#and then had a wander down a really cute shopping street

[pinktinselmonstrosity]

made an important purchase

[fanaticsnail]

Warmth

Masterlist Here.

Word Count: 1,500

Synopsis: Sir Crocodile is out for a walk in Arabasta with his pug, and he is stopped by a curious child who desires to pet them. As you, their guardian, approaches, Sir Crocodile is intrigued by your candor.

Themes: Sir Crocodile x gn!reader, mildly suggestive themes, spice hinted but not explicit, you have a child under your care named 'Yarin', Crocodile is a secret softie, the pug has been fan-named 'Esmeralda'.

Notes: I just wanted to write for Crocodile and see where it took me today.

Wandering the streets of Arabasta, leash in hand and peering down at the small creature attached to the end, Sir Crocodile sauntered throughout the dunes. A small, gem encrusted collar circled the neck of the timid pup, its whole body jiggling and shaking with every soft patter and touch.

As the pug puppy sniffed at a round, leafy shrubbery, a small giggle followed a high-pitched shriek of delight. Bounding happily over to both Sir Crocodile and slowly sinking to their knees, a small child sat at the base of his shiney, leather boots.

“Oh my goodness, mister! Your dog is so beautiful!” the little one spoke, Sir Crocodile taken aback by the immediate approach from the child, “May I pet them? What’s their name?”

Clearing his throat, and slowly tucking his golden hook behind his back to not frighten the child, he gently nodded down in affirmation. Immediately, the young child gestured out the backs of their knuckle for the tiny pug puppy to snortle at, waiting until the beast was ready to receive a greeting touch. At the small flicker of a pink tongue catching the child’s hand, they giggle and immediately go to scratching and enthusiastically massaging the tan and brown puppy.

“Her name is Esmeralda,” Sir Crocodile spoke out slowly, his brow arched up as he marveled at the interaction, “Or ‘Ezzy’ when she is behaving herself.” The child repeated the name back to the dog, cooing and preening at them while truly enjoying the soft bristles and snuffy nose.

“Aww, Ezzy is so cute!” they cheer up at him, “My house won't let me have any dogs there. I have always wanted one, but I haven't been able to get one-.”

“-Yarin, just what do you think you're doing?”

The child stiffened, their eyes widened in shock before a smile splits up their lips.

“I'm petting Ezzy!” Yarin calls over their shoulder while smoothing their jowls and squishing their cheeks affectionately.

Sir Crocodile peers up, his dark eyes peering at the approach of a figure rapidly sauntering towards him. He took you in, noticing your fluster and exasperation on your face. Your worn clothes were disheveled, your feet dusted with the sands of Arabasta, and your eyes were swollen with fatigue as if you had not slept for days.

“Is that what you're doing, sweetheart?” you coo down at the small child, “Yarin, I need you to help me with the shopping, okay my love? Say goodbye to your new friend and little Ezzy, and I'll be right over.”

Yarin let out a soft whine before hanging their shoulders and rising to their feet.

“Thank you for letting me pet your dog, mister,” the child expressed up at Sir Crocodile, “I really like Ezzy. I hope you have a nice day.”

“That's a beautiful thing to say, Yarin. Off you go now,” you encouraged, gesturing for them to go back towards town. Waiting until they were out of sight, you turned to the eight-foot tall, hulking mass of a gentleman clad in embellishment and wealth. Your eyes met with his, your own smile mirroring the child he allowed to pet Esmeralda with an easy elevation.

“I appreciate you humoring Yarin, sir,” you indicate with a polite bow, “There is not much joy found in a child’s life these days, and animals are truly a delight.”

“That they are,” he responded in kind. Esmeralda resumed snorting at the leaves by his feet before sitting on the yellowed sand. “Are you the child’s guardian?”

“That I am,” you again nod to him. His interest was piqued now, watching how you easily expressed your formalities with a learned politeness.

“Your landlord will not allow pets where you're staying?” he asked curiously, stilling his golden hook behind his back to shield it away from you. You narrow your eyes and quirk your head in response, attempting to read his intentions behind his question.

