bag on the bench while they all sat around the table. “so what made you decide on taking y/n this year?”

johnny’s reddening ears caught the guys beside him off guard. that alone already confessed so many things. “i like her.. like a lot. i think it was since the beginning of the semester.”

taeyong’s smile faded when he felt that johnny was serious. and he knew whenever his best friend johnny is that serious about something, he’d do anything to make his point clear.

yuta, on the other hand, was just enjoying what he sees and decided to tease the boy a little more though he was quite scary. “so that’s why you did that move? when you saved her from the spike a while back?”

johnny coughed on his lunch, he was busted. never had he experienced anyone putting him on the hot seat before because that was his job in the first place.

the boys decided to tease him further more the whole lunch by saying you were probably asked by other guys already because today was the 13th. johnny’s eyes widened realising he’s lost track of time.

you should still be available, right?

his eyes searched for you, hoping you were still around and definitely still have the 14th vacant for him. he felt his heart beating out of his chest and didn’t stop its speed when he spotted you laughing with lisa and mina.

he didn’t care what other people would think. he knew the effect he had on almost everyone by being the tall, sexy, young man he was referred to.

but they wouldn’t know the effect you had on him at all.

they wouldn’t know how much he liked you. til today.

so he stood up, putting his nervousness behind him and walked up to where you were. “y/n.” you looked up to the sweet voice that called your name, so mesmerised with the fact that your crush is literally in front of you.

whispers and chatters of students around the cafeteria made you nervous. you knew johnny though you thought you were dreaming, you couldn’t stop thinking about one thing: ‘why me?’

johnny’s hand reached into his pocket and took out four tickets. those you recognised as movie and amusement park tickets respectively. “i don’t normally do this so i’m just as nervous as you are..” he scratched the back of his head, ears as red as his cheeks. “y/f/n, will you be my valentine this year?”

mina and lisa squealed in a happy panic while shaking each other’s shoulders, with lisa taking a photo to commerate a historical moment. “this is it!”

your ears heated up and your eyes never left his face. johnny too, couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. you were beautiful in a way he couldn’t explain. sure, you weren’t exactly his type before but now he was certain you ticked all of his boxes.

blinking a bit, your mouth couldn’t stop quivering into a smile. you were so lucky today.

johnny didn’t like the suspension that he was almost breaking into a sweat. were you going to say yes-

“yes.”

he gasped, and he bit his lip. “y-yes?”

“mhm.”

johnny curled his fists and punched one into the air. “oh my g- yes!” hearing his friends behind him howling and cheering, he sighed a puff of relief. then he regained his composure and said rather confidently, “thank you. i’ll pick you up tomorrow at 10am?”

“the movie’s at 9, johnny.” you shook the tickets before standing up to go to your next lecture. “so i’ll see you earlier then.”

he watched your figure leave the cafeteria with your friends, giving him a small wave and a smile. and he was dazzled. his crush on you was getting somewhere.

other girls ran up to him and blocked his way with questionable faces and tried to hand in their letters and chocolate to him.

“johnny, why did you ask y/n? i’m better!”

“she’s a nobody!”

“you could’ve asked me instead!”

“so unfair!”

“ugh do i have to wait next year again?”

taeyong could see the discomfort in johnny’s face but still found it funny how he never broke eye contact at you.

“boy’s smittened.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

lost in thought, you weren’t sure how long you were standing in front of your full length mirror so early in the morning. sighing, you should’ve listened to lisa last night to wake up early.

and now she’s nagging at you with a toothbrush in her mouth. “what did i tell you? we’re all dressed up but you.”

you rubbed your eyes to remove the sand that built up overnight. “yeah but my clothes got dirtied by mina and her coffee.”

mina gasped as she curled her hair, pointing her curler at you. “in my defense, who puts their outfit on the dining table?”

raising your hands, you admitted defeat. “me, okay? i woke up late. so save me a lecture.”

the girls laughed, they knew you were nervous as heck for your first ever valentine’s date. it was a first that johnny himself asked someone out in public even though he was a very private person. but they also knew how you and johnny suh were a good match. it was undeniable.

so lisa took something out from a paper bag and gave it to you, saying to save it for tonight.

taking a peek at the item, you screamed in disgust and threw it back to her. “lisa!”

“what?” she laughed, her pearly whites and smile was so contagious that it made mina laugh as well. “might as well get on with it!”

you slammed the table with your hands, “ha? i’m not that vulgar! i’m as innocent as an angel!”

mina snorted like a pig would do and disagreed with you. “says someone who was staring at his shirtless volleyball pictures on instagram last night.”

your cheeks heated up so much that it crawled straight to your ears. “i- i’ll go get ready.” walking away to your bedroom to look for something else to wear. good thing you had a back up outfit.

“yuta texted, said that they’d pick us up in thirty!” mina turned her screen off after reading the notification.

“shut up mina!” your voice behind the door made her shake her head in satisfaction.

“the pressure’s real now, isn’t it, y/n?”

“mina said they’re almost ready.” yuta put his phone in the pocket of his jacket. then seeing johnny checking himself out on the rearview mirror as he drove to your shared apartment with the girls. “dude, chill, you look great.”

johnny smirked before parking briefly. as he and the guys went out of the car, you three came into sight all dressed up. and he swore he actually took a step back when his eyes set on you.

you sported a light lilac puff sleeved dress that had a knot around your waist. the ruffled hem of the dress reach an inch & a half above your knees. and you paired the whole outfit with white sneakers and a light yellow headband.

johnny blushed, and he feigned an innocent cough to cover up his growing flustered reaction. this.. this was what he meant with how you had that effect on him. he was quick enough to change his expression before the rest of the group looked at him.

mina, yuta, lisa, and taeyong looked at the both of you and just realised how your outfits matched. johnny’s outfit was similar with yours; an oversized purple dress shirt, a white tank, cashew coloured pants, a pair of white sneakers, and ending the whole fit with a pale mustard yellow bag.

johnny freaking suh was dashing this morning.

“we didn’t plan this, did we?” johnny broke the silence, before walking towards you.

he brought his hand out, asking permission to hold yours. you pressed your lips together and did what he requested. strangely enough, his hand had a very nice warmth.

he pulled you closer to his side, putting his arm around your shoulders gently. you could hear your heart ringing in your ears. he was too close for comfort but for crying out loud, he wasn’t just any person, he was johnny suh; the guy you very much liked.

“we’ll be late for our breakfast movie date, see you guys later at night.” he signaled his friends and yours, shaking his car keys on his free hand.

while you both turned to a corner a few streets away from your building complex, johnny released his hold on you. stunned, you saw how tensed he was after acting all tough.

that amused you a lot. because behind that intimidating and manly exterior, was a soft and nervous guy on a date.

you wouldn’t say you were any different either, because you were just as tensed as he was. “you okay?”

johnny finally looked at you, “sorry, i’m not usually like this.”

then it hit you.

“is this your first valentine’s date?”

“a proper one, actually.” johnny sighed while looking at his watch, “crap we got ten minutes ‘til the movie starts.”

your eyes widened and didn’t think for a second,. “well we don’t want to be late now, do we?” looking at the town just a few blocks away. “i’ll race you.”

johnny was in shock and broke out into a cackle. “okay. but don’t blame me if you lose.”

“don’t underestimate me, suh.” you grinned, already sprinting away from him. gosh were you happy you chose to wear sneakers today.

the movie was a re-showing of spiderman: no way home. and you heard that johnny was a huge spiderman fan. luckily for him, you were into movies from marvel. except for the recent ones, we don’t talk about those.

after the morning date, johnny had everything planned out. the next agenda was to go for a stroll in the park to take photos and to your surprise, he really lived up to his reputation.

you’ve come to learn that johnny got this passion from his mom, who also took great photos of him when he was younger.

johnny looked at his camera’s viewfinder and spotted you smiling under the rising noontime sun. he hitched a breath, you were so beautiful, and he found himself falling in love even more.

“you hungry? it’s almost lunch time.” you asked him, breaking him out of a daze.

“yeah!” his voice came out all funny, “i booked seats at a restaurant just there.” he pointed at a crowded street. “you good with sushi?”

he was sure his heart melted when you jumped in excitement. “omg i love sushi! let’s go!”

as you walked to the crowded street, johnny felt stares at him that made him uncomfortable. you weren’t oblivious to this though, your sharp eyes caught how even random ladies your age would fuss over the model like young man beside you.

hearing whispers on how handsome he looked and how he was an ideal type for all, you knew he was tensed. so you didn’t think twice to hold his hand and pulled him, walking across the crowd.

it was like how you knew his mind was occupied, johnny felt at peace when he felt your hand on his. “i heard we could get a discount if we go in as a couple.. for today.” he heard you say and your eyes smiled at him. “you good with that?”

finally, a considerate question. someone who apparently spotted his vulnerable self and someone who actually cared for him. you were so different than the previous dates he’s had.

