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alwaysshallow · 6 months

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― blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

SUMMARY: Simon Riley knows you have bad experiences with dating, but he also knows you don't really need no one but him. He's gonna provide you anything. So you can imagine how he could change, when for the first time, you think you've found the one man who's right for you. To your surprise, weird events happen during the time you date Nick. Thankfully, Simon's there to help you. (11,4k)

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A/N: this is SUCH a long piece, so some of it is here, but the full version is on AO3. i hope you're gonna forgive me for this one </3

"It's not like I'm ugly, right? I thought about it. If I'm ugly, so that's why it doesn't work out." you sip your favorite wine, looking right at your best friend, who has been listening for the past hour your ramblings about dating.

"You're fuckin' stupid, but not ugly, pet."

He's the best friend in the world – you can say this, meaning it with your whole heart. In fact, he's the best friend everyone probably wished to have, at least in your mind. Not only here for you, but loyal, you can tell him basically anything. He wouldn't say a thing, even if someone was nagging, and he was mostly a good adviser; all the qualities you looked for in a best friend, right?

And he was brutally honest, like right now, but you don't mind it. Simon Riley had this thing, and even if sometimes you were almost offended at his bluntness (like this one time, when he told you you're a crying mess and you act… worse than a toddler), you mostly appreciated it. Your other friends couldn't compare to his honesty, this man was not the one to lick your ass.

Or, so you thought.

"Excuse me?" you raise your eyebrow, laughing, while shaking your head. "You should, I don't know, tell me I'm amazing and they don't deserve me. Or so." you joke; it causes him to roll his eyes.

"That's what I told you. Different words, but the same thingy."

"Right."

It sometimes sucks for you that Simon isn't a girl. He has this unbelieveably annoying guy thing, where he just can't be delusional with you, and he can't just mourn over some hot guy. His way of thinking is… on the other level, he totally skips the mourn part, the part that is pathetic; he's just saying things like "move on" and "there's a lot of them anyway". Again, you love it, but you really wish you could cry about guy being so pretty that it hurts, without him rolling his eyes.

Yet, when you're more in mad mood than mourning one, his attiude is just perfect. He's the one to encourage you to scream, he even brought you a few times to rage room when you needed to smash a few things, not to mention the attiude he was setting you in. Powerful, not giving a shit about a "piece of a man that doesn't deserve you".

Simon sighs. "You're worryin' too much. Really that desperate?"

You huff, as you sink more into the plushy couch in your apartment. "I'm not desperate. It's just…" you take a few seconds to think "being love starved."

"Sex starved, you mean."

"Love starved." you send him a look.

"Mhm. You fancy plushies, hugs, and all shite like this?"

"You're so fucking British, it hurts" you laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I want something like this. Someone to hold me, someone that cares about me and I know it. Sex comes in package, of course, but it's just… ugh, I want a man" you groaned.

You feel as pathetic as ever, when Simon doesn't respond – because how exactly should he? He wasn't vocal about things like this, he usually just nod his head, and there it was, another topic. A miracle it was that he was already listening to your date rambling, not cutting it off because he was uncomfortable or something.

Dreams about your love life… more girly conversation.

Mostly – you know guys who loved talking about it, obviously, and you adore it pretty much, especially when you can know their perspective on some things, but… Riley wasn't really one of them. He had "simple hookups" as he said one day, when you asked him about doing double-dates. It wasn't even an option, he just liked to ocassionally fuck and that's all.

So you stopped trying a few months ago for a double-date. Instead, you focused more on finding a man that would meet your expectations at least in the middle, and that was exhausting, to be honest. Tinder dates were just a disaster after disaster – if it wasn't some catfish, a guy that wanted to marry you and have kids after two weeks of writing, it was most definitely a guy with a desire to bang you quickly.

Romance was dead these days, you noticed. That wouldn't keep you away from trying to find someone, though. Patience was a key in things like these.

"Maybe you will set me up with one your friends? It wouldn't suck. You know them." you think out loud.

"Definitely too much wine f'you." Simon takes your glass, and pours all of the liquid to his mouth, swallowing it like it was some kind of juice, not alcohol. "You don't want a guy from military in your life. Trust me."

There's some sternness to his tone, at which you raise your eyebrow. It was just a funny comment from your side, nothing else – you know by the heart that this man doesn't like the idea of connecting his two worlds. "I know, Simon. Just joking, right?"

You place a hand on his. It's a comedic, yet, heartwarming view, when you see the size difference.

"And, you're pretty cool for a military guy."

He huffs. It seems like pretty cool offends him, but he doesn't say it out loud, so it can be only your imagination working. "You met me before I enlisted. 's different."

"How different?"

"You knew me before military."

He doesn't give you another answer that night, nor the continuation of this one – he brushes you off, like you are some kind of bug that is disturbing him, and brings up another topic, about his deployment. He asks if you can watch his apartment when he's gone, take care of it; it's stupid, Simon knows that you will always agree, but it's the need of asking you anyway.

And, he likes coming home, where he can smell your perfume, where he can see that you made some changes. You tend to do that a lot, mostly buying stuff to his apartment. "It looks worse than room in the hospital" you always say, when he cocks his eyebrow with amusement. He doesn't say that, but he finds it really adorable that you care so much, to make his space… cozier, even if he's not really attached to it. Mostly, it's for your comfort when you come to visit him, and that happens a lot; not like he minds it. Anyone else would be banned from his apartment, but you? Oh God, you wouldn't be, not in the milion years.

You could probably be the worst ever to him; call him names, punch, anything, and he would still be your Simon. It's what he was used to, to being by your side, no matter what time, no matter if you were in the good mood or not; your presence was everything to him.

Not like he'd ever confess that, but it is what you know, silently.

Yet, you are so good to him. Always sending him letters or texting him when he is on deployment. A couple of times, you sent him little things too, if he forgot something, photos included too, but new ones; mostly you captured views, but you were here once or twice. His happiness may not be that visible to outsiders, but his heart is full every time.

"My girl", he'd tell boys when they saw a polaroid of you, swiftly tucking it into his vest because no one was allowed to see it more than three seconds.

Often, Gaz joked if you are actually his girl even if you're not dating, but it sounded so bizzare to Ghost. How would you not be his? Thirteen years of friendship counted as something beyond being only his best friend, no? At least in his mind it was like this. He was used to you dating briefly other guys, but it lasted maybe a few months top. Nothing serious, probably his hookups were more meaningful than your relationships.

So you can easily imagine his confusion, when your mutual friends tell him big news about your new object of interest; someone that he doesn't even know yet, but he's not really his fan on the beggining.

It was just a month of being away.

His eyes are on you now; you are embarrassed, looking anywhere but at him. You don't even speak, you just wave your hand in dismissive manner, trying to change the topic because you don't really want to talk about it. Not in the presence of your best friend, at least.

It works for everyone but Simon, and you know it by the way he looks at you, processing what he just heard. Changing a topic, sudden talkativeness from your side is like buying time in that, time precious to think what to say to your best friend later on.

Because you know for the fact that he'll ask. He always does, and now he has a reason.

You have your reasons why you haven't told him. "It's nothing serious. That's why I didn't tell you." your voice is a little more silent than usual, but he can hear it anyway. You two are taking a walk to your apartment with no one around; and it's awkward one.

Simon seems like he doesn't want to say anything about your poor choice of men. It worries you; he always wanted somehow to make fun of you or make comment. Now, it's just a nod, like he gets it, but you know it's not it. He doesn't get it.

But you don't know what it is.

"C'mon!" you nudge him, and when it doesn't seem to affect him, you stand right in front of him. A little wobbly because of alcohol, your vision isn't so great too, but it makes him stop in his tracks. "Say something."

"Somethin'" he grumbles, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "What? Told me-"

"-I know what I told you!" you cup his face in your hands. Your head is a bit hazy, but the intensions are clear; making him talk and soft. It always works, so you have a lot of hope. "He's a good guy, but I want to meet him a bit closer to be… certain about him, you know? You've heard me whining about boys a bit too much."

"You can tell me everything." he muses, and you can't help but smile at that. Of course – of course you can tell him everything. You never doubted it for a second, and you think of yourself as stupid, doubting that he wouldn't want to hear about it. "Ill be the judge of that, though. Good guy thing."

"I can't be trusted?" you tease, and when he lets out a low chuckle, you grin even more. It's like a reward after him being his grumpy self.

"No." he shakes his head. "You don't know what is good for you. But that's why I'm here."

Under the influence of alcohol, you didn't pay too much of attention to his words; probably you wouldn't pay attention to it even if he'd say this when you are sober. Simon as your protector – it's so natural, you don't even need to think about it as something weird. It's just the way things are for thirteen years, everyone knows this.

Your friends, who were a bit reluctant on the beggining, but two parties later, when he joined the competition of drinking on time and wasn't drunk at all, he won over their hearts.

It was tougher with your parents, when you were in highschool. A little distanced at first, they constantly asked where were his parents (which, you told them, was rude asking, especially to his face), telling you how much of a bad news he could be for you. Suggestion of him ruining your future was the worst, you never thought of him this way; that discussion caused you to give them the silent treatment for a few days.

Apparently after that, suggesting that Simon is around you too much, clinging to your side and giving you "weird glances", they stopped the narrative, admitting that the boy might be damaged, but not broken. You still felt like they're judging their every move, but seeing that he had pretty good life plan, seeing that he thought about military and went here actually? Hell, they completely stopped being suspicious in any means.

Riley just had this thing of charming people, even if they didn't like him in the beggining. He had everything under his finger, trying to keep things under control – it was like that… pretty much since the beggining of his life. You met him when he was an adult, but he always liked to keep things under control; people, things that he cared about. What belonged to him was sacred, untouchable for anyone else.

The possessiveness started in his early childhood with toys, when he absolutely despised everyone who just wanted to touch his things, to lay their dirty, filthy fingers here. In early classes, it was considered just rude.

When he was older though, he started fighting for various things. Knowing he has the advantage, he used his legs, fists, when he had to, and no one was looking, besides the actual victim. He wasn't stupid; he knew how troublesome the public can be, he also knew the power of manipulation a bit too well to get caught so easily. Wasn't the plan, getting caught; it once happened, but because he wanted to; he even broke his own nose, making it like the other guy did it, just to get what he needed. The reputation of kid who was broken in the childhood, so he's just not opening on others was… suitable, for him. No one could suspect anything, especially when the kid just happened to be "attacked" by one of the popular ones, right?

The idea of power was something that Simon truly desired from the beggining; maybe it has something to do with the lack of his parents in his life, being transferred from one foster family to another. Maybe it's just him being a little fucked up – who knows.

What mattered, was the fact he had you. You, so sweet, so considerate to be by his side, to be protected by him, to be the person who "opened" because of her. Little did you know, he opened just because he wanted to be closer to you, not those fuckers you hang out with.

If you knew his past, you would have another reasons in mind, why he showed up to meet your potential new boyfriend. Jealousy, posessiveness, power complex, him being a control freak who can't give you to anyone he personally doesn't trust – if ever, considering you were his precious best friend. He isn't willing to share.

You aren't really aware of him being this crazy. You think of his flaws, and you see someone that has been damaged, someone that you can and will help, if he just asks for it – or if you'll see he needs it. So, naturally, you help, and grin the widest you can, when you see him in the door. He shows completely unexpected. It doesn't take you long to wrap your hands around his neck, tight, as you hug him.

Happy as always because you can see your friend, happy as ever because moments like these means a lot to you. When he's deployed, you can't even see him, so you're taking all in when he's right in front of you.

"Hope 'm not interruptin'." he murmurs into your hair, as his head is practically buried in them; he has to bend down a little to be at your level, but it's something he enjoys. The power.

"Never." you say immediately, not even hesitating in your statement. "Actually, you found a pretty good moment."

"That I did, eh?" his eyebrow arches, as he straightens up.

"As always. Nick's here, you have to meet him."

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#ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #ghost #ghost cod #simon riley x f!reader #cod x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #best friends to lovers #best friend simon riley

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beetlejuicyy · 6 months

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Losing touch | Bada Lee x reader

Bebe Gang AU

Part one • Part two

Pairing: gang member! Bada x reader

Synopsys: Picking up your girlfriend from the police station does not seem like a good date idea for you. Especially if she refuses to talk about the very things that got her in trouble with the police.

Warnings: angst, very much angst, fighting, toxic relationship, gaslighting, swearing

Note: thank you all for the support you showed for Bruises ! This is going to be a two part work so I hope you look forward for the secont part as well. As for this one, I got a bit carried away and it ended up more toxic than I planned. The next one might have less plot and more kinky smut. I'm also open to requests too so if you have anything in mind that I could write I'd love to see it!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You were still in bed enjoying your coffee when your phone started ringing. You were expecting a package to arrive and were excited to see the unknown number, thinking it was related to the delivery details.

“Miss y/n?” The stern voice of a woman greeted you. You shook off the feeling that something was wrong. “This is the police station. You’ll be redirected to the caller.” Your blood froze in your veins as you heard a muffled sound through the phone.

“Y/n…”

“Bada? Is that you?” You sat up immediately, still hoping this was some kind of misunderstanding, a wrong number. Your girlfriend sighed.

“I need you to come pick me up.” She seemed incredibly calm, as if she had been through this before.

“You’ve been arrested?” You were still trying to comprehend the situation at nine thirty in the morning.

“I was framed... They are letting me go but the lawyer said it’s better for my image to have someone with a clean criminal record get me out.”

“I’m coming.”

You got dressed and left the house in a hurry, unable to think straight. Only after you got in the car and typed in the address your girlfriend gave you things started to clear out inside your mind. The police station was on the opposite side of the city, far from where both of you lived. What was she even doing there? When was she arrested? You remembered going to sleep early the previous night and her sending you a goodnight text around ten.

You turned on the engine. You hadn’t eaten a thing yet and your stomach was noisy about it. Wondering when was the last time Bada ate something, you stopped at a bakery on your way to get something for the both of you. Only when you stopped the car and got out in the police station parking lot you realized you had no idea how these things were supposed to work. All you knew was that you were worried sick.

You noticed there was a young man around your age in uniform at the front desk right by the entrance and gave him the name of your girlfriend.

“Please fill in this form.” He said as he printed some papers. While you filled in the information he called to let his colleagues know about your arrival. You finished the formalities and checked the paperwork once again to make sure you didn’t miss anything. That’s when your eyes fell on a line already completed. Drug possession. Your eyes widened in an expression impossible to conceal. The guy at the desk might have noticed it because he continued to talk to you. “What could a girl like you have to do with Bada Lee?” He hummed as he checked your papers.

“We’re… friends.” You hesitated. You didn’t feel like owing a stranger any explanation. On the contrary, you were owed some.

“She’s not a very good influence, y’know.”

“It’s written there that the charges were dropped.” As much as you felt angry at your girlfriend you couldn’t accept anyone badmouthing her. Which was ironic because Bada was indeed a bad influence.

“This time, sure.” The man agreed. “But others were not.”

You didn’t want to show how little you actually knew about your girlfriend, especially in front of the cops. However, you really wanted to know. You’ve never pestered her with questions. You always tried to be the cool girlfriend, the fun and easygoing one that she would love. But it was getting harder and harder to ignore the obvious things, like the fact that she would get into fights, cancel plans or leave in the middle of your date because of a phone call. You always tried to think it was the same as dating a workaholic, like someone with a corporate job and a very bad sense of work ethic. But today in the car you realized you’ve been fooling yourself all this time. Her file was there in one of those shelves you were sure. You wanted to read it so bad. Know all the things she did and she wasn’t telling you.