“No, sir. My landlord is quite controlling of his properties, to which I partially agree with.” You respond in kind, “I cannot hang a single picture frame of my family without the approval of the lord of Arabasta.” Your smile remains on your face as you now again to him, “If you'll excuse me, I must return to Yarin and ensure the groceries are handled appropriately. May you and your darling puppy, Esmeralda, have a pleasant day, sir.”

Finally turning to return to the small child, Sir Crocodile calls out softly after you. “May you and your child have the day of warmth you have blessed mine with.”

This stops your haste, turning briefly to gift him with another soft smile in gratitude to the well wishes he expressed. In lieu of the bored grimace he constantly held on his features, he reflected that warmth back onto you with a smile of his own.

This is where the unlikely friendship began between yourself and Sir Crocodile, the lord of Arabasta, landlord of your small cottage, and your current employer. Whatever you or your child needed, Sir Crocodile was the benefactor to your desires. That small kindness from a child that was not fearful of him, who saw Esmeralda before they noticed the scar splitting his face, or the hook embedded in his sleeve, became a treasured memory in his growing infatuation with you.

Lavish gifts of scholarships and school uniforms for Yarin, a new uniform for your employment beneath him, and sporadic gifts that depicted his adoration for you became a regular occurrence. Where you saw a man who cared for his employees and their families, he saw a lengthy courtship where he had an opportunity to express his kinder side. Sir Crocodile loved you, and he was happy for his romance to remain unrequited while you raised your child alone.

You never reciprocated or demonstrated your own infatuation for him, fearing you were reading into his luxurious gifts where only friendship was found. Instead, you were gracious and accepting of the comradery and rapport you found with one another. Organizing his life, ensuring he was cared for in health, and providing him with an ear to vent his frustrations was all you could offer him. This was enough for both of you, Yarin visiting your office after school to complete their homework with Miss All-Sunday, and you sitting at your desk and scheduling Sir Crocodile’s appointments.

Whatever life you fled from was smoke and forgotten memory, the new family found in an unlikely place solidified your loyalty to the lord you served.

This was enough for the both of you.

Until it wasn't.

It didn't take much prompting to land yourself on the knee of Sir Crocodile, lips colliding in a messy oscillation of need and lust. The passionate exchange continued from his office towards his bed chambers, both of you silently thanking the care Miss All-Sunday took to watch over your child while you found yourself entangled in Crocodile’s bedsheets. Flesh to flesh, heart to heart: you were his, and he was yours in each slow movement and passionate touch throughout the evening.

Morning flooded the room at the shift of curtains, the dunes of Alabaster contrasting over the horizon as breakfast was brought to the both of you.

Neither of you discussed the shift in your relationship, although his subtle lean into you and brush of his head against yours spoke volumes more than you could admit. Love, true and rich, was in the movement of his embrace with you. Breaking the silence, you turned to him and peered up at his warm gaze.

“Did you know then that this was where I would be?” Your hands found his chest, gently raking the tufts of hair donning his broad torso. Crocodile drew down his right hand to eclipse yours. Raising your knuckles to his lips, he kept eye contact while he kissed your skin.

“No,” he confessed with a twitch in his smile, “But I did know how I felt for you in that moment.”

“How did you feel for me?” you asked carefully, your smile beginning to tug up your features and elevated the swell of infatuation in your chest.

“That your warmth would ignite my blood with your presence, filling my cold heart with hope and joy as my dog gave to your child,” he whispered, releasing your hand and cupping your cheek, “And that I needed you cared for, in any capacity. Whether we were to be friends, or lovers, I craved that for you.” He drew you up to him, gently placing his lips to your forehead and stilling his breath with your own.

You arched away from his lips to your head, motioning up to press your lips slowly against his. Whatever lust there was prior, love consumed it. Lips moving softly and soothingly against one another, you found your peace in the arms and bed of the crocodile. The only thing that broke you out of your mesmiration with one another was the sound of a puppy’s bark and a high-pitched giggle of Yarin outside the door.

“We should get up,” Crocodile whispered against your lips, traveling his deep kiss down to your neck, “And see to Yarin and Esmeralda.” You nodded in response, hastily turning your head and claiming a more intentional kiss from Sir Crocodile before you allowed yourself permission to withdraw from his side.