“yeah.” he smiled at you, staring at your tinted lips that called onto him. then he mentally slapped himself for thinking that so early.

lunch was actually quite enjoyable, johnny kept the conversation going and he was unexpectedly funny. putting in one-liners and cracking a couple of jokes filled your stomach with laughter more than the food itself.

he was attractive, loved and intimidated by many, and he was idolised by many sport enthusiasts. to see your crush take you out for valentine’s and witness how he really is in person was something you’d like to keep. and he was just a normal goofball.

a cute kind of goofball.

“if you stare at me for too long i might as well kiss you.” he teased you while he plopped a sushi in his mouth.

“with that salmon sashimi in your mouth? no thanks.” you teased back, catching johnny off guard and he coughed. you chuckled and gave him a glass of water. “sorry about that.”

“that was unexpected.” he cackled, “but that only told me that you’re willing to kiss me.”

you only shook your head, “maybe. maybe not.”

again johnny was taken aback by you, did you have feelings for him for you to say such a thing? today was a friendly date, but would things be different if you both actually have mutual feelings?

he didn’t want to get ahead of himself yet he hoped something good would happen today.

“bill please.” johnny gestured to the waiter, taking his wallet out. his peripheral vision caught you taking your pouch out as well. “it’s okay, y/n, my treat.”

“but-”

“i know about the half and half payment situation going on. but since it’s valentine’s day, let me treat you.” placing his card underneath the receipt book.

“okay, but it means you’re treating me the whole day though.”you closed your wallet, smiling regrettably at him.

johnny just smirked, “unless i score another date with you.”

your cheeks heated up again. smooth, johnny suh. “alright.”

“let’s go to the amusement park?” he stood up, letting you go first to exit the restaurant.

you nodded excitedly, today was going to be a long day for you.

for the whole afternoon, you and johnny rode quite a lot of rides there was in the amusement park. even stopping for a cotton candy and a churro snack break in some of them. and just like johnny, never had you ever experienced a date as fun as this.

two of the last things you both did were the game stalls and bump cars. he bluffed saying that he’d win you a teddy bear even though he really liked it. it was then you found out that he loved stuffed toys. it should’ve been a turn off but for you, it wasn’t. it was actually adorable.

you both ended up carrying two giant teddy bears after being competitive with each other.

johnny brought out his digital film camera and took shots to remember the whole event. he was enjoying himself and couldn’t wait to actually have more with you- if there was going to be more anyway.

he knew he was in love you for the longest of time he knew you. and he couldn’t help but think you did as well. he loved the way you still looked so pretty after you hair was in a mess during the bump cars, smiling and having fun with him.

getting off the bump cars while the sun painted a hue of pink and orange, you both walked towards the turnstile to exit. he checked his phone for a bit while when he noticed people looking at your behind.

until he spotted a bright red stain on your dress. you probably didn’t know you had your period today. locking his phone, he took off his dress shirt and wrapped it around your waist.

for the bystanders who witnessed this, it felt like slow motion that it was a scene worthy to be penned for a romantic movie.

you gasped a bit at the very close proximity with him. “johnny?”

“excuse me for this y/n.” he said softly by your ear. “you’re on your period, so i had to cover your back before more people see it.”

his low velvet voice gave you goosebumps and then realised how embarrassing it was to have him do that. when your eyes met with his, his apologetic smile made you fluster so much.

what you didn’t expect was the now sleeveless johnny- was just as flustered as you were. not sure how long you were staring at his beautiful brown eyes, also at his plumped lips. you decided to break the awkward silence.

“oh my gosh.” you covered the lower half of your face. “i need to go buy sanitary napkins.”

johnny coughed briefly before letting go of your waist. “.. right. i’ll wait for you when you’re done.” taking one of the bears while the other one sat on the bench.

making your way to the girls’ toilet after purchasing a pack of napkins, you slapped your cheeks in embarrassment. your period should’ve arrived after the date. now johnny had to walk around in his tank top for the rest of the evening without his dress shirt.

his dress shirt.. ah whatever. you told yourself.

johnny’s expression lit up when he saw you exiting the toilet, still feeling bad for you but eased up when you smiled. “well since i do have my period, i’m suddenly hungry.”

he snapped his fingers and laughed at your reaction on everything. “great, one last hurrah. i booked a reservation at a french restaurant. heard ladies shouldn’t consume anything oily.”

your mouth went agape as he skipped away with the two teddy bears. “but i was craving for burgers and fries!”

“well you’re having baguette and framboise tonight, young lady.” he called out and laughed once again. and that actually made you chuckle.

“you pronounced ‘framboise’ wrong!”

after you both finished your meal at the fancy french restaurant, you still felt bad about his dress shirt while he must’ve felt cold throughout dinner. it must’ve been stained by now. johnny was quick to pay attention, he licked his lips and rubbed his chin as you both walked back home.

so, the whole valentine’s day was productive; morning cinema and breakfast, a scroll in the park, lunch at a sushi restaurant, amusement park, and a french cuisine dinner. a total package. johnny really outdid himself on this one.

he wished today didn’t end so soon.

and so did you.

“i had fun today, johnny. thank you for being my first valentine ever.” you bit your lip while doing a repetitive tiptoe movement.

johnny ruffed your hair, “i’m glad you liked everything. i hope we can do more of this.”

your eyes lit up, he enjoyed your company. “definitely. but hope this-” you gestured to your ‘accident’, “- doesn’t happen again.”

“y/n, don’t worry about it.” he spoke out, letting you know it wasn’t any problem for him at all.

you scratched the back of your head, “thank you, and i’m so sorry, johnny. i promise to wash it and return it to you.”

he held your shoulder, “it’s okay. keep it. i’ve got an extra one.”

“maybe you just want me to remember about it.” you playfully rolled your eyes and johnny chuckled.

“or maybe i wanted to imprint you.” he stared at your face, then to your lips for a few seconds before laughing. “i’m kidding.”

he waited for an answer but you just blinked at him, looking at his lips that was the distraction the whole day. he took that as a cue that maybe you also wanted what he thought of too. but he didn’t want to act recklessly.

it was quiet for like ten seconds. and ten seconds felt like forever. you felt like your heart was going to explode and johnny felt a rush in him to just go for it.

he put down his bag and the stuffed toy, pulled you closer to him. his hand placed around your back and the free one by your jaw. your face was close to his and you both could feel the tension that was evident in the air.

and even though it was like that, you loved how johnny had the decency to ask your permission before anything.

“can i kiss you?” he asked softly, his eyes trailed to your lips once more before back to your eyes.

the way you were lost in his gaze, how your eyes moved its attention to his lips, and a small nod was already a signal for johnny to make his move.

the grip he had on you tightened a little and you both shared a kiss under the lamp post that was outside your apartment complex. you didn’t know long it was until you and johnny’s smart watches alerted, saying:

“detecting abnormal heart rate.”

stopping almost abruptly, you both caught your breaths after a mutual understanding of your unsaid feelings towards each other, you and johnny softly laughed.

“does this mean we’re official?” you asked nervously, holding his forearms. johnny pinched your cheek as he hugged you gently, swaying you both around and you sniffed in a quiet laughter in his chest.

“well y/n, we’ve already imprinted on each other so.. yes, we’re official. my valentine.”

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erraticalart · 2 months

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Preferences

Well... ummm... Happy Late Valentine's Day, guys! :D

I hope you enjoy this somewhat erotic comic featuring the lovebirds, Heavy and Medic. This is technically part 1 because I just found out that you can post up to 30 images at once and I made 32 images in total, so whoops! I had to find a way where I perfectly separate the images, so it fits in part 1 and part 2 without losing context. I think ending part 1 with Spy remarking Scout's Ma was a good placement as to make this scene funny.

Also, I had tons of fun and enjoyment drawing Heavy and Medic's fantasies of each other with the color and lighting, and of course, the positions they are in. They both have nice preferences for good reasons. I mean, come on, look at Medic's chest and Heavy's ass. They both were made for each other. But Medic's ass and Heavy's chest are also nice as well. They both love everything about each other. And boy, are their fantasies wild! (Or maybe they aren't fantasies, what if they're memories of past nights?... shhh... who knows...) ;)

I also made this because I thought that this might be a funny idea as to how Heavy learned some English swearings. It would make sense that it's due to miscommunication, confusion, and naivety. Hopefully Heavy is a little cautious about what to swear next time. Though from Heavy's dialogue, he prefers saying "ass" and "stupid". Hmm, guess he likes saying that a lot in battle, but we know Heavy isn't much of a trash talker as some of the other mercs. After all, he's a very polite man!

Well, with all that said and done, Happy Late Valentine's Day and we'll see how long I'll disappear again till I come back to post again!

Until next time, bye for now!

#tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #heavymedic #red oktoberfest #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #suggestive #nudity #partial nudity #TF2 #Team Fortress 2 #TF2 Fanart #TF2 Art #TF2 Fancomic #TF2 Comic

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pop-roxs · 1 year

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omgg late valentines grelle x reader fic!! :3

this is like my second ever attempt at fic writing and my first time posting my work so please be easy on me 🙏

(this fic is now on ao3! check the rbs if youd like to check it out)

category: hurt/comfort

ship: grelle x reader

word count: 1,206(i wrote more than i thought oh my god)

reader is gn!!!

Valentine's day is a day for couples to express their love for each other through chocolates and cards. It's a day for crushes to be confessed, and for friends to be cared for. This seems like the perfect holiday for Grelle. But she would say the opposite. Especially now.

It had been a long day at the dispatch, and frankly she was tired of seeing all the healthy and happy couples prance about the halls hand-in-hand. Upon arriving home, she threw off her coat and opened a bottle of wine, finishing about half of it in one go. She could cry if she cared. She just wanted the day to end.

William had been insistant on giving her as much overtime as possible. She would've enjoyed it, if it weren't sitting at her desk in her office, filing paperwork for what seemed to be an endless amount of hours.

It was almost midnight now, as she glumly walked over to her couch to sit down. She was exhausted, staring into nothing as her mind drew blanks. She hadn't even gotten chocolate. Not a single card. Not from friends, and she definitely didn't have any secret admirers. Why would she? Nobody at dispatch actually liked her anyways.

And so she sat there. For about a few minutes, until she heard very incessant knocking at her front door. She grumbled and ignored it. But then by the third round they were practically banging at her door, to which she finally decided to answer whoever wanted to visit her.

"...Y/N?" She stared at you, baffled, wondering why the hell you would be here. "Why are you here? Especially at this hour?..."

You tried to give her an answer, but you were panting so hard, your hands at your knees, trying desperately to catch your breath. "I'm sorry, Grelle, just... Give me a moment..."

She nervously stared at you as your breathing slowly calmed down, and this gave her a good minute or two to inspect your appearance. You were still in your uniform, but you were very much not dressed in a way you could present yourself. Your hair wasn't combed, and your laces were almost completely untied. It's almost as if you ran all the way to her apartment.

Once you finally managed to (mostly) calm down, you looked up at her, speaking in an urgent tone. "Grelle, I'm so sorry, I know I haven't seen you all day. I kinda skipped out on work today. Again, I'm sorry."

"Darling, just tell me why you're here. It's almost midnight. You should be asleep."

"And so should you." Grelle stopped talking after you said that. She let you continue. "I was gone all day because I..." You were afraid to say what you were going to say next.

"I was... Shopping. Looking for the right gift. For you." You looked away and held out a box of chocolates shaped in a heart, with a spider lily and letter taped to it. Grelle gasped quietly upon seeing it, staring at you for a minute. She gently took the box from your hands.

"Y/N, dear... Why did you get me this?" She looked up at you, biting her lip. She was afraid you were teasing her. Why in the ever living hell would you get her chocolates, anyways? And go out of your way to give them to her?

"Because."

"...That's it? Just 'because'?"

"Ok, well, I guess it's deeper than that." You stood up straight, fidgeting with your nails. A blush crept onto your cheeks.

"Well then? I'm waiting." Grelle stood leaning on one leg, her hand on her hip, the other holding the chocolates you gave her. She looked at you expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

Your eyes darted around nervously. Her apartment, the floor, the door, the hallway, anywhere but her face. "I... Well, it's not that important, really. I can tell you some other time. It is rather la-"

"Tell me."

When Grelle spoke to you with that stern tone, you shut up and finally looked into her eyes. You stalled for an incredible amount of time. The longer you waited, the more impatient Grelle became.

"Well, if you're not gonna say, I'll just go to bed." She started to close the door, and you panicked.

"W-Wait! I'll tell you." She stopped closing it, giving you one last chance to explain yourself. She kept her hand on the doorknob.

You closed your eyes as you braced yourself for what you were about to confess to her. "I like you."

Grelle's stern expression softened slowly after you said that. She looked at you in disbelief. No, this wasn't true. You were messing with her.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

When she said that, you immediately opened your eyes to return her gaze. You could tell that her eyes were beginning to water, but she was trying to hold it back. That look hurt.

"What? No! No, I'm not. I wouldn't joke about something like that, Grelle." You looked at her sympathetically.

She stared at you in thought. Her cheeks began to burn with a red color. She kept staring at you for what almost felt like forever. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

Grelle couldn't hold it in anymore, as a few tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked at you silently, biting her lip, her eyebrows upturned. You immediately began to worry when she started crying, fiddling with your hands, not know what to do.

"Oh my god, Grelle, I'm so sorry! Are you ok? Did I say something wrong?"

She then quickly started to wipe her tears away. "Goodness, dear, I didn't mean to cry in front of you... This just isn't really believable right now."

"What do you mean by that?" Your heart ached further with her statement.

It was now Grelle's turn to worry, because when she saw your painful expression, she began to feel guilty. "Well... Nobody likes me. Nobody's ever liked me. You know how people treat me at dispatch. I just thought... I wouldn't guess that someone as pretty as you would bother with a woman like me."

"Grelle..." You took a few steps forwards, before wrapping your arms around her, resting your forehead on hers. "Please, believe me when i say this. I love you. I don't just have a small crush on you, or just think you're cute --although that is still true-- I genuinely love you. I don't think i could ever get over that without telling you."

Grelle continued to cry, as she returned your hug, still holding the chocolates. "Darling.. You will never understand how much this means to me. I've been pining on you for so long, I never expressed it since I never knew someone was capable of loving me."

"Please, never believe that lie again." You moved to press a sweet kiss to her cheek, silencing her worries. She looked at you, and her eyes were so full of emotion, sincere and unadulterated affection.

"Come inside, I have some wine we can drink. I would love to share these chocolates with you.♡" Grelle loosened her embrace as she led you into her apartment, to which she spent her best Valentine's night with you.

bro i wrote this at like 2/4am tf

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be-co-me · 2 months

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En Plein Air

Levi Ackerman

5.7k Words

Summary: A mysterious raven haired painter seeks solace in your flower laden patio and glasses of whiskey when he finds his hidden job turns awry. This is my submission for @kentopedia's valentine's collab event, Love Through The Ages. I urge you to go check out the rest of the fics as they are written and posted! (It tried to link it but it won't work for some reason!) This takes place during the late 1800's in the impressionism era in France. This has always been a favorite era of mine, specifically for the art that debuted around this time. Monet's pieces are my absolute favorite, specifically the water lily series and I think everyone should see it. I listened to Gregory Alan Isakov for the better part of writing this, so if you'd like to listen to some folk music as you read (I think the music is very fitting to the vibe of the fic), my three favorites are Empty Northern Hemisphere, If I Go I'm Goin, and Dandelion Wine.

---

Impressionism. The art movement taking the world by storm along with the budding history and developments of the new age, especially had caught your eye. Vehicles, new necessities; water and electricity even being brought to the lower class, such as yourself would be labelled, though you had not yet been fortunate enough to have them in your own home as of yet.

But specifically, what most caught your eye was the art of the raven haired man sitting across the bar from you, occupying a table all by his lonesome as you polish glasses and watch his nimble hands paint, leaned over a decently sized canvas. 2.5x3.5 meters in size if you had to guess. The tall whiskey on the rocks he ordered earlier tucked to the edge of the table as to not disrupt his painting should it be spilled.

His jacket was discarded neatly across the back of the chair placed next to him, his hat forgotten along with his whiskey glass. You realized you had been polishing the same glass for the last few minutes as you stared, when another patron had come to the bar top to order.

Once you served them, your mind forgot the glasses and silverware that needed polishing to end the evening in favor of staring at the man located across from you once more. You noticed many more details of him as he was the lone subject of your attention now. His eyes had not yet met yours as his concentration must have been so deep.

You noticed the paint layered over his fingertips, vibrants and dulls covering the pale of his skin. The painting looked to be outdoors, and, if you didn't know any better, you would say yourself the painting looked finished, but the last three hours of refinery to detail he had done since the sun went down proved to you otherwise.

He suddenly looked up, his gaze meeting the whiskey glass he had long ignored. His paint covered finger tips grazed the top as he picked the glass up and took a long drag from it, smearing different colors along the rim of the glass, something you didn't think you would mind polishing off later in turn of seeing the finished product.

His eyes met yours as he set the glass into the same wet ring the table now adorned from the glass. You retreated your gaze to that of his drink, the ice now mostly melted, and glass now almost empty. Your staring could technically be deduced to the state of his drink, as you were the bartender, but you were wiser to know he would most likely not believe that statement.

He cleared his throat loudly, pushing his chair back and carefully paraded around his adopted work space as to not knock into it. He brought the glass up to your bar, placing it in front of your empty hands, steely gaze now meeting your own, at a much closer distance than you realized you'd be comfortable admiring him from.