“If you ever realize the kind of person she is you can always give us a call.” The guy said, giving you something that looked like a business card. Your eyes scanned it and picked it up , trying not to seem rude. It was filled with his personal information.

“Miss y/n?” Another voice called to you from behind, this time a woman. “Miss Lee is waiting for you but first I need to make sure everything is alright.” Her voice was softer and nicer than the guy at the front desk, even though she was his senior. And most importantly, she wasn’t trying to flirt with you.

You saw Bada behind her, sitting on a bench, waiting patiently. She was wearing the same shirt she had on when she send you the goodnight selfie before you went to sleep. You guessed she had spent the night at the police station. Her hair wrapped in a messy low bun. Her long legs spread out, elbows supporting her upper body as she was leaning forward, hands covering her face. She was tired. Your eyes softened as you looked at her, although you were still upset. When the lady said you were free to go you hurried to your girlfriend.

She looked up before you got close to her, her eyes puffy. You weren’t sure if the look in her eyes was simply fatigue or if she was really trying to figure out what you were thinking. She stood up hands in her pants’ pockets. There was something cold about her that you couldn’t quite explain.

“You ok?” You asked. You wanted to hug her tight but you didn’t want to make a scene in the police station.

“I’m good. Thanks for coming.” She said. You guessed the conversation would start only after having some privacy in your car.

What you didn’t know was that Bada had tried her best not to call you. She hated involving you in things like these and had a hard time talking about it. Ever since you started going out she promised herself to be the best girlfriend you could have, and that certainly didn’t include her usual pastimes. But she couldn’t simply stop one random day. Those were her friends she grew up with, her family. She had a reputation on the streets and it was a big part of her identity. But it was obvious that, at some point, these two sides of her would clash. And today seemed like that moment finally had come.

You both got to your car and decided you’ll drive her straight home so she could finally rest after a crazy night. A night that you still knew nothing about. Bada got in the passenger seat and started typing busily on her phone. You drove off, patiently waiting for her to finish. Her phone was on silent mode but you could see with the corner of your eye that she kept receiving messages. When she was finally done, she placed the phone in her pocket and stretched her arm to turn on the music in the car. She searched for a song that she liked in your playlist – the playlist she once made for you as a gift to think about her when you were driving alone – and leaned back in her seat, looking out the window. You kept checking on her constantly as much as you could while driving. She was lost in thought, face slightly turned away from you. You tried to think she was tired, she was stressed. You kept finding excuses for her while trying to be patient, to give her time. Maybe she didn’t feel like talking.

When her phone vibrated in her pocket again you sighed. She reached out and started typing again which only made it harder to keep calm. You clenched your hand on the steering wheel. She could talk to anyone but you. Her silence was driving you mad and all the times when you let things slide for the sake of your relationship came back to you in a flash. As much as you loved her, her attitude made you feel stupid. Stupid for trusting her. Stupid for telling her everything about you while she barely talked about herself. Stupid for finding her excuses. You swerved to the left unexpectedly, finally getting a reaction out of her. You stopped the car in an almost empty parking lot and leaned back in your seat, taking a deep breath.

“I’m listening.” You said sternly. Maybe it wasn’t the best way of addressing things. You had let all the negative emotions build up and now they were exploding with a passive-aggressive tone and a nasty attitude that Bada would not receive well for sure. She cocked her eyebrows at you, as if you were the unreasonable one between the two of you. “What happened last night?”

“I was framed, I told you.” She took a deep breath before answering. She was trying to control her anger as much as you.

“For what?”

“Does it matter?”

“Drug possession.” You stressed the words carefully.

“And I told you I didn’t do it!” Her voice was gradually getting louder. “What’s with all these questions?”

“Do you deal drugs?”

“Should I take the bus instead?” She spat back another question as an answer. She sighed in exasperation when she tried to open the door but you had them locked.

“Do your friends deal drugs?”

“No, we’re just your friendly neighborhood association, knitting sweaters and planting flowers.” She answered sarcastically and you couldn’t help but slam your fist against the door in frustration. Bada’s breath got stuck in her throat for a moment. She never saw you angry before. “I told you I didn’t fucking do it.” She said again.

“Not now. How about other times?” You said and, seeing that she was avoiding to answer, you continued. “You said you needed someone with a clean record to pick you up. Does that mean I’m the only person you know who doesn’t have problems with the police?” You raised your eyebrows in expectation. “Lusher? Tatter? Kyma?” You asked in disbelief as the expression on her face provided all the answers you needed. Those were the sweetest girls you met, some of her nicest friends and you had a hard time believing it.

“Kyma only has minor offences.” She muttered under her breath, knowing it wasn’t changing anything.

“What about you? What in the world are you doing whenever you’re not answering messages for hours? When you cancel things out of the blue? When someone calls you and you don’t even bother to come up with a lame excuse for leaving me behind?” Everything was coming back to you. Every moment you thought your relationship was more important than knowing everything. Every time you would bite your tongue just to give her space at the expense of your feelings.

“Stop acting like a controlling wife!” She snapped at you. You were both looking each other directly in the eye, the tension in the car almost be visible.

“I wouldn’t if you would just talk to me!” You almost cried out and it seemed like you lost the staring battle because you put a hand over your eyes, feeling your head heavy. She was still looking down at you, the look in her eyes softening just a little. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know you.” You said. You didn’t see it because you weren’t looking at her, but your words hurt her deeply. “The only thing I know about you is that you like to dance.”

“That’s a very important thing about me.” She replied coyly.

“Why do I have to find out stuff about you from the police, Bada?” She clicked her tongue and looked away, annoyed. She loved the way her name sounded out of your pretty mouth but not this time.

“Just because that asshole was wearing a fancy uniform doesn’t mean he’s a good guy, you know.” Her tone was rather pathetic and it annoyed you even more.

“See?!” You yelled. “You never answer anything I ask you! Maybe I really should have asked more about you at the station.”

“Then call that fucker!” She yelled back and reached out to you. For a moment you forgot to breathe. Her slim fingers got the business card out of your pocket. She crumbed it in her fist. “I bet he’d love to talk shit about me while trying to get between your legs.”

It was too much. Your heart was beating rapidly. The air you were breathing didn’t seem to be enough. Her last words hurt you so much that you didn’t even think when you did it. Your hand just moved on her own ready to slap her. She caught you quickly by the wrist, holding your hand just inches away from her cheek. She leaned over you, looking right through your eyes directly into your soul. Your wrist was still in her hand. It didn’t hurt. Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel the need to fight back.

“I wouldn’t do that.” She breathed out, face inches from yours. You let out a deep breath, not being able to hold her gaze. Your eyes fell down to her lips and you bit yours instead, trying to resist the urge to kiss her.

She pulled back releasing your hand, her back against the door, one leg crossed on the seat above the other. She covered her face with both her hands, groaning in frustration.

“I knew I shouldn’t have called you.”

You didn’t know what to say. You felt terrible. You leaned back in your seat, looking at the steering wheel absentmindedly. Your breathing was finally back to normal after several minutes of silence, as both of you reflected on your words and actions. Bada’s hands had now fallen under her eyes and gradually away from her face. Her thumb was brushing against her lower lip as her phone started vibrating again. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see or hear anything. She looked at the screen for a few moments before she decided to decline the call.

“I’ll drive you home.” You mumbled quietly, your voice almost cracking. She only nodded, sitting back in her seat and pulling at the seat belt. The rest of the drive was quiet. You only paid attention to the road ahead, which was already a lot of effort for your clouded mind. Bada would look at you from time, you could see it, but she wouldn’t say a thing. Thinking it would help you focus easier on driving, you turned the music back on. The song that stopped when you turned off the engine in the parking lot started playing again. The song she chose, a stupid cheesy song she would sing to you sometimes. You turned it off, as it did more damage than good to you.

You stopped the car in front of her apartment building after twenty minutes of silence. You didn’t dare to look at her. You didn’t dare to look at your own reflection in her eyes.

“Let’s go inside.” She said in a gentle voice that sounded nothing like before. You were tempted, very tempted to do so. But you knew that if you did, that fight would have been for nothing. You knew she could fool you again with a few kisses.

“You should rest.” You answered. She sighed. She waited for you to look at her, make any gesture in her direction, but you never did. She leaned forward, placing a goodbye kiss on your hair like she would after every date. You closed your eyes, feeling tears clouding your vision. She got out of the car and you looked after her only by the time she had her back to you. You stood there in silence, feeling like the loneliest person in the world. You saw her enter the building, then saw her again by the bedroom window after she got to her apartment. You knew she saw you too. The pastries you had bought on your way to the police station were cold and untouched on the backseat.

#bada lee #bada lee x reader #swf2 x reader #bada lee x y/n #swf2 #bada lee imagine #bada x reader

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 10 months

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Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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avastrasposts · 4 months

Text

A Baker's Dozen - Six

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

I can't believe it's already the halfway point for A Baker's Dozen, Pedro boy number six is waiting in the wings. But before I let him in I just want to say a massive thank you for all the love all you lovely people gave Ezra. It was a bit sadder than others but there always a chance of him re-appearing...

I'm dropping chapter today seeing as tomorrow is New Year's Eve, from next week I'll be back on my regular Sunday evening posting.

Also, don't miss all the #pickledpena fics that'll be posting on January 1st! And follow @pickled-pena to see them all in their pickled Peña glory.

Happy 2024 all you lovely people!

Series Master List

He puts out the cigarette just before he steps through your door on a quiet afternoon. You’re busy placing some fresh coffee cake in the display case and he’s the only customer in the shop. Crouched down, almost out of sight, it gives you a few seconds to observe him as he looks around the shop. He’s handsome, dangerously handsome, and holds himself with a nonchalant air of confidence that makes you think he’s aware of how good he looks. No man would wear jeans that tight if he didn’t know his body could pull it off, his generous package clearly framed by the crotch of the dark wash denim. A black, short sleeved, shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, one too many buttons undone, yellow aviators nonchalantly hanging from the neckline. And as you drag your eyes away from the freckles of his chest and up to his face, you’re met by his dark eyes, an almost scowl marring his handsome features as he locks eyes with you.

You stand up, placing the now empty tray on the counter and put your customer service smile on, squashing a nervous squeal in your belly.

“Hi, welcome, how can I help you?” you say, wiping your hands on your apron as the man approaches.

“I’m lookin’ for a bakery that does Mexican things, I need a Tres Leches cake,” he says, his eyes leaving yours and scanning the shelves of your display case as you shake your head. His Texas drawl is subtle but the low register of his rich voice emphasizes it and sends a little shiver down your spine.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any for sale today, but I can make one for you, if you’d like to order?” you reply and you’re surprised when his face seems to fall and he sighs deeply, annoyance rolling off him like the warm scent of his aftershave.

“Do you know any Mexican bakeries in town?” he asks, “I’m sure yours is good, but I really need the cake today.” He puts his hands on his hips and you’re momentarily distracted by the way his shirt stretches, the buttons hanging on for dear life as his wide shoulders spread even more.

“Sorry,” you reply, “there’s not exactly a big Mexican community in this town, so no bakeries that do Tres Leches regularly. Maybe you can find another cake that will suit the occasion?”

The man drops his head, briefly looking at the toes of his dress shoes before he meets your eyes again, his brow furrowed.

“It’s got to be a Tres Leches, sorry.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” you say, shrugging and expecting him to turn around and leave. But instead he remains in front of the counter, looking at you as you start straightening the cups on the counter, just to have something to do, the man’s intense gaze is unnerving.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, sharp enough for you to startle, and his eyebrows shoot up, “Sorry, that wasn’t at you. And thanks anyway.”

He turns and yanks open the front door, exiting out onto the street where he stops, looking left and right before glancing back at you through the window. He locks eyes with you for a beat, and then he stalks off, long legs in tight jeans disappearing down the street.

He stays on your mind for the rest of the afternoon, not because of the need for a specific cake, but because of the way he’d reacted to being denied it, disappointment that seemed to hit something more than just missing out on what, you supposed, was a special request from someone close to him. Women, especially brides-to-be, could be very emotional and stressed about the specifics of their cakes, but you’d never heard a man curse when he couldn’t get the cake he wanted. You wonder if you should maybe make a Tres Leches cake, just in case he comes back, but decide against it. There are plenty of bakeries in town capable of making them instead of you, he’s probably not even coming back to your bakery anyway.

By the next day you’ve forgotten about him, the day running past fast as your shop assistant handles the steady flow of customers that Saturday’s always bring. You’re busy in the kitchen baking the last batches for Sunday and planning the week ahead, getting your orders in. As a spur of the moment decision, you add a couple of cans of evaporated milk and condensed milk, the Tres Leches man popping up in your mind as you scroll through the whole seller's website. .

On late Sunday afternoon you start cleaning the shop and the kitchen, the foot traffic always dies down the last hour before closing on Sundays and you send your shop assistant home.You use the last hour to reset everything for Tuesday, Monday being your day off.

The sound of the bell on the front door rings as you’re on your hands and knees in the kitchen, wiping out the back of a counter under your workbench. “I’ll be out in a second,” you call out to the customer.

“No rush,” a dark voice comes back to you, the Texan lilt familiar. You stand up so fast you almost bang your head on the bottom of the shelf, stumbling to your feet and smoothing down your apron and your hair. There’s a small mirror on the wall just by the door into the shop, so you give yourself a quick glance, hastily wiping the sweat off your forehead and rubbing away a dusting of flour on your cheek.

“Hi,” you say as you step into the shop, “how can I help you? I’m afraid I still don’t have any Tres Leches cake.”

The handsome man is still wearing jeans so tight they look painted on, but this time they’re a light wash denim and his short sleeved shirt is white, the yellow aviators hanging even lower in the deep V of his chest.

“I wanted to apologize for that,” he says, stepping up to the counter, “And I’d like to order one, if that’s alright?”

“Sure, that’s fine, I’m closed tomorrow but I could have it for you by Tuesday afternoon if that works?”

“Whatever suits you,” he replies, some of his earlier confidence coming back as he not too subtly lets his eyes give you a once over. “I’m sure it’s worth waiting for.”

“Didn’t seem like it on Friday,” you say, biting your tongue as the words slip out. The man gives you an unreadable look, you’re not sure if he's insulted or not.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, “that was uncalled for, I’m sure you had stuff going on that made the cake an essential part of your Friday.

“No, I apologize, I was rude,” he replies, shaking his head, “I was just having a bad day, I…” he trails off, rubbing a large hand over his clean shaven cheeks under his neat mustache, dropping his eyes to the floor before he looks up at you, his eyes suddenly doleful and tired, “I’ve just been a bit homesick lately, and Tres Leches was my mom’s favorite cake, and mine too, she used to make it for my birthday. She passed a few years ago and I just wanted to be reminded of her.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’d be very happy to make you one, but it probably won’t be as good as your mom’s.”

“I look forward to trying it though,” he gives you a crooked smile, “All your stuff here looks delicious.” He waves his hand over the display case but he’s looking at you and your apron suddenly feels very warm around your body.

“S-so Tuesday afternoon works for you?” you ask, clearing your throat and the man nods with a smile, like he knows the effects his looks, and his tight jeans, are having on you.

“What name should I put on the order form?” you ask as you grab a pen to fill it in.

“Javier Peña,” the man replies, stepping forward and leaning on his forearms on the counter, watching you note down his name, “I think you should write down my number too,” he says, looking up at you, “just in case you need to call me, for whatever reason.”