The silence between the two of you was heavy as he did not say a word, the gramophone's music filtering through the space instead, something you had been lucky to receive as a gift from one of your more wealthy, regular patrons, saying he had already gotten a new model. Your gaze met the glass once more and you noticed it was now empty, a feat you didn't seem to notice as he made his way to the bar. He must have finished it off.

"Would you like another sir?" you asked, reluctantly meeting his rigid gaze once again. His head swiveled to the table he had occupied as a group of patrons walked past, eyeing the painting that sat atop it from a respectful distance, carefully critiquing it. His head turned back to you with a nod.

"Yes please." he responded, his gaze turning back to the table. You nodded in affirmation and turned to grab the whiskey he had requested earlier in the evening. You turned back to him as you poured, hoping you may engage in some small talk to find more detail into his character.

"Your eyes will be strained painting in the dim light you know?" you stated, eyes concentrated on the pour you gave him. You set the bottle down into it's rightful place and scooped some fresh ice into the cup, placing it back in front of him before meeting his gaze once more, looking for a response.

He stared for a few seconds before responding.

"Better light than my shitty apartment and I only get light in the studio during the day. This was a last resort to finishing by tomorrow." he replied bluntly, but softly, eyes grazing down your frame to give a once over before meeting yours again.

"Hmm. What's tomorrow?" you asked, leaning a cheek against your palm atop the bar in front of him, happy the plan for idle conversation had worked in your favor. His gaze met the table once again before turning back to you.

" A gallery. Not a large one by any means, although I wish to be represented in one someday." he responded, shrugging his shoulders as he sipped from the new glass.

"May I see what you are working on up close?" you asked. His eyes grazed your features once again as you sat atop your palm, taking another sip from your own glass the wealthy patron had bought you earlier in the evening.

"I'd rather you see it when it is finished." he responded. You hummed in response.

"When will that be?" you asked and he pondered the question.

"Depends on if you'll kick me out when you close or let me stay." he responded. It was your turn now to ponder his statement and you nodded, removing yourself from atop your palm and turning to eye the clock hung over the top of the bar, surprised to see the hands nearing closing time.

"I don't think that would be a problem." you responded with a soft smile. He nodded, standing to make his way back to the table. He sat and placed the glass in it's same dark ring as to not make another stain atop the wood, then plucked a fine tip paint brush off the top of his palette, beginning his work once again.

You stared a bit longer than needed, something you hoped he was oblivious to, before picking up the glasses once again and polishing them off.

As you finished your closing duties, the last of the noisy patrons leaving the bar, you poured yourself another tall glass of floral gin, with a dash of floral bitters and tonic. Your nose wrinkled at the burn of the alcohol, strong but smooth in flavor with a flowery lavender aftertaste.

As you finished wiping the bar top down and half of your earlier poured drink along with the task, the final on your list of duties now done, you eyed the raven head man's table, taking note of the empty glass next to him. You grabbed a fresh, icy glass and poured another out for him, bringing it along with your own drink to join him at the table.

You set the glasses down carefully, plucking up the empty glass placed next to him and replacing it with the fresh one. You carefully pulled a chair out next to him and watched him as he painted many more fine details across the span of the canvas.

The style vaguely reminded you of art you had seen in the papers from Claude Monet, an artist you had come to revere for his Nympheas series he had started not long ago. In favor of capturing the vibrancy of life, dark sharp lines were now replaced with colors, vibrant and dull to show the shadows, light, and depth of life in more fine and true toned detail. It also replaced the stuffiness of painting in studios with that of painting outdoors. En plein air they called it. It became a style you rather wished you owned a piece of, specifically that of Monet's work, though it was far too pricey and that dream would remain just so.

It made you feel free, a dream you wished could become a reality, to live in a home atop a pond of water lilies. Only you were not wealthy; your dresses and occupation told others that much, no matter how hard you could try to front that you were. Although you were the owner of a small bar tucked into the middle upper class estate, you were by no means seen as a respectable business owner to many of the wealthy that came to drink the afternoons and evenings away.

The clink of a glass hitting the table brought you back to reality, his eyes meeting yours as he dusted his fingers across a paint smeared cloth. You eyed the piece, wondering if it had been finished. Your eyes met his steely greys.

"Is it finished?" you asked. He nodded, continuing to wipe his fingers. an unlit cigarette sat between his lips, hindering him from responding to the question vocally. You leaned over the table even more, admiring the small details of the piece, attempting to eye the separate brush strokes.

"I'm assuming this won't be varnished correct?" you asked. His hand obscured his face, cupping around the end of the cigarette as he lit it with a match, waving the match around a couple of times to snuffle the flame out before setting it atop the table. He took a long drag, leaning back into the chair.

"You've done your reading haven't you?" he asked, blowing the cloud of smoke away from your direction. You nodded.

"I'm keen to this up and coming style and seeing where it goes," you started, eyes raking the other side of the canvas as you leaned over farther to catch a better glance at the details, "I find the switch up intriguing and rather more beautiful than works of the past." you responded, continuing to eye the painting.

A large garden bed of French lavender swaying in the breeze caught your eyes before moving onto other flowering plants adorning the canvas. It seemed to be of a farmers market, though you noted the lack of people on the canvas. Handmade dresses fluttered in the wind hung to the side of stalls, and you eyed one you thought may look rather good on yourself.

You spent a long while admiring the work and you both sipped your drinks in comfortable silence. You were sure it was well past midnight at this point, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. You finally looked away from the canvas.

"It's beautiful. I may have to find where this market is to see it in person." you told him. Your eyes met the paint tubes littering the table, something you had failed to notice before. Maybe he's a bit wealthier than you are, being able to afford the new storage units for paint.

"You've gotten your paint in tubes. Quite hard to find around here." you noted aloud, meeting his eyes. He nodded, finishing his drink off.

"My uncle got them for me on a trip out of town. One of his customers was nice enough to give him a hefty discount, though I'm not sure I'll ever hear the end of returning the favor to him." he responded.

You pointed a finger to his drink and he shook his head. You opted to finish your own and stand, grabbing the discarded glasses and making your way behind the bar to wash them as he began to pack his supplies up. You made your way to the gramophone and halted the current shellac record that played, placing it into it's designated envelope and back to it's alphabetical bin.

You met him back at the table before grabbing your belongings, ready to also make your way home. He adjusted his jacket into prim and proper place after putting it on.

"I haven't paid for my drinks." he stated. You shrugged in response.

"Guess you'll have to come back and see me then."

---

You realized, rather irritated, the next morning, that you had never gotten his name. In favor of the spring day the farmer's almanac predicted would be warmer than the previous early spring season, you opted to open the outdoor patio of the bar for the day rather than the inside, which you would possibly open in the absence of the sun later in the evening. You now admired the flowers littering the small yard in a new light since seeing the mysterious man's painting. Maybe you could add even more flowers, specifically the French lavender that jumped out to your gaze in his painting.

Your morning went smoothly, your cup of coffee being replaced with that of the drinks a regular had bought you. He drank on absinthe, a flavor he had brought home from the military, something that had become quite popular, though you didn't admire the flavor the same way many other patrons had. You refused to drink it.

In the later afternoon, a warm breeze enveloped the patio and your eyes piqued at the raven haired man you had met the previous evening as he walked through the gate. He carried he same painting supplies he hauled last night, gaze wandering for a table that was open. Currently they had all been occupied and his eyes met your own as he made his way to the empty barstool in front of you. He looped his bag across the rung of the back of the chair, placing his jacket and hat across it before sitting atop the chair. You were rather glad you had worn a nicer dress in favor of seeing him again.

"The usual?" you asked, grabbing a glass to make the drink anyways. He nodded.

"Not quite sure I've been here enough for you to be asking me that question." he responded. You poured into the glass and scooped up the ice, placing the glass in front of him. He took a long sip from the glass, eyeing the drink sitting atop your work space. Your cheeks felt warm and you were sure they were rosy, the tip of your nose tingling at the slight buzz of the gin running through your veins.

"How was the gallery?" you asked. He shrugged, messing with the buttons of his white shirt as he unbuttoned the top two at his collar and the cuffs at his wrists, rolling them up a couple of times.

"I got quite the offer on one of my paintings. I'll be meeting the gentleman here later today." he responded.

"I'm glad I could convince you to come back, let alone bring others with you." you responded wittily, taking a sip of your drink. Your gaze wandered over his raven locks of hair, noticing the cigarette tucked behind his ear. His bangs fell into his eyes, probably due soon for a haircut, but you rather liked the longer hair on him.

He began to dig out supplies from the bag, canvas ditched for a sketchbook in lieu of the considerably smaller workplace he could now work with.

You continued your work as he began his, hastily making drinks as more patrons poured in. You thought you may let him know of an open table lest he'd want to move, but you'd rather he stayed closer, and he was so endowed in his work. You thought it better not to interrupt him unless you brought a new drink along with you.

As the afternoon slowed and patrons rolled in at a lesser frequency, you stood in front of him, taking a break from the drinks you had earlier in the afternoon once your wealthy regular left, in exchange for water. You tried to catch a glimpse of what he worked on, sketching out lines across the pad with graphite rather than any paint as of yet.