The image of a baby cow looking up at you through thick lashes flits across your mind as he smiles, his eyes are deep brown and suddenly very innocent looking despite the very suggestive tone of his voice.

“Oh you’re good,” you chuckle, letting him take the pen and jot down his number, “Do you really want the cake, or are you just flirting?”

“Can’t I do both, cariño?” he grins, pushing off from the counter and winking at you as he comes to his full height, making you look up at him again.

“Sure, but you’re only getting the cake,” you smile back at him and now it’s his turn to chuckle, a dimple on his cheek as he regards you with a playful look.

“I’ll be happy with just the cake, but I’ll keep hoping,” he replies, still grinning as he pats down his jeans, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, “What do I owe you?”

“Pay on delivery,” you say and he arches one of his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk.

“So that’s how I get you to use my number, will you chase me down if I don’t turn up on Tuesday?”

“Something tells me you’re used to women chasing you down,” you say, trying to keep your heartbeat under control as he cocks his head, another arched eyebrow, “so I should probably just play it cool and count on your turning up for the cake.”

“When do you close up on Tuesday?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up, as he puts away his wallet.

“Seven, but the cake will be done before then,” you reply and he nods.

“I’ll be here before seven,” he says, “you can count on it, cariño.” He winks at you again and you curse the butterflies that immediately take flight in your belly.

He gives you a wave as he takes a nonchalant step back towards the door before turning, his tight jeans giving you a perfect view of his tiny butt, you’ve really never seen any guy wear jeans that tight and you can’t help but let your eyes linger.

‘Really…’ you think to yourself, ‘how does he even walk down the stairs in those jeans?’

A Tres Leches gets better the longer it can sit in the fridge and absorb all the liquid that’s poured over it, so you get started as soon as Javier leaves. By the time you’ve cleaned up the kitchen and done your usual Sunday night prep, the sponge cake is cooling on the counter.

Ordinarily you wouldn’t come in on your day off but the Tres Leches needs three types of milk poured over it, so at lunchtime on Monday you stick your key in the lock and turn off the alarm to the shop.

“Hey, I thought you weren’t open today?” a deep voice says behind your back just as you punch in the code.

“Oh shit!” you shriek and spin around, your hand on your heart, as Javier’s hands come out to steady you.

“So jumpy, cariño,” he chuckles, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re sneaky, jeez,” you gasp, hitting the off button on the alarm that’s still beeping, “please, give a girl a warning before you jump out like that.”

He follows you into the shop, apologizing again as you flick the lights on.

“I’m sorry, I was just on my way to grab some lunch and I saw you open up the shop, I wanted to say hi and thank you for making the cake,” he smiles and you feel his hand come out and gently brush over the small of your back as you walk past him into the kitchen. The warmth of his hand makes you stutter, trying to keep your cool at his proximity.

“T-that’s fine, but the cake isn’t done yet,” you say, “and the shop isn’t open, I’m just here to pour the milk mixture on it.”

“You should’ve told me to pick it up on Wednesday instead, I don’t want to make you work on your day off,” Javier says, leaning against the door frame of the kitchen as you open the fridge and take out the cake.

“It’s fine, this is quick, I’ll be done in ten minutes, then I’m leaving again,” you say as he watches you with those dark eyes, they follow you around the kitchen as you take out a pan and the three types of milk needed.

“You have plans for the afternoon?” he asks, crossing his arms and the blue shirt stretches tight across his shoulders. You can’t help but glance at the way it hugs his biceps and he notices, his body settling into the pose a little bit more, thick fingers drumming against the taught fabric over his arm as he smiles at you.

“Yeah, I have a date at the fair,” you say, pouring the milk into the pan and turning on the heat, from the corner of your eye you see him shift and straighten up a little.

“A date huh…” he says, “Your boyfriend?”

“No, just a blind date, a friend set us up,” you reply, stirring the condensed milk into the regular milk.

“Ok, I hope you have a nice time then,” Javier says, his brow furrowed, standing up and thumping his fist lightly on the doorframe, hesitating for a few seconds, “I’ll come by for the cake tomorrow, have a nice afternoon.” He abruptly turns and you hear his footsteps retreat through the shop before you have a chance to say goodbye, leaving you surprised at his sudden departure. After finishing the cake and cleaning up the kitchen again, you leave the shop and lock up. Javier’s sudden departure still seems strange to you, you don’t know him at all, but he’d suddenly seemed offended by your date, even jealous. He’s a flirt, and you couldn’t help flirting back a little, but you really don’t think he’d be jealous of your blind date. Would he be?

The next day you’re not sure if he’ll come for his cake after all, but you are hoping he will. The blind date had been a miserable affair and you bowed out after suffering through a painful hour of stilted small talk about small business taxes. Javier’s crooked grin and tight jeans had been on your mind throughout the afternoon as your date droned on..

Towards the end of the day you take the cake out and cover it in whipped cream and decorate it with fresh strawberries. And thankfully, a few minutes before seven the doorbell jangles and you look up to see Javier walk through the door, giving your heart a little jolt of excitement. But although he’s not exactly scowling, the yellow aviators cover his eyes and the corners of his mouth are downturned under the edges of his neat mustache. It’s a stark contrast to the bright pink shirt he’s wearing today, the color clashing with the apparent mood he’s in.

“Hi Javier,” you say, giving him what you hope is your flirtiest look, wanting to coax him back to the flirtiness he’d displayed on previous visits, “I guess I won’t need your number after all,” you say, giving him a sweet smile as you watch his lips quirk up in response.

“Maybe you should hang on to it, in case that new boyfriend doesn’t work out,” he smirks, coming up to the counter and leaning on the display case, long legs in tight jeans casually crossed as he gives you an appreciative glance up and down. You’d removed your apron a little bit earlier, changed into a nicer top, fixed your hair, only stopping yourself as you considered adding lipstick.

“No, that was a bad date,” you scrunch up your nose at him, “I had to make up an excuse after an hour.”

“Too bad,” he says but his crooked grin leaves you in no doubt about the fact that he’s very much not sorry about the failed date, “You should’ve let me take you out instead, I would’ve made sure you didn’t need any excuse to leave.” He gives you a quick wink, taking off his aviators, and you feel your cheeks heat up as he smirks and swipes a thumb over his bottom lip.

“About that cake, querida?”

The casual pet name ramps up the heat in your cheeks another notch and you’re grateful for the chance to turn around and head for the kitchen.

“Yeah, sure, let me get it,” you throw over your shoulder and yank the fridge door open, carefully sliding the cake box out.

“Here, I boxed it for you, but have a look, make sure it’s what you wanted,” you say, putting the box in front of him as you get back to the counter

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” he replies, but he still slips the paper lip from its hold and flips up the lid. He looks down at it for a beat and the casual confidence slips from his face, replaced by something you can’t place, almost as if he suddenly disappears from the shop, finding himself in another setting, looking at another cake.

“Is…is it as you expected?” you ask timidly when he doesn’t move, his eyes still on the cake, and he blinks and looks up at you, his eyes soft and warm.

“It’s perfect, just perfect, thank you,” he replies, his tone suddenly sincere and raw in a way you didn’t expect, it’s just a cake. But he looks down at the cake again and there’s a play of emotions across his face, as if the thoughts in his head are dancing across his features in the space of a few heart beats. You let him have his moment and carefully start tidying up the counter around the till and turn to start cleaning the espresso machine when he clears his throat.

“This is…uhmm…” he trails off and you look back at him, he’s still got his eyes on the cake but as he rubs a large hand over his jaw he looks up at you, “Do you wanna have a coffee with me? And some cake?”

“You wanna cut the cake now?” you ask surprised, you thought it was for a special occasion but he nods.

“Yeah, as a thank you for going out of your way to make it, coming in on your day off and everything,” he gives you a nod towards the coffee machine and grabs a couple of plates from the counter, “Although I should really be serving you but that coffee machine looks pretty advanced.”

“I’d love to have coffee and cake with you, Javier. But are you sure you want to cut it now? I thought it was for something special?”

“It was, or it is,” he says, coming round the counter with the cake and putting it next to you. “My mom used to make it for me and on Friday it was ten years ago since she passed….”

He pauses and adjusts the cake with one hand, the other hooked into the pocket of his jeans, fingers drumming against his leg as you wait for him to continue.

“I was feelin’ kinda homesick, wanted something to remind me of her,” he clears his throat, looking up at you again as you put down the cloth you’ve been wiping the machine with. His mood on Friday makes sense now, but you never would’ve you have guessed the reason behind it, and you push down the urge to put your hand on his arm. But he seems to shake out of his reverie and he gives you a crooked smile.

“So how about that coffee, cariño?”

“Sure,” you smile back at him and you see his eyes soften again, “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black,” he replies, “Show me where you keep the knives and I’ll get us some cake, at least I can serve you that.”

You show him and he gives a low hum when he slides the first slice onto a plate, “It smells just like I remember.”

“Good, I hope the taste reminds you of her too,” you smile. It feels like he’s a different person now, still confident and flirty, and dangerously handsome, but you’re seeing a more human side, something underneath his winks and smirks as you watch him expertly wipe the knife and cut another clean edged slice and slide it onto the plate.

“If you ever need a part time job, let me know, with those cake skills I’d let you serve my customers,” you remark, jumping up onto the counter next to where Javier’s standing.

He snorts at your comment, picking up one of the plates and hands it to you, “Trust me, cariño, you don’t want me anywhere near your customers.”

“No, true, those tight jeans might be a bit distracting for female guests,” you say, “I’d never get anything sold.”

You bite your tongue, trying to stop your giggle, as you see his eyes widen, the spoon hoovering in the air over his cake slice as he tries to process your words.

“Really, cariño,” he says eventually, shaking his head as he pushes the spoon into the cake, “I didn’t think you minded them, considering the way you’ve been staring at my ass,” he gives you a wink as he puts the spoon in his mouth.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, I know how distracting they are,” you laugh, “It’s a good thing you left yesterday, I would’ve messed up the cake if you’d kept hanging around my kitchen in those jeans.”

Javier hums, distracted by the cake as he looks down on it, waving his spoon at it as he chews and swallows.

“This is delicious, cariño, just as good as my moms, it tastes just like hers.”

“Thanks, that’s the best compliment I could get,” you smile at him, taking a mouthful of the cake for yourself as Javier reaches for the cup of coffee you’ve placed next to him.

“Mhm…” he grunts, “strong coffee and Tres Leches, best thing I’ve had in a long time, hermosa.”

He smiles at you over the edge of the cup, his chocolate brown eyes making you feel flustered as he keeps eye contact when he’s put the cup down.

“Relly, the best I’ve had in a very long time…” he says, “and the best company I’ve had in a long time too. Tell me, would I really distract you that much in the kitchen?” He takes another spoonful of cake and keeps his eyes on you, staring you down as he cocks his hip and leans on the counter, suddenly very close, making your nerves thrum just under your skin. You can smell the cake on his breath, the coffee from the cup on the counter and his faded aftershave, still lingering on the collar of his pink shirt.

“You…I-I think you know what you do with those tight jeans, Javier,” you reply and his lips quirk up in response, the corner of his mustache twitching as his eyes move down to your lips and linger there.

“Why don’t you tell me, cariño?” he smirks, “What do my tight jeans do?”

You almost roll your eyes at him, the confidence is oozing off him but you can’t deny that he can back it up as he parts his soft looking lips and moves around your legs, stepping in between them, trapping you up on the counter. Your breath hitches as he looks up at you again, his eyes leaving your lips as the tip of his tongue comes out and lightly wets his own.

Quietly inhaling, you decide attack is the best tactic, and reach out, putting your hand around the back of Javier’s head.

“Are you going to talk about your jeans or kiss me, Javier?” you ask, and you just have time to see the glint in his eyes, before he leans forward.

His hand comes up and grabs your jaw, cupping your cheek as his thumb moves across your lips, holding it for a beat before he’s on you. His lips are as soft as they look, molding to your mouth, gently probing to let him in. Your hand tangles into the thick hair at the back of his head, holding on as he pushes forward, widening your legs around his hips, pressed against the cupboard. With a low moan you part your lips to his tongue and he responds, a groan, as he wraps his free arm around your waist, his hand finding your hip and pulling you towards him. The jeans do nothing to hide his growing arousal as you slide right up against his crotch, his kisses are soft but the way he holds you tight, is heated.

You hook your hand into his belt loop and tug him closer, feeling him roll his hips against you as the taste of the cake and his strong coffee overpowers your senses, his tongue sliding around yours. He’s exploring, his large hand sliding over your jaw, the rough pad of his thumb caressing your skin and finding spots that make you moan and tremble under his touch. It doesn’t take him long to figure out that a gentle nip on your lower lip makes you arch your back and press into him. He makes the most of it as his hand slides up to splay flat over your shoulder blades, holding you close as he continues to explore your mouth..

Heat is making your core ache, he’s hard against you, the texture of the denim rubbing against you with each lazy roll of his hips and you have to pant into his mouth, pulling back from him to catch your breath.

Javier kisses the corner of your mouth as you tip your head back with a groan, drawing a deep breath, and then moves over your jaw, his teeth scraping over your skin, his tongue coming out to taste and lick as he trails kisses down to your neck. When he sinks his teeth into the flesh just under your ear you whimper and grip hard at his hair, hearing him groan against you. He places a wet kiss on the mark his teeth have left and straightens up, looking down at you with half closed eyes.

“I fucking hated that blind date guy,” Javier growls, still standing close enough for you to feel every twitch of his hard length between your legs, “I should’ve told you to ditch him and asked you to come out with me instead.”

“I would’ve ditched him, Javier,” you reply, letting your fingers trail over his five o’clock shadow and brush the edge of his mustache.

“So let me take you out tonight instead, finish what we started, cariño.”

His hands are distracting, one rubbing firm circles over your back, down to your hips, kneading the soft flesh. The other one still on your neck, caressing your cheek, your hair, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips as he keeps his eyes locked on yours.

“I have to get up at three am, Javier,” you whisper, his lips finding yours again and you lose your train of thought.

“Rain check,” he mumbles against your mouth, “What are you doing on Sunday night? You don’t work on Mondays.”

“There’s this guy,” you reply, smiling as he pulls back a fraction to look down at you, one eyebrow raised, “He wears these really tight jeans and I think I should find out if he’s got the goods to back them up”.

“Oh he does,” Javier growls, tugging you closer and making you open your mouth to his eager tongue, pulling a breathless moan from you as he wraps his arms around you again.

Part Seven

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn

#javier pena #javier peña #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #javier pena fluff #javier pena fic #javier pena x reader

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klbwriting · 2 months

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Finally Home - Jason Todd Blurbs

Coming Home in the Morning

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!reader

Summary: Jason comes home from patrol to you and hopefully breakfast

Note: ya, I'm obsessed with domestic!Jason Todd ideas. They just seem so cute and as much as I love moody Jason and smut Jason I also just love boring boyfriend/fiancé/husband/best friend Jason. I'm going to write these blurbs all under the name Finally Home and just post them when I feel the urge arise. If anyone has any ideas send them my way and I'll throw them in!

Last night’s patrol had been exhausting and Jason couldn’t wait to get home to you. He just finished leaving a nicely wrapped package of carjackers in front of the GCPD and was on his way home, noticing the sun was starting to peek over the buildings of downtown Gotham. That meant that the coffee place you loved but was always too busy when you were going to work was open. He ducked into a nearby safehouse, stowing this set of gear there and headed towards the shop. He was able to score some very fresh lattes for the two of you and even grabbed a book you had been looking for at the little free library out in front of the shop.