Another man made his way next to him, setting his own jacket and hat atop the back of the adjacent chair, and it was only now you got a glimpse of the work as he set the book down to shake hands with the new man. Your eyes scanned the page, a drawing resembling the flowers of your patio across the page. You felt a warmness trickle inside your chest as you looked back up, asking the other man what he would like to drink on after refilling the raven haired man's glass. Another whiskey, but neat this time.

His sketchpad then sat closed atop the bar for quite long as they conversed over the painting the man would be purchasing. You eavesdropped on their conversation, noting the painting being purchased would be the one he spent the better part of the day working on the previous evening.

You felt excitement for your newfound 'regular', dare you call him, when you heard the monetary value placed on the work by the other man, and in the raven man's expression, you found an honest surprise to what the wealthy man would pay for the fine art as they shook hands on the price, a celebration found in lieu of another drink.

As the evening sun faded into the starry sky, you lit the lanterns adorning your patio, painting it down to a bright orange and yellow haze.

"I'd like to tab out, and I insist you put Levi Ackerman's drinks on my own tab." the wealthy man insisted. You eyed the raven haired man, his gaze one of annoyance, in lieu of hearing his name for the first time before nodding. You told the man the total and he made his way out of the bar with his new piece, after leaving a hefty tip.

"It's a beautiful piece, I'm not surprised it was sold so quickly, Mr. Ackerman." you told him, testing his name on your tongue as you poured him a new drink.

"Just Levi please." he responded, taking a long sip of the fresh drink after you had placed it in front of him.

"Okay Just Levi, what are you sketching out now?" you asked. His eyes met yours in warning at the joke, shaking his head as he opened the closed sketchbook back up. Your eyes raked over it, as you found it the same as the last time you snuck a glance at it. He picked the graphite back up, beginning his work on it once more.

You noted the graphite smeared across the meat of his left hand, something you thought must have interfered with his work quite often. For sitting at the bar for the afternoon and evening, the depiction of the space you created was accurate in it's fullest across the page, the lanterns now being added in one by one.

You fell into the same routine as the previous night, Levi worked on his art as you closed your bar down, continuing to pour him drinks every so often. You poured one out for yourself, in search for a buzz from the alcohol again to warm yourself up in the colder breeze the night had brought in.

You finished your duties and your drink, pouring another as you made your way to the seat next to him, watching him as he leaned over the sketch and placed carefully calculated, soft smudges across it with oil pastels now, bringing the page to life with color. You noted the dull fingerprints of the pastels atop his glass, something you again wouldn't mind to polish away. You rather liked the lack of people in his paintings, you noted, as you found the depictions of the wealthy often polluted what you thought the nature of the paintings to be about; what they meant to you personally. Freedom.

He finished off the drink after half an hour, along with he sketch, and you grabbed the glasses, yours long empty and your body warm, as you washed the glasses under the warm water and set them atop a shelf to dry in the evening breeze.

You found the page torn out of the sketchbook when your eyes met his figure again, edges neat and crisp, sat atop the bar. He dug a glass frame out of the bag, placing the painting carefully into it. He then pushed the frame towards you across the bar top, and you picked it up with a sense of delicacy, careful to not mess with the pastels sat behind the glass. Your eyes roamed from the sketch to that of your patio a few times, noting the details even you would have failed to notice.

"Yet another beautiful piece of work. I'm quite honored you'd choose a place of my creation to bring to life." you commented, sliding the frame back to him carefully.

"You keep it. I insist. And let me pay that tab." he responded, fishing out cash from his pocket. You shook your head, taking the painting and placing it in a nook below the gin shelf so you may eye it more often in lieu of when you would be pouring your own favored drink to enjoy after long evenings.

"This is more than enough payment. I insist. So long as you let me enjoy your paintings, you can drink for free in my establishment." you responded. He left with a curt nod.

---

One day passed, then two. Three days became a week before you saw him again. You began to worry, and even felt a bit disappointed at the absence of your newfound favorite patron. A rather solemn look adorned his pretty features the next time you saw him walk through he gates of your patio, and you rather thought that he could be a painting himself as he walked to and sat across from you at the bar top right before closing that evening. You noted the lack of paint supplies and the angry red color under his fingernails and the blistering red of scrubbed hands in the lantern's orange light as he set his palms atop the bar.

"I hope that's paint under your nails Levi." you told him, your gaze leaving his hands as your brow creased in worry, turning to grab the whiskey bottle that sat abandoned the past week and pouring it into a glass. You heard a mutter of curses leave his lips and you set the cold glass in front of him. He took quite a long while before nestling the glass in between his hands and taking a sip from it.

You opted to try his drink of choice for the evening, abandoning your own in lieu of trying a new flavor on your tongue, your eyes still grazing over the oil pastel depiction of your patio every time you made a drink in his absence. The new type of burn made your nose scrunch involuntarily, a much stronger alcohol percentage invading your taste buds.

You turned to him once again as the notes of smoky wood and caramel smoothed over your taste buds, the strong alcohol leaving a rather pleasant flavor behind. You could see why he enjoyed the drink, especially colder.

You sat in a rather comfortable silence, and after he finished the first of what you assumed to be many drinks quickly, he let out a rather exasperated sigh, throwing his head back and leaned far back against the barstool, his arms folding across his eyes. You continued to sip at your own drink, grabbing the bottle next to you to pour into his empty glass, scooping the ice into it. His posture didn't change.

"Want to talk about it?" you asked, voice struggling as you took a sip of the strong whiskey, realizing he hadn't said a word to you in the half hour he had been there and you rather longed for the sound of his deep voice again.

It took him a long while to sit up before shaking his head. You nodded in response.

"I thought I'd have to revoke my offer if you didn't come back to see me you know." you joked lightheartedly, his gaze finally meeting your own, excitement fluttered in your chest as he inhaled to speak to you for the first time in a week.

"How have things been around here? Any trouble?" he asked. You shook your head in response to the rather random question, taking note of the lilt of edge in his voice.

"Just the regular drunk hooligans and their usual shenanigans on occasion. I'm far used to it by now." you responded, taking a sip of the drink. He reached into the chest pocket of his already buttoned down white shirt, grabbing the case of cigarettes and matches from it, lighting one up. He took a drag from it, blowing it away from you, eyes meeting your own once more.

"I'm glad to hear so. Seems to be trouble everywhere else." he responded.

"My offer still stands. Don't you know bartenders aren't only good at keeping bars but also secrets?" you asked with a worried smile, polishing away at a glass you'd forgotten previously to keep your hands occupied. His gaze met over both his shoulders, you assumed to confirm the lack of bodies besides the two of you within the vicinity before freely speaking of his absence the last week.

"Being an artist doesn't make much money you know, unless you're well known, which I am not." he said, pausing to sip at his drink, and you nodded in following attention of what he would explain. His tone became significantly quieter as he spoke next.

"My uncle works for the mafia, and unfortunately I have to help him. I owe him the debt of removing me from the deepest depths of society. No, I owe him my life, as much as I hate to say so. No favors that I repay him would ever be enough." he continued, ashing the forgotten cigarette before taking another drag from it.

You nodded, processing the information as you took another sip of your drink, the ice steadily melting. You wondered if that was all of the information he would allow you to know of the subject or if he would continue on. You eyed his hands once more, the redness of his skin waned, but remained underneath his fingernails. You ran a cloth under warm water as he continued to sip at his drink, grabbing at the brim of the glass in his particular way. You wrung the steaming towel out and placed your arms across the bar top, pointing towards his unoccupied hand. You couldn't help but to think the red was placed there earlier in the day, and after attempting to harshly scrub it away, he wanted to seek solace in your establishment and your presence.

"May I?" you asked, your eyes staring strongly into his own, the question coming out as more of a demand rather than a request for permission. His gaze softened and he nodded, placing his drink down on the bar top, the fingers of his right hand staying wrapped around it.

You gently wiped around top of his left hand, lightly rubbing into the creases of his fingers and knuckles before gently turning his palm over and doing the same, making sure to wipe over every millimeter of the skin on both sides before turning his hand over once more and beginning on his fingernails. His glass sat empty in your concentration and he reached for your own, something you didn't mind as you rubbed his cuticles clean.

You pulled the towel taught around your thumb nail, running it underneath his own nails to remove the angry rusty red. Once you finished his left hand, you ran the towel under the warm water once again, cleaning it of it's dirt now, setting your palm onto the bar in demand of his other hand without a word.

He placed his palm carefully onto yours and sipped at your drink carefully as he watched you clean his right hand. As you began on his upper forearms, you felt his muscles untaut across your palm and he visibly relaxed in your peripherals, a sigh leaving his lips. You felt your own shoulders relax as well.

"I like these hands more when they're covered in paint and pastels, not in danger Levi." you nearly whispered, finishing up underneath his nails. You placed the towel under the water once again, cleaning it thoroughly and tossing it onto the back of the bar after folding it up.