By the time he got back to your shared apartment the sun was starting to warm the streets outside and you were barely awake, just coming into the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker. Then you saw him carrying the coffees and the book and you smiled big, clapping a little, instantly peppier. The sight of Jason coming home after a patrol was the best feeling in the world. He was there, your protector, your lover, your best friend, not only that, but he was also carrying coffee from your favorite place. What an angel. King among boyfriends.

“Morning gorgeous,” he said. You blushed, knowing that your pajamas were still rumpled, and your hair still had a major case of bedhead, but you could see in his eyes that he thought you rivaled any model in a magazine, you were the beautiful person in the world to him.

“Morning yourself, its late for you getting in, got a little worried when you weren’t in bed with me,” you said, taking the coffee and taking a kiss from him. He nodded and set the book down on the little table. You set your coffee on the counter and went to start making some breakfast, get him something to eat after the long night.

“Ya, had to chase some car jackers, they tossed a mother and her newborn from the car,” he said, arms wrapping around your waist as you started making an omelet with the veggies that he had cut up previously for fajitas. You made a face and he nodded, head against your shoulder. “Disgusting, but they’re at GCPD and I only had to break one arm to do it.”

“You broke your arm?” you asked, suddenly panicking. He chuckled, holding you in place so you didn’t accidently throw an egg on the ground.

“No, I broke them obviously, no one touches me. Gotta keep myself perfect to compete with how gorgeous you are,” he said, lips dancing gently on your neck. You smiled and laughed, pulling away a little.

“I’m going to burn your eggs if you keep that up,” you said. He dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

“If I wasn’t so tired I would tell you to let them burn and I could taste you instead, but, I need a shower and then sleep,” he said. You nodded and smiled at him as he let you go, stealing one more kissing as he headed down the hall.

“Jason?” you called. His head popped back in, and you smiled at him. “Keep that thought for later, you know I could go for a taste of you too.” He smirked and nodded, blowing you a final kiss as he headed for the shower.

#jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jasontodd #jason todd #red hood x you #red hood x reader #redhood #red hood #red hood x y/n #domestic jason todd #jasontoddblurbs

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bucky-h0e · 1 year

Text

Just Ten Minutes | Oneshot

Single Mom!Y/n x Bucky Barnes

Prompt: Bucky had finally explored the world of dating in the new century and found someone who he loves dearly. Now he has to explore the world of fatherhood to support his girlfriend and her baby girl.

Sort of requested by @browneyedgirl22 - I hope you enjoy it!

I admit, it is a bit faced paced but I'm working on that! If anyone has any feedback then please let me know!

If you like this then be sure to check out my current series 'Of Summer Days and Winter Nights' and 'Serendipity'!

Masterlist

Bucky and Y/n had only been dating a short while, a couple of months. Yet in those months, they had moved quickly through their relationship. Of course, they would have preferred to take their time, but it wasn't often that it was on their side. Whilst Bucky had been trying his best to adapt to the new century, finally having the time to do it, there were still occasions in which he was needed. Y/n on the other hand, was juggling not only her new relationship with the ex-Winter Soldier, but also her job and sweet baby.

Amelia had been from a previous relationship, her father having decided to not be in the picture - though he did send some financial aid for her. They were comfortable, and Amelia seemed to love Bucky just as much Y/n loved him. When they were first introduced, of course there was hesitance there. Bucky had never been left to care for Amelia on his own - why would he? But, he always included her whenever he was doing something for Y/n. If he brought flowers, there was always a small bundle of daisies for Amelia, even if she didn't understand why. If he brought cakes or dessert, then there was something sweet for Amelia that she could chew on. Small things that showed Y/n he cared for the small girl and knew they were a package deal. And that didn't worry him. He had spent time with Sam's nephews, gotten used to the childlike fascination with his arm and grew comfortable being around children. But Amelia was a lot younger than Sam's nephews.

He may not be her father, but if she came with Y/n, then how could he say no? There were times where he was nervous, of course. On one occasion, he had offered to take Amelia whilst Y/n nipped to the toilet during shopping. It would only take a few minutes and Bucky knew he could handle that. However, as he stood, holding the little girl who refused to get in the pushchair because 'she was a big girl and could walk on her own' yet 'didn't want to stand because her legs hurt'; he couldn't help but get slightly nervous. What if he dropped her? What if he was squeezing too hard when she wriggled? Luckily, it had just been a quick trip to the bathroom, but just from that small trip, Bucky knew his nerves may just get the better of him.

But, all of that would soon have to wait.

Having received a text from Y/n to cancel their date because she had much more work than she had expected, Bucky couldn't stand the thought of her having to over work herself. He knew she'd get sick by the end of it, burnt out and tired and that she would end up hating it because she couldn't look after Amelia properly. So, to prevent that, he got their lunch and dinner on his way over to her apartment, grabbing some food that was appropriate for the two year old that would inevitably join them. Using the key, he shot her a quick text, letting her know that it would be him walking through the door and not a stranger. He thought he'd see her pottering about, trying to organise whatever chaos her daughter had created in her wake, but instead, he found her slumped over the coffee table in the living room. Nodding along to whatever rant Amelia was talking about, letting her draw on her skin in an attempt at keeping both Amelia entertained and herself awake, pots and pans boiling in the kitchen like she'd forgotten about them and toys strewn about. It was clear that Y/n was currently having a hard time.

Smiling softly, Bucky places the bag of groceries on the floor by the door before making his way through the mess, kneeling once he'd managed to do so . Amelia squeals and hugs him as tight as her little arms can manage and he returns the favour, gently pulling her up into his lap. "Hey there sweet girl. Can you do Buck a favour?" He asks, tilting his head as the little girl nods quickly.

"Yes!" Smiling, he points over to some of the toys, "Can you clear up a little? Just some toys that you're not playing with, then when you've done that, we can play together." She pouts and pulls a face at him, wanting him to know her displeasure about the idea.

"Yeah I know, you don't like tidying up. But, we need a lot of space if we're gunna play right? So, we need to tidy up. I'll even come and help, but I gotta make sure mummy is okay first, yeah?" With a sigh, and as much attitude as a two year old could muster, she starts going about her business tidying up, making Bucky chuckle at the dramatics of it all.

Once Amelia was sorted and cleaning up her toys, haphazardly throwing things inboxes which Bucky knew he'd have to sort out later, he gently pulled Y/n to his chest, wrapping his arms around her exhausted body.

"Is it gone?" She jokes tiredly, peeking an eye open to see her daughter tidying. Bucky chuckles softly, rocking them gently.

"No, just busy. This is your chance to escape." He smiles, planting a kiss on her head as she sighs dreamily, "escaping sounds nice. maybe to Paris?"

"I don't think we have time for Paris," He muses, glancing at the girl who seems to be distracted from her chore. "Definitely have time for a short nap though, come on, up you get." Y/n groans, and Bucky can't help but laugh at the dramatics obviously shared by mother and daughter. With a grunt, Bucky stands, pulling his girl up with him and guides her to the bedroom. An arm wrapped around her waist to secure her as she stumbles through the apartment.

"Buck I have to clean and start making dinner, then I have to do the assignments. Shit, Amelia needs her snack - Bucky I don't have time to nap, I-" She stops at Bucky starting to shush her, pushing her to lay on her bed once he got her seated. "Don't shush me Barnes."

The man sends her an apologetic smile, kissing her temple softly, "I'm sorry love, I won't do it again. But you need to rest or you'll burn out. I will sort out dinner and lunch. You can clean and do work when you wake up," he smiles, there was absolutely no way she was doing either of that today whilst Bucky was here. He leans down, starting to take off her shoes and jeans, letting her get more comfortable to fall asleep, kissing the exposed skin gently before wrapping her up in a blanket. As soon as her head hit the pillow, Y/n could feel herself begin to drift. But there just so much to do, granted she wouldn't be able to do much if she was exhausted. So... maybe a ten minute nap wouldn't hurt.

"Okay Barnes, ten minutes. I will take a ten minute power nap and that is it."

"Ten minutes, got it."

"I'm serious James," He kisses her softly, brushing the stray hair from her eyes as he nods, "Ten minutes. I promise, I love you."

She grumbles her response, turning on her side and sighing loudly into the pillowcase. "I love you too Buck,"

After making sure she was tucked in and on her way to sleep, Bucky stood quietly and made his way out of her room, pulling the door closed on his way. Now to deal with the mess.

As he walked to the kitchen, he took a quick glance to make sure that Amelia was still occupied before turning off the stove, emptying the pots and pans and putting them in the sink to soak. Then, he made his way to the groceries left at the door, bringing them into the kitchen and putting them away. Once that had been done, he made a start on snack for Amelia. Said little girl was currently led on the floor, her tidying taking a backseat as she began to play with some of the toys left out. Seeing a few more toys on the ground, he set the small plate of fruit on the counter, walking over and tidying up the rest into her toybox before picking her up and lifting her high in the air. She squeals and giggles, kicking her legs in excitement as she's lowered to sit on his hip.

"Again! Again!" Bucky grins, "Again?!" he teases, setting her up to be lifted once again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! Again- Ah!" She bursts into laughter, feeling herself get lifted once, twice, three times more. "Okay sweet girl, snack time." He sets her down at the small plastic table in the corner of the room, where Amelia would normally do her colouring. But it would do for this as well, especially whilst he cleaned up the place. Bringing her plate down, he gently ruffles her hair when she thanks him before digging into her snack. Making his way around the room, Bucky picks up any stray toys, straightens the blankets on the cough - why Y/n had so many he would never know - and picks up any stray washing up that needed to be done. Then, he washed and dried everything whilst Amelia ate her snack, cleaning her plate last when she brought it up and thanked him once again.

Finally, with everything washed and the place looking tidy once again, he set himself down on the couch, laying down and helping Amelia climb up after him. Bringing toys with her, she sat on Bucky's stomach and used his chest as a place to put the toys she'd brought. Occasionally, she would show him once and he would respond with great interest, watching her play with a smile on his face. Honestly, he thought he would be more nervous, like he had been any other time they'd been alone together. But Amelia was a smart little girl who would tell him if she was uncomfortable one way or another. And besides, if Bucky could make Y/n's day slightly better by looking after Amelia for a few hours whilst she rested, then he was happy to do it. It's not like he didn't love spending time with the girl anyway.

The two stayed like that for the next couple of hours, Amelia differing between playing and watching TV. Occasionally, she would take her sticker book and start picking stickers which she would then place on Bucky's arms. Currently, his right arm was covered in unicorns and stars, with his left arm having been decorated in rainbows and flowers. As he watched her, he smiles, loving the way she laughs and giggles whenever he tickled her teasingly or gave her a tight hug or teasingly complained about the stickers.

"I see you've gone with two different themes, that's great, real cute, you know? Oh, mixing it up, flowers with the unicorns huh? That's nice, real artistic." Whilst he knows the two year old may not completely understand him, she seemed to be enjoying herself enough and that was enough for him.

"James Buchanan Barnes."

Bucky looks at Amelia with a exaggerated shocked expression at the sound of his lovers voice, causing the girl to giggle. "Uh oh, mummy's awake." He whispers to her, sitting up and letting the girl fall back onto the couch before walking up to his tired partner. She stands, leaning against the wall with her hip sticking out to one side. Arms crossed in front of her and her face in a scowl.

"Hey love, I was just about to wake you."

"Ten minutes my ass James."

Grinning, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close to him, kissing her cheek. "Aw come on, you expected me to actually wake you in ten minutes?"

"A promise is a promise Barnes." She states, grabbing a sticker on his flesh arm and ripping it off, causing the man to flinch slightly and let out a whine of 'Hey'. "I swear to god if there are stickers on my couch."

"Mummy!" Kneeling down to catch the girl barrelling her way to the pair, Y/n hugs her tightly and picks her up. "Hey baby girl! Sorry for leaving, did you have fun with Buck?" She asks, smiling as she feels Bucky's arms wrap around her once more and pull the pair closer to him, leaning on the wall beside them.

"Lots and lots! We tidied up for you!" Bucky winks at the shocked Y/n, who seemed to only just take in the apartment after her anger at Bucky's 'betrayal' had passed. "You did?" She asks, looking at Bucky specifically who shrugs his shoulders in return, nodding.

"You didn't have to do that Buck," She smiles at him, gently putting Amelia down, who runs off to play with her toys once whilst Bucky leads Y/n to sit on the couch.

"I know, but I wanted to help you out a little bit. That's what I'm here for. To support you ad Amelia." Y/n smiles at him, not understanding how she had gotten so lucky that Bucky had been okay with the fact that she had a child.

"Thank you Buck, seriously." She leans forward, pressing her lips to his. He smiles into the kiss, bringing his hands to gently cup her cheeks, tilting his head slightly. Pulling apart, he licks his bottom lip quickly, gazing softly into her eyes before kissing her once more. Y/n sighs into the kiss, melting into the couch and pulling Bucky in with her.

"Anything for you, Y/n. Now, you keep your pretty self comfortable on this couch, and I'll go make us all some dinner yeah? You've been asleep for three hours." He muses, placing one last kiss on her lips before standing and making his way to the kitchen to cook for his girls. Y/n watches him, biting her lip softly, grinning at his back before she blinks and glares slightly.

"THREE HOURS!?"

#bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #james barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier fluff #winter soldier fic #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #mcu bucky barnes #mcu imagine #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

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iamjacksragingboner · 4 months

Text

Gross Childhood Best Friend Soap - Alternate Endings

Word count: 1.3K

Warnings: Some angst but like you'll live, you don't end up with Soap though you're rejecting him like that's the whole thing

Part One: You can find part one with the original, happy ending here. Please read that one first so you're up to speed with the context to these other endings.

A/N: As I was writing the end of the Gross Childhood Best Friend Soap fic, I briefly had the thought to make the reader reject Soap, like bitch oh my god have some self worth you don't need to immediately forgive him for being a dick to you.

Anyway, this alternate ending could go one of two ways.

The Immediate Rejection.

“Why don’tcha come back to mine with me, bonnie,” Johnny coos, and for a moment you almost accept his offer.

Almost.

Sure, the boy you’d spent way too many years pining over and never gave you the time of day finally paying attention to you was great, in theory, but it only took a second of reminiscing to think better of it.

This boy was the reason you spent so many nights walking home alone, cursing yourself for falling for his shallow promises spoken by sugar sweet lips again and again.

"Ah, no. Thanks Johnny, but I'm not interested." It comes out dry, but you hope it gets the point across. He had missed his window of opportunity years ago.

Johnny laughs and jostles your shoulder. "Come on, lass. Just a night! Doesn't have tae mean anythin'. I've missed ye."

You hold strong to your word, as attractive as Johnny is, and always has been, you know you're better than that. "Really Johnny, I'm not in the mood."

His hand skirts up your thigh and you groan internally at his inability to take the neon-coloured hint. "I bet I can change that for ye."

Swallowing your pride, you lean into Johnny and cup a hand to whisper into his ear "I have like three STD's at the moment, dude. I don't think you wanna bump uglies with me currently."

It was a silly lie, but you knew it would be more than enough to get the message through his relatively thick skull. You were right, of course, because as you pulled back to take a look at the expression on his face, you had to fight not to burst into laughter.

Johnny looked as though he'd sucked on a lemon but was trying not to let it show. He'd pulled back from you by at least a foot as well, and kept his hands firmly clasped in his lap. "Ah," he said, and cleared his throat. "Well. Good to know."

"Yup."

Silence. You wondered how long it would take Johnny to get up and scout out a different lady, as you were sure he would after this.

As it turns out, it took a grand total of a minute and a half for him to get up, bid his adieus and walk out of the bar, promising he'd call you soon, and wishing you all the best with your... things.

You downed the rest of your drink with a wicked grin stretching across your cheeks and walked merrily home.

2. The Gradual Realisation of Self Worth.

He only comes to you when he needs you.

Only gives you affection when he knows it'll benefit him.

Leaves you cold and alone in bed.

Tells you you're beautiful, says he loves you, but only when you're actively serving him. Patching his wounds. Sending him care packages. Buying him drinks. Always giving, but never receiving.

The bed is so cold.

You curl in on yourself night after night, but you never cry. You are convinced that surely, one day he will return your affection. One day he'll prove you right and show that he has changed, has given up on his shallow promises. You ignore the voice in your head that tells you he hasn't.

You spent so long trying to fix him, put so much time into trying to make him a better person, telling him to eat better, to keep his room clean, teaching him to cook, teaching this man the bare minimum, only to get nothing in return.

He didn't love you, and at this point you weren’t even sure if you liked him. Did you like him, or did you like the comfort of having someone that could hold you, if he wanted to. There was never a guarantee.

You fixed him, but you didn't get to reap the benefits of your own hard work. You fixed him so he could go an fuck over the next person a little less.

You start rejecting his advances, ignoring his texts asking you to come over for a quick fuck. You stop sending him care packages with home made food and letters telling him about how you've been since he was home. You don't answer the door when he knocks. Quitting him cold turkey.

Eventually, he stops texting, stops calling, doesn't throw rocks at your window.

There is silence; a breath of fresh air.

You bump into him at a bar a few months later. You make polite small talk, and he flashes you that grin that pulled you in the first time, but it falls flat and slips from his face. You move away from the hand that caresses your waist.

"Let's get out of here," he bends down to whisper in your ear, "come back to mine, I've missed ye, bonnie." Johnny's hand creeps up your face, a wolf-like grin stretches and snarls across his cheeks.

Your face turns stony, ashen. "Leave me alone, John."

His grin falters at the omission of his nickname, the name you had always called him. In all your years of knowing each other, not once had you called him John.

"Bonnie," Johnny starts, concern flicking over his face. What a joke. He chooses to care now, when he's at risk of losing his quick fuck.

"Don't call me that," your voice is sharp, cutting through the pollution he's breathed on you for so long. "Do not speak to me as if you've ever given more than two shits about me, because I know for a fact the only thing you see me as is a hole to shove your dick in."

You had passed the point of mourning over what could have been, of what you wanted this 'relationship' to be. You were only capable of feeling anger and distain towards the man before you.

"Now, lass, there's no need for ye think that," Johnny rubs your arm in an attempt of comfort that came all too late. "yer more than that to me, I promise."

I promise.

"Fuck you and your promises, John," you spit, slapping his hand away from you, creating distance between you, because as far as you're concerned, he lost the privilege of touching you long ago. "You're always promising things, but you never mean any of it, do you?"

Johnny stays quiet, his mouth hanging ajar and his hand hovering in midair, as if he's shocked that his actions suddenly have consequences.

"I have tried for so long to continue to see the good in you, to believe that if I just tried a little harder, you'd actually want to pay attention to me, but I look back on that decision to try and I just feel so... stupid! So utterly stupid for not seeing you for what you are, John. Look I want to wish you the best in your future relationships but honestly I think I'd much prefer if you went and choked to death on a bag of dicks."

As much as you thought it would be cathartic to say even a quarter of what you felt Johnny needed to hear, it honestly wasn't. Johnny was silent as you picked up your things and left the bar. He at least had enough of a brain to not call you, but part of you wished he did. The part of you that still hoped the Johnny you grew up with was in there.

You hugged your arms to your chest and kicked the rocks on the pavement as you walked home alone. Again. You went to bed alone. Again. But it felt better.

Johnny wasn't coming back, and you were glad.

#john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap call of duty #soap cod #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #childhood best friend x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 months

Note

pls ma’am… may i have some more gaslamp!au? 🥹🫶🏻

"I don't know Stephanie this seems-"

"Please?" Stephanie pouted, "My stupid brother ruined you. It's the least I could do to get you some new dresses."

"You did find me a place to live and it's not as if I don't have things to wear," you point out.

"And some of them are lovely," Stephanie started, "But-"

"IF," Cassandra started slightly louder to cut her off before she could say something accidentally rude, "you don't let her she'll just have them made and they'll all be- well. Stephanie dresses."

"What's the matter with my dresses?" Stephanie asked archly.

"Nothing, dearest," Barbara said patiently, "except that they won't suit Y/N. Your coloring is different. And she's well- blessed- in ways that you aren't."

"So you see," Cass said, offering you a napkin to cough behind where you'd inhaled tea helpfully, "it really is for the best."

"I- I-" you break off, still sputtering and Barbara gets to her feet determinedly.

"Well," she declared, "if we're going out I'll have to send for a carriage. God knows we won't be carrying our own packages."

"And Tim," Cass said. "He needs to get out of the manor before the maids take to dusting him again."

"And Tim," Barbara amended, "he complains less anyway as long as we give him a book or two to read while he waits."

"What kind of book?" you ask curiously.

"Awful, boring things about math and chemistry," Stephanie sighed. "Honestly."

"Oh-"

"Dearest?" Barbara asked frowning, looking at you, halfway to the door, "What did happen to your books?"

"I- I don't know. I only- I'd imagine most of them were thrown away. Except for the ones I could carry with me. I didn't have many. I couldn't keep many after Papa died and I had to leave the house." Not for the first time, there's a hollow pang in your chest. You miss- you miss a lot of things. But sprawling on your belly in the drawing room while your father answered letters and reading out loud. The thought of your little collection being gone. After carefully carrying it from school to the attic. Hiding it from rambunctious hands and angry aunts. You can't stop the tears.

And you can't articulate why either. Not when it sounds so stupid to say out loud. You aren't a little girl. You're nearly on the shelf. Old enough that it shouldn't matter- but it does.

"Well that just won't do," Stephanie said. "Absolutely not."

"I don't- I'm sorry- I-"

"Hush," Cass said, handing you another napkin, coming to kneel next to your chair to pat your hand. "We'll get your books back- or at least. Jason will. Sometimes him looking big and scary can be good for something."

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #gaslamp!au

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itsjusthockey · 10 months

Text

Road Trip - Cole Caufield

Summer Series Open Now

For your reading pleasure...enjoy

Send in your requests for Summer Series, please and thank you.

w.c:669

“Is six packs of gummy worms really necessary?”

Cole glances your way, feigning an offended expression. “Please don’t question the snack choices. I've had extensive training in snack procurement, and I'm highly qualified for this job."

You let out a snort, rolling your eyes at the drama Queen, and finish throwing the rest of the snacks in the car. You’re almost packing everything away when a familiar bright green package catches your eye.

“You hate these.” You grab the big bag of Warheads and shake them slightly at Cole

He does a once-over of the candy and shrugs his shoulders. “I do, but you don’t.”

A small smile spreads across your lips. Though you’d never tell, it’s the little things like this that he remembers that make warmth spreads in your body.

You bump his shoulder slightly as you move next to him, helping him grab his bags of hockey gear and loading them into the already full car.

“Okay, we got everything?”

It’s more a question for yourself than for Cole; he has a terrible memory; you both know it, so you’re in charge of ensuring you both survive this road trip.

"I think so,” Cole confirms with a satisfied nod. The car is loaded with snacks, drinks, and all the necessary gear for your trip to the infamous Hughes Lake House.

“All right, let’s go. I got four episodes of unsolved mysteries waiting for us.”

In mere minutes you’re pulled out of the driveway and on the open road. You’re listening to your favorite podcast and watching as the miles pass, and you couldn’t be happier.

You get precisely fifteen minutes into the drive with your best friend when he turns the volume down, grabbing your full attention.

“Are you excited?” He quickly glances at you, then back to the road.

“Of course I am.”

You offer him a smile, but when he glances your way, he doesn’t seem too convinced.

“Are you sure?”

You know that Cole knows you better than almost anyone in the world, so trying to lie to him won’t work, especially when you’re in the same confined space for the next few hours.

“Okay…a little nervous, but that’s because they’re all your hockey friends. I’ve never met the other two to the big three, and I’m just a little unsure if they’ll like me.”

Cole glances at you, his expression softening. He reaches over and squeezes your hand reassuringly. "Hey, they're going to love you. You're amazing, and in two seconds, they’ll be stealing all your attention away from me.”

A laugh spills out from your lips, and you take a deep breath, feeling the tension melt away as his words wash over you. "

“And I know the guys can be a lot, but Jacks's girlfriend is dying to meet you.”

Suddenly an enormous weight is taken off your shoulders, knowing she’ll be there. You’d only ever heard stories about her from Cole, but from what you know, you think you’ll be great friends.

“Thank god, that makes me feel better already.”

Cole chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "See, nothing to worry about. Besides, you're not just my plus-one; they all basically know you.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “how’s that?”

“I talk about you all the time.”

His words warm your heart, and you lean into his reassuring presence. "Aww, you love me so much."

He flashes you a grin, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Yeah yeah, don’t tell anyone, though; I have a reputation to maintain.”

With a renewed sense of excitement and the weight of nervousness lifted, you both settle back into the comfort and grab some snacks, watching the miles tick by. You can’t help but feel excited about the upcoming week. You know it will be fun, and you’re also excited to spend time with Cole.

You really only had one goal for this summer. One simple goal. Make Cole fall for you just as hard as you’re falling for him.

#hockey #hockey boys #hockey imagine #hockey x reader #imagine #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hockey fic #nhl hockey #jack hughes #trevor zegras #cole caufield #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield imagine #montreal canadiens #summerlakehouseseries #summer #myblurbs #my fic

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vastill · 1 year

Text

Don't you miss it?

Melissa Schemmenti/fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, NSFW, oral, pet names, swear words, strap-on use, let me know if there are more

words: 2000+

My requests are open!!

English is not my first language!

A/N: hii im back! i really struggled with writing this one but i think im done now. tbh i don't know if i like it or if i don't:( but i hope you will enjoy and let me know what you think!💚

As you began dating Melissa, you quickly learned that this was her first same-sex relationship. In fact, before meeting you, she had only had a couple of one-night stands with women, but nothing more serious.

Both you and Melissa had many insecurities and uncertainties at the beginning. You wondered if you were doing things right. Despite all of this, you both made an effort to communicate with each other. You learned to talk things out, always finding some sort of solution.

But there was one that you were scared to bring up.

You saw how Melissa looked at all those guys in movies or magazines. Her eyes always lingered a little more on them than the others. And that made you wonder if you are good for her.

Maybe you weren't enough.

Was Melissa missing being with men?

You tried to shake that thought off of your mind but it always came back to you.

And on one particular evening after catching her ogling the man on the screen you felt the urge to ask her about it.

“Don’t you miss it?”

“What?” She looked at you confused.

“You know…” You shot a glance at the TV looking directly at the man and then at her.

“You mean dick?”

“Melissa! You don’t need to be this vulgar!” You softly punched her in the arm.

“Yeah said the one with a mouth of a saint. And no. Why would I? You gave me more orgasms than any dick I had.” She said smirking and you blushed.

“But you had only been with guys before me, I don’t know maybe it's just my insecurities but I don’t know.” You sighed.

“Did you think I don’t enjoy sex with you because you don’t have a dick?” You lowered your gaze to your lap. Your reaction telling Melissa everything. “Oh hon, why didn’t you talk to me earlier about this?”

“It’s stupid. Forget it.”

“Baby, you give me exactly what I need. Everything that I need. And if you are this worried, there are ways that we can make it happen.” She said lowly grinning at you.

“I’m not agreeing to a threesome, Schemmenti!” You quickly said. “Especially with a man.” Your face twists in disgust.

“That’s not what I was saying.” She said laughing lightly at your face. “You know there are some toys that can help you with this insecurity, you know?”

“I-what? Oh! OH!” Realization hit you like a truck, your face instantly turning red similar to the color of Melissa’s hair.

“Yep, that’s what I thought. So maybe we or I can do some online shopping, and we will see about that? What do you think?” Melissa asked.

“So you miss it?” You said grinning.

“Oh, fuck you! You are the worst! I’m trying to help you and that’s what I get.” She said getting up from the couch.

You quickly grabbed her arm and tugged her on your lap. “Okay, okay. You can buy it. But admit you miss it!” She looked at you kissing you slowly.

“I don’t.” You send her a glare. “Really I don’t but frankly I think you will look so good with a strap.” She said her eyes darkening as she imagined what it would look like.

You blushed deeply at her words, feeling a mix of embarrassment and arousal. “Don't go horny on me now, we don't have it yet. Go and buy it.” You said and Melissa's face lit up with excitement and she leaned in to kiss you again.

“I knew you would want it.” She whispered teasingly.

“Schemmenti.” You said with a warning, griping her tights harsher.

“Okay, okay. I'm going!” She laughed climbing off your lap and going to her laptop. “You will love it!” You only shook your head with amusement watching her excitement.

And the week passed in a blink of an eye.

Since the package came you two didn’t have time and strength to do anything about it. Work completely tired you out. But today was Friday you had nothing planned.

The evening was peaceful as you relaxed on the couch with Melissa lying on top of you. The TV was on in the background, but the two of you were lost in each other's company. Her head was nestled on your chest while you mindlessly played with her hair.

Melissa started planting light kisses on your collarbone and neck moving to straddle your lap. Your hands instantly went to grab her waist under her shirt scratching softly her sides. She moved her face kissing you. The kiss at first was innocent and light quickly turned into a heated make out. Hands wandering under shirts and exploring all the parts that you had access to.

Melissa slowly ended the kiss and lowered herself to your ear. “Wanna shake the sheets?” She said, a smirk evident in her tone.

“You couldn't word that any sexier, Schemmenti?” You laughed.

“What are you more of a funny business kind of gal?” She wiggled her brows at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my God, stop that. I don’t want to know how many more of this you have.”

Melissa rolled her eyes, grinning. “Plenty, but maybe on another occasion.” She climbed off your lap and grabbed you by your wrist, urging you to stand. She slowly neared your face, kissing your jaw and earlobe. “Now we have more interesting things to do.” She turned around and walked to the bedroom swaying her hips. You couldn’t take your eyes away from this view. She is so beautiful.

“Take a picture, it will last longer.” She said amused, light blush covered her chest and face from the way you were looking at her.

“You are so gorgeous, Melissa. I’m in awe every time I look at you.” You said coming to sit on the bed.

Melissa smiled, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “You always know how to make me feel special,” she said, pulling you down for a kiss. You straddled her lap and kissed her passionately, your hands roaming freely over each other's bodies, only stopping to take off each other clothes.

Your lips were everywhere making a path of kisses to her breasts. Your hands moved to her back to unclasp her bra, and you took one nipple into your mouth, sucking and flicking it with your tongue. Melissa’s back arched as she moaned your name. You switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, and she ran her fingers through your hair, urging you on. After a while, you moved down her body, leaving a trail of kisses to her stomach and further down.