He brought his hand back to him, wrapping it around the glass in his other hand as he examined his now clean fingers. His bangs covered his steely grays as he pondered a response to your statement.

"I hope one day that's all you'll have to see them do." he responded quietly in return. You poured a short glass of the whiskey for yourself this time, topping his own off as well, reveling in the intimate environment the two of you had blossomed in the first of his visits.

For, in technicality, the third day of knowing him, you already felt quite a hearty connection to him, even more so than your more frequent bar guests. If anything had happened to him and he didn't come to the bar anymore, so suddenly, you'd be quite upset, on an even deeper level than you'd felt the past week.

"I hope I get to know you long enough to see that happen." you said, used to the burn of your drink now, your eyes meeting his own. You stared into his eyes, finishing the drink and placing the glass down. You stepped atop the milk crate at your feet and placed your elbows atop the bar, hands intertwining with the collar of his shirt as you pulled his face much closer to your own. His gaze penetrated your own as you took over the solemn conversation, noses nearly touching, your eyes flitting down to his lips and all around his visage, taking in his sharp features, dark long eyelashes, and plump lightly chapped lips before tracking back to his eyes.

You noted they were more of a slate grey, the flecks of blue you hadn't noticed before much more pertinent in the close proximity you'd brought about. The color reminded you much of the hydrangeas nestled in the back corner of your now peacefully quiet patio, peaceful, though your heart was thrumming harder than you think it ever had. His palms lay wrapped around your forearms in anticipation.

The color of his eyes dwindled away as they closed and his lips captured your own, the chapping of them brushing roughly against the edges of your lips. You captured his bottom lip between your own in an attempt to soften it against the petroleum across your own lips.

Your hands brushed the briary undercut he donned and his palms brushed over your shoulder blades with a squeeze as he pushed harder into the kiss you had initiated. You could taste the smokiness of his cigarette, homogenous to the smokiness and burnt caramel of the whiskey you had shared earlier in the evening, and you hoped he could taste the same on you.

Your intimacy was broken up by the loud thunder rumbling off in the distance, the breeze picking up strongly, something you failed to notice in your already lovesick state. You broke apart from him, chest heaving, staring into the slate of his eyes that reminded you oh so much of your hydrangeas you had moved closer to the front of your patio earlier in the week.

His palms lay wrapped around your forearms once again, yours in much of a similar manner. You smiled deeply at him and noticed for the first time that he returned the sentiment back to you. You sat in a more than comfortable silence as the pace of your breathing returned to normal, the searing warmth of his palms a comfort to your skin in the late cold breeze. The coarse thunder boomed once more, a streak of bright white light painting the sky and his eyes, before quickly disappearing into the covered stars.

"I need you to always come back. Please. You're my new favorite regular you know." you told him breathily. He nodded in response to the sentiment, gaze following behind you. Your eyes met the path his own followed, staring into the painting he had made for you the week before.

"Who would I tell my darkest secrets to if I didn't? And who would clean my conscience figuratively and literally when I've found myself in trouble?" he said in response, slate greys flitting back to you.

"I'll always be here, whiskey glass in hand, whenever you need it you know. I'm not going anywhere." you whispered. He nodded, rubbing his palm up and down the expanse of your now exposed forearms, your sleeves rolled up earlier to clean dishwares.

The both of you gathered your belongings, ready to fare out the storm brewing as he insisted he walk you home. He pointed out the colors of the dull night, bringing it to life in the now drenched city estate. You turned back to look at your closed down bar, and the flowers of your patio that much needed the rain thundering down from the sky.

And you found yourself more alive than you'd ever felt, standing in the rain, looking upon the result of your life's works in peace and harmony.

The landscape now bloomed in vibrants and pastels in your wake, no longer dull and forgotten. Your world flooded with a new sense of colored hues as you gazed upon your flowers, in a deeper sense of detail than before; and you found that raven colored black he brought about earlier in the week was not the absence of all the colors you had previously thought it was, but rather kin to the mix of the many hues littered about in the bottom of the raven artist's bag and across his canvases.

---

Please let me know what you think! I think this is by far one of my favorite pieces I have written. I wanted to add more, but I felt it would ruin where it leaves off, so maybe a part two will be due at some point if requested. I wrote this last night after a pretty scary time; my college campus had an active shooter and our whole campus was kind of shook for the better part of an hour (no one was injured!), but writing definitely helped to calm me down, so I am glad I made an entry for this! This is lightly edited as I don't have much time before class, so please excuse any mistakes!

#love through the ages #Levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #snk #aot #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk x reader #snk levi #aot levi #aot x reader #levi aot #attack on titan x reader

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loveharlow · 2 years

Text

CUPCAKE CHAOS

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [1.4k] A lazy Saturday spent attempting to bake before JJ shows up.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ fluff, pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.), mentions of drugs, swearing, mentions of food

A/N‧₊˚ This is my first post on here, I'd been stalling by organizing my blog (which I haven't even finished😭). I'm very nervous but I hope you guys like it!

˗ˏˋ jj masterlist ˎˊ˗

IT SEEMED AS IF ALL THE POGUES WERE BUSY AS SOON AS SUMMER BEGAN. John B was hanging with Sarah, Kiara had to help out her dad at The Wreck, Pope was getting the last of his community service hours, and your boyfriend wasn't answering his phone at all.

You had the house to yourself considering your parent were out on yet another business trip and you, being used to their absence, knew they wouldn't be back for another week at least.

It was around 2pm that your immense boredom and the unbearable silence of your home had taken over, prompting you to get out of bed and to look for something, anything, to do.

You tried looking for something to watch, all the shows seemingly uninteresting or cheesy. You tried stepping outside for some fresh air but the scorching sun that typically adorned the sky of the OBX didn't seem as appealing as it normally did, almost immediately bringing on a headache.

So, here you were, rummaging through the cupboards in your kitchen for who knows what.

Opening the cabinet just above the stove, you found some baking essentials—flour, icing, sugar, etc. You remembered your mom kept a recipe book from your late grandmother who loved baking with her whole heart.

She made all of your birthday cakes and treats and it became a staple of hers.

The only problem was you didn't exactly know where said recipe book was. Your mother never told you. But it had to be in the kitchen somewhere.

AFTER a couple minutes of going from cabinet to cabinet, drawer to drawer—you found the little recipe book. A small brown notebook that your grandmother printed her name on to. The small thing barely able to close with how full it was; inked pages, colored tabs sticking out of the side.

Sitting down on the counter-top, something your mother would surely scold you for, you flipped through it—searching for anything that sounded appealing.

A couple minutes pass and one page catches your attention. Valentine's Day Filled Strawberry Cupcakes. A brief glance over the recipe told you it was essentially just vanilla cupcakes iced with strawberry cream cheese icing and some kind of strawberry-purée filled center. Now, of course, it was nowhere near Valentine's Day but... who says it had to be in order spread a little love?

A smile crept its way onto your face, that sounds so damn good right now. You loved strawberries, you loved cupcakes, and you hadn't eaten anything all day.

You went back to the now open cabinet that sparked this idea, pulling out some of the ingredients that the cupcakes required; flour, sugar, baking powder, and vanilla extract. Moving to the fridge, you pulled out more. Eggs, Butter, Milk, Strawberry Cream Cheese... —who bought all of this? Your parents aren't necessarily home to cook often and you usually order something or eat with the Pogues. You should be grateful, you guess.

There were a couple of other ingredients you gathered and some things labeled as optional such as sprinkles and food coloring.

With everything laid out in front of you—the ingredients, the mixer, and your utensils, you washed your hands, dried them and turned to pre-heat the oven.

"Let's try not to screw this up."

"SHIT!" That was the sixth time you had over-filled one of the cupcakes tins. You wouldn't be so upset if it wasn't such a frustrating task to un-fill it, having to scoop out some of the batter and drag it, very messily, to the next tin, little splotches of pink-ish batter scattered all over the metal pan.

While you were wiping your hands on the apron you had conveniently found after you got flour on your shirt, there was a distinct knock at the door that let you know who was there before you even opened it.

Groaning slightly, you trudged over to your front door. Swinging it open, quite aggressively might I add, letting a gust of wind in that swayed your loose apron and dusted some of the flour off of you.

"Woah, what...happened?" Your boyfriend chuckled, still standing on your doorstep. He was visibly trying to hold in a laugh, causing your hand to fall from the door and cross them both over your chest.

"It's not funny." You huffed, glaring at him. You turned on your feet and began to make your way back into the kitchen, noting the sound of his heavy boots entering, closing the front door, and continuing to trail after you.

You came to stand back in front of your half-filled tray of cupcake batter. JJ entered the kitchen and stopped in the doorway, taking in the chaos before him. Batter-covered spatulas and spoons in the sink, measuring spoons covered in flour, egg shells sitting at the top of the waste bin. There was so much going on.

"Oh. I really like what you've done with the place." He joked.

When he took in your seriously defeated expression looking down at the tray in front of you, he entered the kitchen and made his way over to you. Wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder, feeling your tense shoulders deflate. "What's wrong?"

"What else? Everything is a mess." You grumbled. It truly wasn't that serious but you couldn't deny that you were beyond frustrated.

He suddenly found the situation less humorous. Albeit, you'd probably be laughing about it too once you actually got the task done but he knew how frustrated you got when you felt like you couldn't do something or it didn't go as smoothly as you had hoped. No matter how small or big it actually was.

He unraveled himself from your waist and he turned your body to face him by your upper arms. His hands dropped to the counter behind you, careful not to knock anything over. His face now inches from yours, eyes glazing over your grumpy expression.

You quirked a brow, a silent expression of your confusion. From your perspective, he was just staring at you. Suddenly, one of his hands came up to brush his thumb in between your eyebrows. "Fix your face. They're just cupcakes, sweetheart." He spoke softly and smiled, trying to uplift you.

Whether it was shown on your face or not, it was working. "But it shouldn't be this difficult. I went over the recipe like ten fu-

"Language."

You rolled your eyes slightly and sighed, throwing your head back slightly. "Maybe I'm just tired. Or hungry. Or lonely because all my friends are busy and my boyfriend wouldn't answer his phone-"

"Ow!" He cried when you plucked his arm. "Uh, for starters, I was busy, too. Little Miss Violent..." He muttered in mock offense, rubbing the spot where you pinched him lightly. "Some Kook was looking for someone to mow their yard quickly for 200 bucks, which is insane, so I took it. I didn't see your call until I was done and I thought I'd come over to see you."

"Is that why you smell like grass?" You questioned teasingly, a visible smile edging its way on to your face.

"Shut up." The blonde spoke, seeing the smile you tried so hard to hide. He grabbed the sides of your face and pecked your lips multiple times.

"JJ!- C'mon-"

He stopped and let your face go, he moved his hands to ruffle your hair. "You're so cute when you smile." The boy gushed. "Now, do you want some help? Because, I for one, am an excellent baker."

You snorted at that, causing the blonde boy to quirk an eyebrow. "Are you now?" You inquired, moving past him to wash the mess off of your hands.

"I bake brownies all the time." He assured from behind you.

"Edibles. You make edibles all the time."

"Same difference. They're just fun brownies. We could also make the cupcakes fun-"

"We're not putting weed in the cupcakes, JJ." He groaned and rolled his eyes. "But, if you want to help—see if you have more luck pouring the batter in than I did. Don't over-fill them though, just a little past the-"

"I got it, I got it..." He cut you off while you dried your hands and he began to pour the batter in with ease.

"Well, excuse me." You teased.

After a few minutes, JJ had poured the batter in the tray with minimal effort and he did it near perfect. He took a dramatic bow and winked, eliciting and eye-roll from you as you slid the tray carefully into the oven. Before you could fully close it, JJ spoke.

"Are you sure we can't just a put a little-"

"No weed in the cupcakes!"

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow.

#obx fanfiction #obx jj #jj mayback x reader #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank one shot

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basu-shokikita · 2 months

Text

Dethentines 2024 Day 7

Will you be my Valentine?

Picture me arriving to the finish line wheezing and dying, 'cause that's me right now. I don't know why I thought that finishing the entries on the very same day of posting was a good idea but that's what ended up happening. Never again, hopefully.

Either way, here's my last entry for Dethentines, aka the one that matters the most because it's for Valentine's Day so I made an extra effort and you get a whooping +2k words for today. It's Skwistok, obviously, but the rest of Dethklok get a pretty decent amount of participation because I wanted to go out with a bang. Or try to.

Also, I'm linking to this song for no reason.

Thank you so much for organizing Dethentines this year! I had lots of fun and I'm happy to have managed to participate in all days ✨ See you around~

“And then we does the things like-” Skwisgaar made a high pitched noise. “Like-” He made an explosion sound. “You gets?”

“Right, like-” Nathan made a deep growling noise. “And then-” A boing-like noise followed. “And then some more…”

“Ja!” Skwisgaar nodded enthusiastically. It was really easy to talk about music with Nathan, it’s like they read each other’s minds somehow. “We has to…”

Suddenly, Toki walked into the living room. He stopped right when he saw the two of them. Skwisgaar raised a hand to wave at him, a reluctant smile on his face. However, Toki only frowned in response and left.

“Uh-oh.” Nathan watched Toki’s silhouette slowly get smaller. “What did you do?”

“Eugh…” Skwisgaar let his arm drop on the couch. “He ams mads abouts Vals and Tines days.”

“Valentine’s Day?” Nathan repeated in confusion.

“Ja, he askeds if I wanteds to spends wif hims. Goes ons a dates togethors…dats stuff…”

Nathan waited a moment and, when Skwisgaar didn’t continue, he asked. “And what did you say?”

Skwisgaar winced a little. “I says it was fuckings stupids and jackoffs things whats we donts needs.”

“Woah!” Nathan sat back in shock. “Woah, Skwisgaar!”

“Whats? We ams alreadies togethers sorts of, okeys?” Skwisgaar shrugged. “And Valentines ams dildos” He mumbled. “ I don’ts gets it.”

“Yeah, but Toki likes that shit, remember? He’s, uh…” Nathan struggled to find a word that wouldn’t be offensive. “...Different.”

“Pfft.” Skwisgaar snorted. “Differents ams rights.”

“Besides…” Nathan’s eyes wandered to the living room. “I don’t think it’s that weird to want to do all romantic shit when you’re in love. Love might not be cool at all, but it is pretty brutal.”

Skwisgaar pouted, unable to refute Nathan on that. Discovering his feelings for Toki had been a pretty brutal experience. “I guess you ams rights.”

“You gotta apologize to him, dude.”

“Eugh.” Skwisgaar looked up to the ceiling, unable to find reasons against.

–

They were having lunch and Toki was too busy finishing up his mountain of spaghetti to notice Skwisgaar had been staring at him for the past 5 minutes. It was late and there was nobody else in the kitchen but them. Well, besides the Klokateers.

Skwisgaar decided to make an attempt. “Toki?” He called him hesitantly.

Toki kept eating as if nothing had happened, slurping loudly and spreading cheese on the pasta like his life depended on it. Frankly, Skwisgaar wasn’t sure Toki had heard him or not.

“Toki?” He called him a second time.

Still nothing, Toki was gulping from his glass of water. “Mores, please!” He said, after slamming the glass on the table.

“Sire!” One Klokateer immediately appeared with a pitcher of water and filled Toki’s glass to the brim.

“Thank yous.” Toki said before he resumed eating.

“Tok-” Skwisgaar decided to cut the bullshit and sat on the seat next to Toki. There was a subtle acknowledgement, as Toki glanced to his side before returning his attention to his food. “Toki, listens.” Skwisgaar said, gently placing his hand on Toki’s arm.

Toki kept eating, completely unbothered.

Truth to be told, Skwisgaar wasn’t used to being this ignored, especially not by Toki, so he felt the discouragement in his gut. He cleared his throat. “Ams sorries about de other deis, okeis? I didn’ts…realize how imporkstants it ams was to yous, soes…”

“Dat was goods.” Toki said and Skwisgaar raised his eyes with expectation, but Toki was staring at his now empty dish and rubbing his belly.

He sighed. “Tokis, please, we can does what you wants. I won’ts complains, justs-”

Abruptly, Toki stood up and walked away without looking back. Skwisgaar buried his face in his hands in frustration.

He really fucked things up this time.

“Ye gotta mehk it up to him, dood.” Pickles suddenly spoke behind him and Skwisgaar almost did a somersault from shock.

“Eugh! Pickle!” He glanced at him, horrified. “Whens dids you get heres?”

Pickles grimaced like he was offended. “Dood, I’ve been here de whole time.”

“Huh…” Skwisgaar could not remember for the life of him seeing him here but , oh well. “Waits, what does you means makes it ups to him?” He squinted. “Whats does you knows?”

Pickles snorted, gesturing dismissively with one hand. “Nethan already told me ‘bout it. You broke Toki’s heart, didn’t ye?”

“Wells…” Skwisgaar winced. “I wouldn’ts…puts it like dats…”

“An apology just wahn’t do.” Pickles leaned into Skwisgaar’s ear. “Ye gotta surprise him yourself.”

“What?” Skwisgaar turned to him in horror. “You means…?”

Smirking, Pickles nodded slowly at him.

–

Skwisgaar looked at the door with preemptive regret. He was one second away from leaving and forgetting the whole thing. This was his dignity on the line now, nothing to joke about.

Toki’s face flashed in his mind and Skwisgaar closed his eyes in defeat. His breath hitched and his heart raced as he knocked on the door thrice.

It only took a few seconds for it to open, and behind it, a confused Murderface appeared. “Schkwisgaar? What do you want?”