You took off her panties and tossed them aside. Melissa spreads her legs, giving you full access to her. You leaned in and kissed her clit, and she moaned loudly, her hands gripping the sheets. You started to gently lick her, moving your tongue in circles and flicking it back and forth. Her moans grew louder, and you knew she was close. You increased the pressure and speed of your tongue, and she came with a loud scream, her body shaking with pleasure.

After Melissa came down from her high, she pulled you up and kissed you deeply. She could taste herself on her lips, which only made her want you more. You both were panting, and you could feel the heat emanating from her body. She pushed you back onto the bed and climbed on top of you, straddling your waist.

“So maybe we can try it? I mean we don’t have to but you have no idea how many times after our talk I had been thinking about you fucking me.” She whispered in your ear. “It makes me so wet baby, you make me so fucking wet. Do you feel it?” She started sliding herself on top of your stomach. You could feel her juices spreading all over you.

“Melissa, fuck.” That’s all you could say as you watched her entranced by the pleasure she was feeling. You imagined her riding your strap, what a view it would be. You grabbed her by her hips and stopped her movements.

“What the hell are you doing? I was so close.” She looked at you displeased.

“Giving you the best night of your life.” You said changing your position, you stood up and grabbed the package. You took out a red strap-on and put it on you. Melissa sure knew what to buy.

“How did you know how to put it on that quickly? You sure you never used one?” Melissa asked smirk evident in her tone. And you were glad you stood with your back to her because your face must be in the color of her hair. “I watched videos.” You said embarrassed. Melissa laughed lightly. “Always prepared. I like it.”

You felt stupid with something dangling between your legs. It was weird.

“Sweetheart?” You heard behind your ear, you were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Melissa approaching. “Talk to me.”

“I feel stupid. It's there and uh it's weird. I look stupid.” You said not looking at her as she came and stood in front of you.

“Well, it’s not stupid you will get used to it.” She said grabbing your chin and making you look at her. “And I think you look good, so good. I picked the best color, red is your color darling.” Her eyes scanned you up and down, when she looked you in the eyes her pupils dilated, and desire twinkled in them. “Come to bed darling, make me see stars again.”

You followed her to bed still feeling a little self-conscious about the strap-on. But as soon as Melissa started kissing you it all went away.

“Are you sure?” You asked her as her kisses traveled to your throat.

“Yes, please.” She said breathlessly, her hips rutting against the air.

You positioned yourself between her legs, taking the strap in your hand you slide its head through Melissas’ slick folds. She moaned in anticipation when you nudged her clit. Slowly, you pushed the strap-on inside her, and she gasped at the intrusion. You gave her time to get used to the new sensation and stretch.

After a few moments, Melissa opened her eyes looking directly at you. “You can move sweetheart.” You started moving in and out of her, the strap-on hitting all the right spots.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from her face.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open, and her face twisted in pleasure. You felt a wave of heat rush through your body as she moaned and dug her nails into your back. With each thrust, she moaned louder, her body writhing beneath you.

Her eyes were closed, and her back was arched, her body moving in rhythm with yours. You knew she was getting closer to her orgasm. The way her moans turned into screams and breathless panting.

“Baby, open your eyes. I want to see you all when you come.” She opened her eyes, and her green orbs looked directly at yours. “That’s my good girl, yes, look at me.”

You increased the speed as your hand reached down to play with her clit. Melissa’s body started to shake from the pleasure she was experiencing. She came with a loud scream of your name. You slowed your motions to let her ride out her orgasm.

She whined as you slowly took the strap out of her and laid next to her cuddling.

After a few moments of silence, Melissa turned to you and grinned. “Wow. That was amazing. You are incredible.” She said still breathless. “Did you also watch videos on how to use it?” She asked nudging you.

“No, that's pure talent.” You smiled back at her, feeling proud of yourself. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” You said, snuggling closer to her.

“Who said I’m done enjoying myself?” She said as she straddled your lap capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

#melissa schemmenti x reader #lisa ann walter x reader #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #wlw post #wlw fiction #vastill

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ikaroux · 2 years

Text

You are my gift.

Synopsis: Diluc has a special place in your heart. You both have known each other since you were children, and even though you were separated for three long years, the affection you have for each other is still the same.

Style: f!reader, romance, love, anniversary, childhood friend.

Alert: NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.

Characters: Diluc.

Note: It's been a while since I posted anything, sorry! Since it was Diluc's birthday, I wanted to write something for him, this character I love so much. I found his message so adorable, of course I'm going to have dinner with him!

I'm recovering from the covid, even if I still have some remains like cough and tiredness, I will try to get back to writing little by little!

Have a good read.

Masterlist

Happy birthday my dear Diluc.

Leaning against the window, your gaze wandering to the sky, you wondered what Diluc was doing right now. You hadn't seen him for several days, his work taking up most of his time.

You and Diluc were longtime friends, at least from his point of view. You'd always had a crush on him, but you didn't let it show for fear of destroying the bond between you. You were close, very close. Diluc always treated you with gentleness and courtesy, like a sister, you thought�� it was probably better than nothing?

A desperate sigh escaped you as your gaze turned to the small box you had carefully sealed with a ribbon earlier in the day. Today was Diluc's birthday… It was not a festive day for him. His father had died on his eighteenth birthday, his brotherly relationship with Kaeya had been shattered on the same day, as well as his faith and future in the Knights of Favonius.

You grasped the gift package in your hand, caressing the red ribbon tied around it. You brought it to your lips, closing your eyes to picture the face of the man you loved so much. Where was he right now? You wanted to see him, hear him, hold him. Was he replaying past events? A small part of you hoped that he was thinking of you, that he wanted you close to him for this day that was entirely dedicated to him. But it was probably prideful of you to think that way. Diluc may have had a special place in your heart, but that wasn't how he saw you. He had never shown any sign of being attracted to you.

You were too blind.

Not seeing all the signals he was sending you.

All the little touches he was offering you.

You were the only one he looked at. The only one he cherished.

You didn't trust yourself. You thought you were insignificant next to him.

How wrong you were.

You were his treasure. The one who kept him balanced in a constantly dark world.

The sound of flapping wings brought you out of your sad thoughts. Your eyes turned to the window, where a familiar eagle was perched. The one that never left Diluc.

A message was entangled in one of its legs, carefully tied with a string. You carefully untangled it and read it, a smile already on your face as you knew who it was from. As you unfolded it, you could see the delicate handwriting of Diluc, so familiar to you. He always wrote letters to you with the utmost care. You were so used to his pen that you were sure you could tell if a letter was from him without him signing it.

Your eyes roamed over the few words he had eagerly written to you.

"Y/n, meet me at the cemetery. Diluc."

Your fingers had tightened around the paper, crumpling it. Diluc was at his father's grave, alone. The thought pinched your heart. Without thinking, you rushed to your front door, quickly taking a vest with you before stepping out and slamming the door behind you, forgetting about Diluc's gift and his eagle.

You ran through the streets of Mondstadt, narrowly avoiding walkers and stumbling several times on the steps leading to the cathedral. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest. You didn't know exactly what you were feeling at that moment. Was it fear? Anguish? Sadness? Or maybe just the overwhelming need to be with him? By the time you asked yourself all these questions, you had already reached the backyard of the Favonius church, where the Mondstadt cemetery was. You quickly spotted him, standing in front of a grave, his long black coat adorning his back and his familiar red hair.

Diluc.

As you caught your breath, you took the time to admire his figure. In his hand he held a bouquet of lamp grass flowers, the ones his father loved so much. Diluc looked silently at the grave, his eyes clouded with memories. He didn't seem to notice you or his eagle, which had probably left your apartment through the window you had left open in your haste. When the eagle let out a shrill cry to signal its presence to its master, Diluc finally turned his gaze from the grave to the animal he cherished so much. He gently held out his forearm for it to rest on.

"I see that you have conveyed my message well. Do you think she will come? This isn't exactly the ideal place for a date…" - Diluc's voice was soft, barely noticeable. Yet that didn't stop you from hearing it. You smiled as you noticed his relaxed, peaceful expression. With a lighter heart, you tried to approach him without making a sound, which allowed you to delicately steal the bouquet from his hands, surprising him at the same time. His eyes, at first wild with anger, quickly softened at the sight of you. A warm smile lit up his features as he let his bird take flight.

"Thank you for coming y/n."

"It's nothing. I'm glad you invited me to spend this time with you. I'm sorry, I was in such a rush to get to you that I didn't think to buy flowers for your father."

"Don't worry, I don't think he'll be offended." - His gaze was turned to his father's grave. The sadness had disappeared to make way for serenity. After a moment, he looked at you again. The ardor of his gaze made you blush despite yourself. Softly, his hand came to slide along your arm until your wrist, seizing delicately this one before going down to the bouquet of flowers that you had taken to him a little earlier. His gaze had not left the movement of his hand on your skin and a slight blush began to appear on his cheeks. He finally took the bouquet from your hands, taking a few lamp grass to offer them to you. Silence reigned between the two of you, only the sound of the wind beating the leaves of the trees kept you in reality. You wanted to tell him. To confess everything to him.

Diluc, I love you. I have always loved you.

But your lips remained sealed, this was not the time or place to think about that. So instead, you turned to the grave of Crepus Ragnvindr, breaking the visual link with Diluc. You knelt before the grave, silent, before placing the few flowers Diluc had given you. Diluc, in turn, placed his bouquet. You didn't dare look at him, you didn't want him to see the feelings you were expressing. It was suffocating, painful. But wasn't it better to suffer than to lose the friendship that bound you together? You took a moment to breathe before standing up and turning your gaze back to him. His eyes remained fixed on you, so penetrating and warm. You didn't know why the tears were coming to your eyes. Perhaps it was because of that moment of silence at his father's grave? Or maybe it was the thought that Diluc would never be yours?

Diluc's gloved thumb brushed against your tear-dampened cheek. His concerned look made you wish you had held them back.

"Would you mind accompanying me back to my place? I have something for you."

"For me? What's the occasion?"

"It's your birthday, silly. How can you forget something so important?"

"It's not that important."

"It is to me!" - The twinkle in his eyes made you smile. You finally took his hand to guide him home. Although the walk was silent the whole way, the hand squeezing yours made you feel pleasantly good. You weren't used to Diluc showing affection, let alone in public. Yet it was he who was squeezing your hand in his, hard enough to make you feel his warmth, but not hard enough to hurt you. His thumb was constantly playing with your fingers, sometimes tenderly caressing the back of your hand. You didn't know if it was intentional on his part, but you couldn't deny that it felt good. When you finally reached the landing of your apartment, you invited him into your home. This was not the first time he had come. How many times had you welcomed him into your home, wounded by mages from the abyss or exhausted by the workload he had imposed on himself. You had stopped counting, what mattered to you was that he felt at home here. This was difficult at first, knowing his upbringing as well as his nobility of spirit. Diluc was a gentleman, entering your home as he pleased was inconceivable to him, even with so many years of friendship. "I cannot invade your space as I wish. Understand that I'm still a man, Y/n." he had told you the first time you had offered to stay at your house for the night. You never really understood what he meant, or rather, you didn't want to understand. Today, everything had become easier for him. You had always made him feel comfortable, so much so that now he was able to sit on your couch without waiting for your consent. You always had something for him in reserve, in case he decided to come to your house unexpectedly. So he was not surprised when you served him a glass of grape juice and a tray of fruit.

Diluc watched you running around the apartment, finding it adorable that you wanted to please him every time he came over. He couldn't take his eyes off you, thinking about the promise he had made earlier at his father's grave. He wanted to confess his feelings to you. His affection for you had been eating away at him for years, he couldn't stand the childhood friend relationship he had with you. As a child, you considered him as a brother. You probably still do. But Diluc had always seen you as a young girl, gradually growing into the beautiful woman you are today. He burned with love for you. The three years he spent away from Mondstadt made him realize how important you were in his life. He loved you, he always loved you. He hoped that perhaps the feeling was mutual. His eyes turned to the palm of his hand. He could still feel the warmth of your skin there. Diluc closed his eyes, clenching his fist firmly against his thigh. His heart was pounding. He was afraid. Afraid of losing you by admitting his feelings to you.

"Diluc?"

Diluc gasped, quickly opening his eyes and bringing them back to you. You presented him with a small gift box sealed with a ribbon. Diluc looked at it for a long moment before carefully grasping it.

"Happy birthday, Diluc. I hope you like it." - You sat beside him, admiring his every expression.

"You shouldn't have spent your moras on me."

"Don't play dumb, open it!"

Diluc could see the excitement in your eyes and he felt his lips stretch into a wide smile. More than anything else, he loved seeing you laugh, smile. He loved to see you happy, even for such small things. With you, his birthdays had become more bearable. Less painful. Slowly, he tugged on the ribbon's knot, sliding it along the package until it lay on his thighs. When he lifted the lid, he found two chess-like objects inside, one made of white ivory and the other of black. A king and queen in the shape of an owl and an owl.

"These are collectible pieces. I hope you like them." - Diluc didn't answer you, his eyes continuing to admire the detailed workmanship of each piece. You knew of his love for birds and his penchant for chess, and you thought there was nothing better to give him as a birthday present, even if it cost you a month's salary. Only his silence made you doubt. Didn't he like it?

"y/n, they're beautiful. From the quality, I imagine the price of these pieces must have been quite exorbitant… You shouldn't have…"

"Diluc, it's my money, I do what I want with it. If I decide to spend it on you, I will." - You tell him proudly.

"Why are you always so stubborn?" - He answers with a sigh. - "Thanks, I'll take care of it."

Diluc carefully placed the chess pieces back into their box before turning to you. He took your hands in his, slowly bringing them close to his lips. Your cheeks turned incredibly red as your eyes followed his every move. There was a heavy silence between you two. Diluc's eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to think about something. His lips pursed, he gripped your hands a little tighter in his before looking into yours.

"y/n, I have something important to tell you, I would like you to listen to me without interrupting." - You slowly nodded your head, apprehensive about what he was about to tell you. "I know that you and I have known each other since childhood. I've watched you grow up, becoming more and more beautiful, more and more desirable to men. I have seen you become a woman. I know very well that you have always seen me as a brother, but I… I have always looked at you y/n. I love you, I have always loved you. I can't stand this distance imposed by fear, apprehension. I do not ask you to love me in return. I simply want you to realize that in my eyes, you are neither a sister, nor a childhood friend…" - Diluc lifted your face that you had lowered to hide your blush. His warm gaze brought tears to your eyes again. His thumb wiped them away before his lips brushed yours. It was sweet, loving, just as you had both imagined. Seeing that you didn't reject him, Diluc pressed his kiss a little more, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck to keep you where you are. Your lips performed a more and more sensual waltz, exploring each other's limits. Encouraged by your little moans, Diluc was the first to try an opening with his tongue. Too stunned by your kiss, you didn't feel yourself tipping over onto the couch, Diluc above you continuing to kiss you as if it were the last time he would do so. Your hands came to lose themselves in his hair, savoring its softness.

Please make it all real.

Your arms tightened around Diluc as your mind prayed. It couldn't be real, could it? Diluc lying on top of you, your lips desperately searching for each other. Your legs wrapped around his hips as he pressed himself a little closer to you. You needed to melt into each other. You had been looking for each other for so long, each thinking you were living a one-way love. When Diluc felt his lower abdomen become incredibly sore, he stopped kissing you and looked into your eyes, darkened by lust.

"y/n… Tell me I can go further… I don't want to force you, or push you around. Tell me to stop, and I will." - His look was desperate, as was yours.

"Please prove to me that this is not all a dream." - Diluc breathed in, his hand coming to grasp yours to intertwine his fingers. His lips merged with you again in a passionate kiss while his free hand was busy undoing your clothes. It wasn't long before she managed to strip you completely, stepping back to admire your naked body.

"You're beautiful…"- In turn, you straightened up to help him remove his clothes. As soon as his muscular torso was exposed to you, your hungry hands came to explore it, languidly caressing his abs, waist, chest and arms. Diluc was simply perfect, just as you had imagined… He patiently let you discover him before attacking his pants, enjoying the softness of your hands on his skin. His eyes did not leave you of the glance, hypnotized by your movements sometimes hesitant, but exploratory. He would sometimes take your wrist to bring your hand to an area you had not yet claimed. He was patient, incredibly patient. But you weren't. Diluc grunted in surprise when he felt your hands undo the waistband of his pants, then pull at the fabric of his underwear to free his already incredibly hardened member. He was big, perhaps too big for you, and that scared you a little.

"Ah-Di-Diluc I don't know if I could…"

"Shh… Let me prepare you properly. Trust me, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you y/n"

You gently nodded, obediently letting Diluc lay you back on the couch. He finished removing his clothes before positioning himself over you. His hair strands came to tickle your face and as your eyes gazed at each other with consuming passion, your hand came to caress his strands, adjusting them behind his ear. Diluc leaned into your hand, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the intimate touch.

"I love you Diluc." - He instantly opened his eyes to look at you. You could read all the love he had for you in them, his warm smile made your heart beat faster. Diluc buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing passionate kisses on it. His hands explored your body. The sound of his palm smoothing your skin filled your ears, warming your waist before moving up to your chest, sensually massaging your breasts. His fingers warmed the hardened tips of your nipples chilled by the cold air of the living room. You could feel his hips rubbing against you as his member brushed against your entrance in a slow back and forth motion. Diluc relished the taste of your skin, licking and sucking on every inch he could reach. When his lips found the hardened tip of your nipple, he decided to occupy his hands differently. One spread your leg further apart, while the other tended to your lower region, caressing your entrance already coated with your natural lubricant. Diluc grunted softly against you as his fingers touched your sensitive nerve. You were already squirming underneath him, begging him to penetrate you with his fingers. Your lover pulls back, a charming smile on his lips as he watches your face. He finally stops torturing you, slowly burying his middle finger inside you. It was soft and smooth to the touch, and Diluc couldn't help but tremble as he thinks about what it will be like when he enters you. He began a slow back and forth motion, seeking out the places that made you moan his name. As soon as he felt you trembling under his touch, he knew he had found your G-spot. Gradually, he added a finger with the first and then a third, opening you up enough for him. You couldn't take it anymore, your legs were shaking, you needed to feel him inside you, against you. You wanted to kiss him while he made you his, you wanted to be one with him. An unknown warmth was rising in your lower abdomen, forcing your hands to come and clasp around your lover's arms. Diluc could feel it, too, and he sped up his hand movements to bring you the release your body so eagerly craved. He leaned into you, joining his lips to yours, as you came on his fingers that continued their languid back and forth until you calmed down.

His eyes were fixed on you as you caught your breath. Diluc slowly withdrew his fingers from you before standing up to look for something in his coat pocket.

"Diluc?" - When he found it, he quickly returned to you to show you what he held in his hand. A condom. - "Oh… So you had planned this?" - You say with a little tease. You suspected that no, it wasn't Diluc's style, but nevertheless, it caused an indecent blush on his cheeks.

"It wasn't me, it was that weasel Kaeya who slipped it into my pocket when I passed him at the cemetery. By the time I realized it, he was already away from me, yelling at me that it was a special gift…" - You laughed at Diluc's embarrassed expression. You knew he was probably inwardly calling his brother every name he knew.

"That's a pretty good gift idea." - You whispered to him as your hands grasped his face and gently brought it to your lips. Diluc relented, panting into your kiss. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, hastily opening the condom to slide it down his member. Diluc came back to you, grabbing your thigh and placing it in the crook of his arm. You could feel him positioning himself at your entrance, barely entering before he leaned into you, his lips brushing against yours.

"Tell me if this hurts…" - He whispered to you as he began to sink in. He was tall, and much wider than you could accommodate inside you. Your nails dug into his shoulders as a sharp pain washed over you as Diluc penetrated you. His face was covered in sweat, his expression frozen. You were so tight around him that he couldn't stop soft grunts of pleasure from coming out of his throat each time he pushed a little deeper into you. Your first orgasm made the penetration easier and less painful than you had anticipated, and as soon as Diluc reached the bottom, he dropped onto you, panting heavily as his body shook with pleasure. "Finally… You're finally mine… I've wanted you for so long, y/n." - His words made you clench around him, causing him to moan with pleasure once again. Diluc straightened up on his forearm so he could place languid kisses on your lips. Your legs wrapped around his hips as your hands gripped his hair and smoothed his sweaty back. Diluc's hips began to move of their own accord, slowly penetrating you as his lips continued their sensual dance with you. Having him inside you was like a dream come true. He was so well designed for you, filling you perfectly. His sex was divinely touching that spot deep inside you that made you moan with pleasure every time he rocked his hips. You and Diluc continued to kiss for a long time, his languid movements continuing to make you see the stars. Gradually, his undulations began to accelerate, becoming harder as he did so. His hips slammed against you, making the sounds of your lovemaking echo through the room. Diluc pulled away from your lips, gritting his teeth to keep from moaning openly. His eyes remained focused on the expressions of well-being you were making, as you moaned with happiness. He never thought he would hear you scream his name with such ardor and passion. His hands came to plant themselves in the skin of your hips as he straightened up to better penetrate you. This new angle was perfect, allowing Diluc to take his entire member inside you. His strokes became harder and faster. He could feel your walls closing in around him as you moved closer to release. Feeling himself close to the edge, Diluc couldn't hold his voice any longer, moaning praise and your name over and over until your orgasm trapped him in a vice of pure pleasure. Diluc continued to pound you until he himself reached his end.

He collapsed gently onto you, his hips continuing to make small circular movements. His lips sought yours, begging for your attention. Your hands on his cheeks, you pulled him to you, eager for his lips. Your kiss was delicate, slower and savory. Now that you had claimed each other, you could live in the moment. Diluc stopped moving, but he didn't separate himself from you. He was still hard inside you, and you wondered if this was something common to all men. Finally, he pulled his lips away, looking at you with his red eyes. His forehead pressed against yours.

"You are my greatest gift…" - He whispered to you, moved.

"I love you Diluc. Happy birthday." - You answered him, just as moved as he was. He kissed you again in response, his hips slowly moving back and forth.

His birthday had taken on a more savory flavor.

You were the most precious gift he had ever received.

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narratingvoice · 1 month

Text

My sincerest apologies for the radio silence from this blog recently. I know, it's very out of character for me. The thing is, I've been in a bit of a pickle over the past few months. The fiscal year for 2023 didn't end nearly as profitably as I projected, not even with the hype and celebration surrounding

THE TENTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE STANLEY PARABLE (2013)!

Server maintenance isn't free, you know, and neither are infinite holes. And with Unity changing its pricing structure on top of it, well, I really needed to put the old noggin to work finding a way to squeeze every last dime out of my fans provide new and valuable pieces of entertainment that will be worth your money. And that's why I'm thrilled to announce my partnership with the fine folks at I Am 8bit to bring you: The Stanley Parable: Ultra Deluxe: Collector's Edition!

It's true! Yes, I know I did a fake announcement for something similar last year, but this one is for real! A physical product that you can purchase and have delivered to your home, and play on your Nintendo Switch or Playstation 5. And this package involves absolutely no changes to the game itself, which really takes a load off my back. Since I have no presence in the physical world, I have to trust that my collaborators will deliver the finest quality items. And trust them I do. Shall we take a look at all the wonderful bonuses you'll receive?

Stickers!

Just like the ones I slapped onto Stanley's bucket, now you too can slap these stickers on your own bucket. Or anything else that currently lacks stickers on it. You will not receive a bucket to stick them on. We floated that idea, but Mr. 8bit told me he'd rather not have to lug dozens of buckets down to the post office every day. You'd look like a right idiot doing that, I agree. So get your own bucket and enjoy the thrill of sticking!

Oh, and do be aware that whatever object you affix the "Property of Stanley" sticker to, does legally become Stanley's property, and he will demand you send it to him.

More surprises under the cut!

An instructional manual!

"But Narrator," I hear you saying, "didn't you just say you're not giving me a bucket? What do I need this for?" First of all, do not interrupt me when I'm giving a presentation. Second of all, this manual is for the bucket that's in the game. I've noticed many players do not seem to know how to operate the bucket, and treat it like it's a person rather than an inanimate container. With this instructional manual, I will give you a comprehensive guide as to what a bucket can do (such as: prevent water from spilling all over your trousers) and what it cannot do (such as: love you back). I have had some harrowing experiences in the field of instructional manual writing, but I think this one is some of my finest work yet.

A figurine!

Yes, our most requested piece of merchandise is finally here! The OFFICIAL Stanley Parable Ultra Deluxe Stanigurine stands 5 inches tall and is made of durable PVC. And as with the virtual Figustans, that's all there is to it. There's no articulation or any type of toy action. You don't get anything but the feeling of deep satisfaction at owning this collectible. The package only comes with one, so why not buy six copies if you really want to recreate the game in your home?

But wait, that's not all!

If you are an absolute Stanley Parable fanatic, you'll want to supplement your Collector's Edition with even more plastic tat commemorating your favourite game. And you definitely want to support me as much as possible, right? So you can also buy:

The button that says the name of the person playing the game!

For just $10, you too can have a button that says your name, presuming your name is Jim. The button will only say the name Jim and will never say any other name, no matter how often you press it. I found that a lot of players really got into the immersive experience of being Jim, so I decided to keep it that way instead of programming it to say a whole lot of names. Sorry, but there are too many different names in the world. You're Jim and you'll like it.

Vinyl albums!

When you buy the Collector's Edition, you'll get a free code to download the Official Soundtrack in MP3 format. But what if you don't like MP3? What if you're a bit more old-fashioned in your audiophile taste? Well, I've got you covered! With this 2-record set, you can listen to all the office ambience on your gramophone or turntable. Why, you could even DJ a set with it! If you do, please send me your mixtape and I'll give it an honest review. My music taste is impeccable.

An instructional audio cassette!

Yes, this is just a cassette telling you how to install and run a copy machine. Listen, I took some odd voiceover jobs here and there to pay the bills. And I figured, you lot are so ravenous to hear my voice that you'd even pay good money to hear me deliver some boring instructions. At least, that's the impression I get from the more saucy side of the fandom. So that's what you get. Do I do anything funny? You'll have to buy it and find out!

Hold on, Stanley is trying to tell me something. What do you mean, nobody has a cassette player any more? Why wouldn't they? It's the perfect compact audio format! It's got two sides, which is more than you can say for a CD, and it's a lot more portable than vinyl. Well I'm not shipping out cassette players. You can take it or leave it. No refunds.

#the stanley parable #tsp #ask blog #original #gotta be on that grind tbh #((im genuinely extremely excited about this))

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toomuchracket · 3 months

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girly is home sick one day before they’re together and he just keeps like making a point to walk past her desk waiting for her to come in, when one of her work besties clocks it and goes. oh she called in sick today. to which 1- he tries to back peddle being like “i was just on a stroll of the office stretching my legs, not looking for anyone” (not fooling anyone either). and 2 stops for way too many sick person supplies on the way home and brings her a little care package with like meds, sweets and soup or something.

i'm seeing this as being like at the point where you're fairly good friends but still trying to remain cool in front of each other lmao. you weren't getting the train in together this morning anyway because matty had breakfast radio press to do in central london already, so when you don't show up in the office at your usual time he's a little bit concerned - whatever, though, maybe a train's delayed, or you had an appointment, or some other trivial thing he doesn't know about. an hour passes, he wanders past your desk again, and you're still not there. same again forty-five minutes later, so he texts to ask if you're alright. there's no reply - maybe you're on the train? but no, as evidenced when he walks past your desk half an hour after the last time he did and the radio promotion girl at the next desk down is like "yo, matty, she's not here"; he's scrambling to sound nonchalant like "who's not here", and the girl smirks like "the person whose desk you've been walking back and forth to the whole morning", and he's like "have i? i've just been having a wander. knee keeps seizing. gotta keep it moving and all!", and the girl is like "uh huh. well, anyway, i answered her phone call earlier to say she wouldn't be in, and she sounded awful, bless her. she thinks it's sinusitis. doesn't know when she'll be back". matty's internally both distraught at the concept of not seeing you and extremely worried, and he's like "oh, that's terrible. should we send flowers?", and the girl is like "i mean... she's only been off less than a day", and he's like "yeah ok good point. well, thanks" and trudges back to his office quite glumly. he perks up a bit on his lunch break, though - nipping into the tesco express to buy cigs, he has the genius idea of getting you a little care package and dropping it off to you on his way home, so he grabs some chicken soup, and cold and flu meds, and nice tea, and honey, and chocolate, and a cute little bunch of tulips (and has to run back in to buy a gift bag lol). it takes you ages to answer the intercom and buzz him up when he rings the doorbell to your flat that evening, but you open the door so quickly matty suspects you were waiting by it for him, and he kinda loves that. you don't look well, your face sadder and more wan than usual, but he thinks you're adorable, all messy-haired and sleepy and cosy in your massive hoodie; your face lights up when you see him, and then goes all 🥺 when he hands you the little care package. you're like "thank you. this is really sweet, you didn't have to. but i appreciate it", and matty's like "just wanted to see how you were. missed you today" - you smile shyly like "yeah, i saw you texted, but my headache was too bad to look at my phone and reply. missed you too. was looking forward to hearing about the radio show at work today", and matty's like "it was good. you think you'll be back in a couple of days? we can listen to it together on the drive in". you smile and say "hopefully. m'feeling better after seeing you, so maybe if i keep thinking about you i'll be cured by then", and matty can do nothing but giggle like a lovesick teenage girl; he's like "darling i think the meds you've had are making you loopy", and you're like "nah, i'm lucid" and wink, and he teases like "well maybe you're more ill than we thought. i'd better go home and let you recuperate". but that's so difficult for him when you sigh and say "shame. but yeah, go and have your tea. and if you're not busy... call me later? talking to you is the most exciting thing that's happened to me all day", and matty's like "omg of course yeah i'll call you in a couple of hours. take it easy, darling. i'll see you soon", and he SKIPS to his car after you say goodbye and blow him a kiss. cute <3

#mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #d word matty

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1rsoldiersince2012 · 3 months

Text

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Words: 3512 (chapter 47)

actually just got the best idea of posting next chapter on valentines day for all the singles here (myself including) ♥

also - minors do not interact !

47. All 'thanks' to the Devil

"So, what has Matt Murdock planned for the upcoming weekend?" You ask, leaving the office at almost 7 PM. The cases had you worked up until the late evening, with a shit ton of paperwork to sign and send back. The last few weeks had been hectic with courtrooms, new clients and trying not to go out of business with almost no income. All because Matt didn't want to take money from you. Or from his actual clients. You've tried to talking some sense into him, even getting Karen to help change Matt's mind, but he refused to listen. Eventually you just gave up and tried to ignore all the food that clients began bringing to the office, instead of paying with actual money. The food was good, yet it doesn't pay the electricity bills.

Matt lazily walks down the stairs after you, one hand holding onto the railling, the other carelessly swinging his briefcase. "What's happening this weekend?"