“Is never thots I woulds says dis, Moidaface.” Skwisgaar was already short of breath. “But I needs yous helps.”

Murderface crossed his arms with a scowl. “Thisch better not be a prank.”

“I don’t has time for pranks.” Skwisgaar said as he made his way into Murderface’s room.

“Hey!”

Uncaring, he slammed the door behind him and Murderface gave him a stunned stare. “I needs yous helps now.”

Murderface looked him up and down, like he wasn’t sure what to make of Skwisgaar’s words. “Thisch ischn’t a gay thing, right?”

“Whats?” Skwisgaar was appalled. “N-well, it ams kinds of gays, actuallies.” He sighed. “You ams goods friends with Tokes, rights?”

“I guesch.” Murderface shrugged noncommittally which honestly irritated Skwisgaar but he decided to let it go.

“Does he, eugh…Does he talkeds about Valskentines with yous?”

“Oh,” Murderface rolled his eyes and turned around. “All the fucking time! Me and Schkwisgaar are going to do thisch! Me and Schkwisgaar are going do that! It’sch my firscht Valentinesch ever, Murderface! I’m scho exschited!” He made a disgusted noise. “Made me schick, really.”

The guilt piled up on the pit of Skwisgaar’s stomach. “Does you…remembers any specificks?”

“Uhh, he schaid it would be the firscht date ever for you guysch so he wanted to do everything…” He rested his back against his deck. “Firscht, have breakfascht in bed. Then, go to the petting szchoo to pet the catch. After that, walk in the park while holding handsch and eating…” He shuddered. “Hot dogsch. Then, planetarium vischit to look at the starchs. Then, go to the theater to watch a movie…and then dinner at a fanschy restaurant. He did schpare me the detailsch for the night after that, thank Chrischt.”

“Eugh…” Skwisgaar was impressed. “You shores remembers de hole thingks.”

“Well, he wouldn’t schut up about it!” Murderface defensively and opened the first drawer of his desk. “Look, he even made drawingsch of it!” At once, Murderface spread a bunch of drawings over the top of the desk.

One of the drawings had them petting cats, in another they were walking in the park with the hot dogs, looking at the stars, at a fancy restaurant…there were even some drawings of things Murderface hadn’t described, probably things Toki couldn’t fit into their schedule.

“Why does you has dese?” He asked.

Murderface blinked a couple of times before looking away. “We like drawing together, okay? And he alwaysch leavesch hisch drawingsch here. Idiot.”

“Rights.” Skwisgaar stood up. “I thinks I gots all I needs now, so I’m goingks-”

“Wait, what do I get in exchange?”

“Eugh…Toki’s unconskditionals loves?”

Murderface buffed. “Big deal.” Skwisgaar was walking to the other when he spoke again. “I know it’sch not any of my buschiness but…” Skwisgaar turned to look at him. “He kind of, really likesch you, scho…yeah.”

Unbelievable, even Murderface was lecturing him now. Skwisgaar couldn’t imagine sinking lower. “Rights. Thanks, Moidaface.”

“Whatever.”

Skwisgaar closed the door, a new determination finding its way inside him.

–

“Whats ams dis?” Toki asked, upon finding a letter next to his plate during breakfast. It was a bronze envelope with a blood red seal.

“Hm?” Pickles was stuffing oatmeal down his throat. “No idea, dood.”

Toki was skeptical, looking at Nathan and Murderface eat in silence. “Where ams Skwisgaar?”

Nathan, currently attacking a beef steak, replied. “Uhh, probably sleeping? Who knows. It’s Skwisgaar.”

Still not quite convinced, Toki ripped open the envelope and found a letter inside except there was nothing written in it. Just a red guitar vaguely shaped like a heart. “Alrights, who ams doings this? It amsnt funnies.” He asked with irritation. He wasn’t in the mood to get pranked on Valentine’s Day.

“It’sch probably schomething to do with playing the guitar.” Murderface blurted and the other two glared at him. “Or schomething.” He added to save face.

Toki squinted at his friends. “You guys amsnt collsudings togeders, ams you?”

“No.” All three of them said at the same time, which only made it more suspicious.

“We’re just eatin’ our breakfast here.” Pickles said.

“Yeah, why would we care about anything that ischn’t our breakfascht?”

“It’s not like today is a special day or anything.”

Toki got up from the table, unamused. He wasn’t going to bother with this, he would just get to the root of the problem and cut it off. Simple as that.

“Skwisgaar.” He knocked on his door. “Ams not in de moods for dis okays? Soes just-” The door opened with a creak, revealing an empty bedroom. Toki looked inside, intrigued and found lit red candles melting on the floor. Upon closer inspection, he realized they were skull shaped.

On the bed, there was a guitar made of red rose petals and a pile of Deaddy Bears in different brutal outfits laid in place of the pillows. The TV was showing ‘Love and Guts 4’ Toki’s favorite horror movie and, under it, there was a box of sugar-free chocolates with a note on them.

Meets me wheres we first kiss

Toki’s eyes widened upon reading. Did he mean….?

–

He couldn’t help it, he was supposed to be mad but he couldn’t help running towards the location, excitement drumming inside his chest. What was he expecting? What was going to happen? What had Skwisgaar planned?

When he reached the double-door, he found it only marginally open so he grabbed the knob to reveal the inside.

Skwisgaar was sitting on a stool inside Murderface’s closet, guitar in his hand. He seemed to have been caught off guard because he made a surprised noise when he saw Toki.

Toki tried to catch his breath. “Skwisga-”

Abruptly, Skwisgaar started playing the guitar. First the E, then the G sharp minor, then the C sharp minor, then the A. Then he played the whole sequence again.

“Does you wanna be mines girls-boyfriends…” He sang unsurely. “We’lls walks to the cemeteries and alls kiss you agains…And makes ours dead friends blushks…We ams getting marrieds right dere on de seens…” He inhaled shakily. “Does you wants to be mines best friends? Yous can drives me crazies alls over agains…And alls bores you death oooh, doesn’ts matters when we ams in love. Rights?” He smiled at a speechless Toki.

Then the guitar got heavier, but Skwisgaar’s eyes were still on Toki. “Does you wanna be mines boyfriends?” He continued. "Does you wanna be mine boyfriends? Does you wanna be mines- Does you wanna be mines?” He stood up and kept playing, now closing the distance between them as he finished up the song. When it ended, he had essentially backed Toki against the wall.

Skwisgaar’s expression softened, the confidence from playing was fading into reluctance. “Ams sorries about everythings, Toki. I didn’ts realize how impskortants dis was to yous. Lets me makes it up to yous. Is calleds reservations fors a restaurants and bookeds de movies and plansetariums, ands the pettings zoo has spots fors us and-” Impulsively, Toki locked their lips together and Skwisgaar lost the trail of his thoughts.

“It ams okay, Skwisgaar.” He said when he pulled away. “I just thoughts you didnts…” He shook his head, smiling. “Doesn’ts matters.” Giggling, he laced their fingers together. “Soes, boysfriend?”

Skwisgaar felt his face heat up from embarrassment. “Dats- Dats what de songs-” He stopped babbling and his face turned solemn instead. “Eugh, ja.” With a heavy swallow, he asked. “Does you wants to be mines boysfriends, Toki?”

Toki’s smile was like a thousand beams directed at once at Skwisgaar. “Ja, I wants to bes your boyfriend, Skwisgaar.”

Smiling back, Skwisgaar brought Toki closer to him. “Cans I kiss mines boyfriends now?”

“You cans.” Toki said, the happiness leaking from his face.

As they wrapped around each other, Skwisgaar felt only slightly bad for the mess they were about to do in Murderface’s closet.

But only slightly.

–

“Well, it sure sounds like they’re havin’ fun.” Pickles commented, ear to the closet door.

“Now who’sch gonna clean after them!” Murderface complained. “My closchet isch gonna be dischguschting!”

“Murderface, you don’t even clean your own room.” Nathan countered, already looking tired.

“Yeah, well, neither do you!”

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re fucking rich. Just call a Klokateer to get it done.”

“I guesch!”

The closet door banged so loudly that all three of them jolted.

“Okei!” Pickles clasped his hands together. “Who wants t' get wasted to feel less miserable on Valentine’s Day!”

“Me!” Nathan and Murderface replied in unison.

“Let’s leave the lovebirds, then.” Pickles made an example as he walked away from the closet and the two soon followed him.

“Fuck Valentine’sch Day!” Murderface said.

“Yeah, it’s capitalism brutality, and not the kind that benefits us.” Nathan agreed.

“It’s stoopid as hell, like whoa! I’m in love! Big deal!” Pickles threw his hands into the air.

“Yeah.”

“Totally.”

They smiled at each other. Seriously, fuck Valentine’s Day.

#dethentines #dethentines2024 #metalocalypse #skwistok #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #pickles the drummer #william murderface #nathan explosion #valentines day #my writing #no beta we die like men etc

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