"You really don't know?" You stop on the last step and turn back to look at him, perplexed.

"No, what is it?" He stops one step above you, towering like a statue in the late evening.

"It's Thanksgiving." You lean on the railing with your elbow, just an arm's reach from Matt.

"Oh, that." He laughs, "I don't really celebrate."

"You're just weird, and not in a good way, you know that?" You huff, still looking at him from below. If Matt could see, he'd be met with your lovely doe eyes.

"Awh, you broke my heart, y/n." He teases. Those few weeks after sending Fisk to prison were almost like honeymoon - fewer criminals and more time to spend with you. Yes, he has been sneaking out at night when he heard screaming and fighting, but he always returned to you sleeping soundly in his bed. It was hard to keep up with this, the guilt Matt felt when he kissed your forehead and left the warmth of your body to put on the suit has been collecting in his heart the same way dirt collects in the bottom of a river.

"Not the first time, if I remember correctly." You say, cheekily placing your hand on his waist, just above the end of his shirt. Matt feels his breath hitch somewhere in his lungs, but the warmth from your touch calms him. "Listen, Murdock, I thought that if you're not busy, maybe you'd like to go to my parents' house for the weekend?" Your fingers hook on the loops of his trousers and tug him forward.

"To your parents' house?" There's a note of fear and doubt in his voice. He's never been away from Hell's Kitchen for long and the thought of leaving people in need alone was almost crushing.

"Yeah, you know, to celebrate Thanksgiving."

"Really? I thought you were finally going to introduce me to your parents." He smirks, hand resting on your shoulder for support. You both agreed to keep whatever was going on between you two a secret for as long as possible. Not only because of the way Karen was constantly sending Matt heart eyes, but you also didn't want to make things in the office weird, especially after Matt and Foggy called truce. And, secret romance was as exciting as winning a case. Meeting your parents would mean a new step in your relationship; one he was willing to take.

"Well that comes with the whole dinner for free package." You lean forward on your tippity toes, "and maybe breakfast, if you're good."

"I'm always good." His smile becomes even bigger when you tug at his pants again.

"One might argue." You laugh, still keeping your hand firmly on Matt's body, feeling the muscles move when he leans forward to kiss your forehead.

"Well, if one might argue, then one might decline the delicious dinner offer." He says after pulling back and feeling your hand drop. Like an animal close to catching his prey, he comes around in half-circle to stand next to you.

"Don't be a dick now." Your hands find his body again, slowly pulling him closer to you by his tie. "Let's leave this place and just forget everything. At least for a day." His face is just inches away from yours and you whisper, "I'll make sure my dad doesn't kick your ass."

"Oh, that's awesome." He huffs before you place a chaste kiss on his lips. "I might think about it." He murmurs before your lips connect again, this time more demanding. "I think I need a little more convincing." Matt smiles, playing the game with you, before you roll your eyes and kiss him again, tongue teasingly touching his lips and you pull away before he could breach his way into your mouth.

"I'll leave you to make the decision, handsome." You pull away, leaving him needy and in thought. "You better hurry, I might just leave you here."

As Matt closes the doors of your car, you lock them from the inside, much to his surprise and rising suspicion. Your hand rests on his body again, slowly getting under his jacket through the coat and stops on his chest, feeling the heartbeat speeding up. "What are you doing?" Matt asks, feeling cornered in the passenger seat.

"So, what is your answer?" You ask near his face, breathing hot air on his cheek. The air in the car was cold and the contrast made him shiver.

"You really didn't give me much time to think." He smiles, hearing you pout.

"I need to know tonight, my dad is going to the grocery store tomorrow." You kiss his cheek, dragging your lips along his jawline and stop when you reach his chin.

"That's very little time for such tough decision, y/n." He can't hide his smile when you squeeze his shoulder under all the layers and kiss him on the lips.

"I can be very convincing." Your hand drops from his shoulder and slides all the way down until you reach his crotch and can't believe that he's already half hard. "Very, very convincing." You rub your palm on him, intently watching him suck a breath through his teeth.

"Y/n, we shouldn't be doing this here." He mumbles before your tongue makes its way into his mouth, demanding and hungry. He gives into it, tasting your lips again like for the first time, finding it hard to focus on one thing with the way your hands are on him, pulling at his belt, trying to touch him as roughly as possible.

"We're alone, relax." You pull away, breathless from the kiss and using both hands, although, quite uncomfortably in this position, unzip his pants and Matt lifts up his butt so you could push his underwear almost to his mid-thighs. Your hand immediately wraps around his hard cock. He gasps instantly, feeling both relaxed and tense. "I could watch you all day." You whisper sultry in his ear and almost hypnotized look at the way your hand comes up and down, and the sight makes your stomach flip. Matt can't say a word, mainly because there isn't a single coherent thought in his head, just your hot breath fanning against his cheek, and your hand tightly stroking his dick. You kiss the corner of his lips before your hand leaves his erection and the instant coldness makes him shiver. He almost protests, wanting you to finish what you've started but then he hears shifting on the driver's seat and slight huffing as you struggle to make yourself comfortable with those suit pants. "What are you doing?" He asks again, the same question, yet different meaning, expectations high for a different answer.

You say nothing, finally comfortable on the seat, kneeling on the left side of Matt, heels pushed against the door. You lean forward, taking Matt's cock in your hand again and licking the tip. He almost cums on the spot, hands desperately searching for something to grasp and fingers finally tighten on the door handle. "Y/n..." he mouths without sound, eyebrows tightly knitted together, his left hand slipping into your hair and subconsciously pulling at the roots. You roll your eyes and refrain from making a sound at his action and start sucking him. At first, slowly, setting a pace and he pulls your head up for a moment. The hand holding the door handle comes off and he swiftly collects all your hair and one place, making a ponytail. You appreciate the action and continue your previously interrupted activity, hot tongue moving along his veiny dick faster and faster.

The gear shift is uncomfortably pressing into your breast, creating a strange friction; a grunt leaves Matt's mouth, so filthy and so desperate, his hands starts unconsciously pressing your head further on his dick, but he's not harsh. He doesn't want you to do things that you're not comfortable with. He's not one of those guys who needs to hear women choke and gag on their dicks, what difference it would make, if your hand, playing with his balls and the base of his cock that your mouth doesn't reach, does a perfect job? Of course, if you did, he wouldn't mind, but he certainly wasn't going to make you do it.

Lost in the rhythm of your mouth, he felt himself getting closer. Light shaking in his hips told you that he didn't have long left and you pull away, licking your lips. Breath knocked out of your lungs, breasts aching with desire and need to be touched, panties most certainly wet and knees hurting - you were a mess, just as Matt was a complete mess under your touch. You glance at his lower lip, tightly trapped behind his teeth, almost to the point of being bloody and flushed face and almost stop your hand from touching yourself. Awarding him with a kiss, you push your tongue into his mouth, wanting him to taste himself on your tongue, to feel the saltiness of the precum and the absolute desire that was possessing you. Matt groans, hands not letting go of your hair and your cheek; he inhales the air of the car, everything making him even hornier, if that was possible. He knew that your wet panties were sticking to your tight suit pants and if you wiggled your butt enough, you'd most certainly would've created some friction. He felt that in the air, you wanted to ease the tension, wanted to slip your fingers and rub your clit, yet you were almost punishing yourself with the way you solely focused on pleasuring him. He knew that even if his hand slightly brushed over your breast, you'd come undone.

"So," you say, hand slowly going up and down on his dick, calmer than before, but enough to drive him over the edge. "You've thought enough now?" You kiss his cheek, over and over again, purposely avoiding his lips, waiting for his answer. Matt laughs but doesn't say a word. "Are you coming, Matt?" You ask, holding him tigher and he sucks a breath in, "are you coming over, honey?" You ask again, your head against his, Matt's fingers tightening around your hair and you suddenly pick up a harsh, almost punishing rhythm and try to get him off quicker, mouth watering at the sight of your hand on his big veiny dick.

Matt grunts again, this time it comes out so dirty that you roll your eyes to the back of your head but manage to keep him on the edge, so close, but not close enough. "Are you coming?" You repeat your question, this time louder, still keeping the pace, he's almost there, you know from the way he takes short breaths and furrows his eyebrows. "Answer me." You demand into his ear and he finally nods, desperate for this to end. "I want you to say it. Say it Matt, are you coming?" He knows that this question is laced with double meaning, one obvious for this current situation down his pants, and the other - the unanswered question about the dinner.

It takes approximately 5 seconds for him to finally answer, the dominance of your actions and that tone - he was a gone man. "I am, I'm coming-" words get stuck in his throat when you, finally satisfied with the answer, wrap your mouth around his cock again, taking it all in and swallowing. He lets out a guttural moan, hips rising to meet your mouth, head thrown back and chest rising with every breath that he takes.

A moment later, you finally rise up and breathe heavily, a smile dancing on your lips. "Told you that I am good at convincing."

He feels weak, tired and satisfied at the same time. Matt's hand, stretched out, looks for your face and when he finally hooks his fingers behind your ear, you are pulled into a breathless, dirty kiss. He tastes himself again, but this makes the kiss even hotter. "Too good." He whispers when you pull away, knees already tired from this position and you slide down your seat, making yourself comfortable.

The windows of your car are fogged from the inside, hot air inside contrasting with the cold wind outside. Even if someone was passing, surely nothing could've been seen. Matt shivers, remembering that he's exposed at the moment, but doesn't hurry to pull his pants up. You open your eyes that you closed just a second ago and when his hand comes to squeeze your thigh, almost touching your core. You wanted him now - either his dick or his fingers inside you, but much to your own surprise, you push his hand away. "Don't get too greedy." He smiles, and reluctantly, pulls his hand away, finally pulling his pants up. You turn on the ignition, waiting for the windows to cool, "you'll get your piece when the time comes."

"Oh, is that soon?"

"Very soon." You say and touch his cheek with the back of hand before driving out of the parking lot.

*** Apparently 'soon' wasn't the next day. And not the day of your trip to your parents house. Matt felt slightly betrayed by the way you were giving him blue balls for two days in a row. But something told him that just the night after you dropped him off at his place and returned to yours, you definitely stuck your fingers inside of you and came, probably more than once to the fresh memory of him coming in your mouth in the front seat of your car. Just the thought of it made him feel a tingle down there and he shifted in his seat.

"Is it still cold?" You ask, noticing the slight movement in the corner of your eye and shift gears, "I'll have my dad to look over it, I swear something's wrong with the heating." He was right. You did masturbate when you returned to your apartment, almost immediately when you dropped all your clothes on the bathroom floor and turned on the shower. He was right, you came twice.

"No." Matt answers immediately, but then thinks again. "Maybe a bit."

"I knew I wasn't imagining it." You smile briefly when you hear one of your favorite bands on the radio. Muse. Their music had you in a chokehold throughout your entire highschool and it wasn't better when Twilight came out. Although it was a bit crappy movie, the scene with Muse's song made you close your eyes at the imperfection.

"So..." Matt turns to face you, the seatbelt digging into his shoulder, "what's your dad like?"

"Are you scared?" You smirk, adjusting your hands on the wheel.

"Should I be?"

"A bit, yeah." You sigh, "everyone keeps saying that I'm a lot like him."

"So we're going to get along just fine."

You can't help but laugh, glad to stop by the red light. "Your humor is admirable, Matt, truly."

"What? Is he really that bad?" Matt smiles, slightly confused.

"If you're a man, yes. Especially if you're my man." You tap your fingers on the wheel, letting the words sink in. My man. Matt felt his heart flutter. "My ex has him wrapped around his finger. I curse the day I agreed to go to prom with him."

"Wow, then I'm up against a tough opponent."

"Yeah, believe me. What makes it worse is that Robert's a nice guy. Dealing with exes is not easy, right?" You briefly turn to look at him when the light changes to green. "What about you? Any woman I should worry about?"

"Uh... It's all in the past, so no." But Matt's words are not reassuring. Elektra. He hasn't heard from her since college, when she almost screwed up his graduation. But right now, he didn't miss Elektra at all. In fact, he didn't even think about her, when he had you, sitting by his side all the time, full of joy and life. So beautiful like a gust of wind on a hot summer's day.

"Hm." You only hum, not really feeling the need to discuss past lovers. What truly matters is the present. He's glad you're not asking questions and you fall into a comfortable silence.

***

Forty minutes later, you're already parking your car in front of your parents' house. The late November wasn't particularly grateful with daylight, and by the time you drove here, it was almost dusk. You get out of the car, inhaling full lungs of fresh air. Home. The house was still the same as you remembered, no different from the other brick houses on the street, but still so dear to you.

"Can I carry something?" Matt's soft tone brings you back from your thoughts, and you turn around to look at him.

"Only the flowers." Of course, Matt insisted on buying your mother a nice bouquet of flowers on their first meeting. A true gentleman. You grab the apple pie you baked before leaving and with one final look at the last light of the sunset, you place your hand on Matt's elbow. His grip on the flowers tightens, the swing of his white cane is quick and almost enthralling.

"Should we knock?" He asks, when his cane hits a hard wall of the house.

"I'll do it." You knock gently, but loud enough for people inside to hear. Matt hears how the TV gets muted and a shuffling of slippers comes closer and closer to them. It felt like it was just the two of you against the whole world. Both holding onto each other tightly, afraid that if someone comes in between, you both might just fall apart like ancient heroes and their lovers, destined only to suffer. The doors open just a second later-

"I can't believe my eyes." A rough voice reaches Matt's ears, and his best guess is that your dad was looking at you as if he saw a ghost. "Y/n?" He steps through the threshold, embracing you in a tight hug.

"Hi, dad." You whisper into his broad shoulder, inhaling the smell of home. He pulls away and looks at Matt in question. Your mother appears, and her smile is brighter than the whole sky. You push the pie in your dad's hands and hug her with both of your hands. The faint smell of turkey and spices reminds you of all the times you celebrated Thanksgiving with your parents... And all the times you did not.

"So glad to see my beautiful daughter, just look how she glows, look Harold, isn't she just like an angel?" You mother's fingers gently pinch your cheeks, just like they did when you were little. Her eyes dart to Matt, standing just a bit behind you, small smile on his lips. "And who's this handsome?"

"Mom, dad, this is Matt. We wanted to make a surprise, so that's why I didn't tell you about us coming here." You say, and Matt quickly understands that you lied before when you said that your dad needs to know about this before his trip to the supermarked. Clever little fox you were.

Matt extends his hand, quickly folding the white cane and pushing it under his elbow. Your father is the first one to shake hands with him, one firm grip meeting another. Harold's eyebrows shoot up a bit, from the unexpected strength from a blind man. "I'm Harold Y/l/n."

"Matt Murdock. Nice to meet you, Sir. I've heard a lot about your work in the force." Matt smiles, and your father's hand is quickly replaced by your mother's. "Mrs Y/l/n, pleasure to meet you. Y/n said that you might like these," Matt gives your mother the flowers and she sighs, delighted, "something smells very good."

"Fantastic sense of smell! I'm Camilla, and oh, the flowers are just beautiful."

You watch their interraction, somewhere deep inside afraid that this bubble of a perfect world might collapse soon. Your mother takes the flowers and turns back, urging you to go inside. "Murdock you say? I heard a thing or two about your father. One hell of a man he was." You faintly hear your dad's voice, before every bit of happiness washes away from your body when you see him standing in the kitchen, a stupid grin on his face.

"Hello, y/n."

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