As you tugged your attire over your body, he admired the litter of his lust that clothed your flesh. Each kiss marring your skin in a heart-shaped bruise showcased how deeply he loved you. As you spoke with Yarin outside the door, he honed in on your voice and your inflections.

He truly didn't know what to expect back then, walking his dog himself in the square. Whatever he had desired to achieve, he acquired something far sweeter than he hoped for.

He had you.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

[dearest-nell]

a real piece of art

e.m x reader, 2.8k

summary: eddie has some time to kill, and you might just be his new favourite distration. includes: art history student!reader, meet cute, eddie's an absolute dork warnings: mentions of nudity in artwork and allusions to a young eddie who is very excited by the prospect.

a/n: this came to me as i stared blankly into the void of my coffee machine this morning. i'm incapable of proofreading as per usual. i could be convinced to do a part two

Eddie had no business being here. This was an art gallery for crying out loud! He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stepped in one, save that one unfortunate field trip in middle school where he’d been caught ogling a half naked sculpture in front of half the class. Sue him, he’d never seen a naked girl before, and he really had to give credit to the artist because he couldn’t look away. He’d been called a perv for a good year after that, and he’d never thought to visit another gallery again. 

Until now, that was. He was due for a practice and soundcheck in what he thought was only an hour, but somewhere along the line Jeff had got the time wrong, leaving Eddie stuck in Chicago with nothing but his ego to keep him company. Eddie had kicked himself for the mistake – who rehearses at 10 am anyways? There was a silent agreement that Gareth would be handling the bookings next time, where Eddie might be able to actually stay in bed until a reasonable hour. 

He’d thought to burrow down in a cafe for a little while, but the snooty businessmen and shrill giggles of the barista had sent him fleeing. The environment wasn’t conducive to good thinking anyways. He figured a little solace would do him some good, maybe give him some hard earned inspiration to turn into music for the band. So with coffee in hand, he’d taken to the streets, wandering idly as the strings of bodies moved in tandem, dodging and weaving the tracks of Tuesday morning commutes. It might have been enough for him had his jacket not been too thin for the sudden drop in temperature. Worn denim with steamed patches was hardly enough to break the piercing gusts of wind, and even his sweltering coffee in hand could not keep his hands from shaking. Looking around, Eddie felt out of luck. Cafe’s seemed too busy, and he had no real desire to start wandering shops nearby, so what was there left to do? 

$14 later, Eddie puffed a relieved sigh as the warmth of the gallery enveloped him, that trembling cold slowly dissipating from his veins until his hands no longer felt like ice. He figured he’d have taken any sanctuary, though he had been hoping maybe for a Library. At least then he could have bunkered down somewhere with a book. What did you even do at a gallery anyways?  He didn’t see much point in wandering around, scanning his eyes over paintings that seemed a million years old. He didn’t get art. Music was his art, after all. Even as he started to walk, all the pieces seemed to bleed together for him. Acrylics and oils and gouache melted into the blur of faces and places and things. Sure, they looked pretty, but Eddie couldn’t see why anyone would waste their time to sit and paint something like this, let alone stare at it for hours. 

He passed through room after room like this, brows furrowed, arms crossed as he tried to puzzle out the meaning. Music and melody had meaning, lyrics filled with the words people couldn’t seem to say any other way. The sounds of instruments were sounds of heartbeats, of head rushes and blood flow and heart aches and burning desires – paintings couldn’t do that, could they? 

Wandering into a smaller room, Eddie found himself caught as his eyes fixated on perhaps the only worthwhile piece of art he had seen all morning. There you were, perched somewhat uncomfortably on the plush leather seat in the room's centre, head resting delicately into cupped palms, your elbows propping you up into a figure he was sure was only meant for statues. You looked like one of the Greek ones, he thought, all soft and graceful curves, pretty lines and prettier expressions. There was a notebook in your lap, though Eddie couldn’t begin to make out what the blurry pen strokes might have  noted at this distance. 

You seemed so lost in thought as you stared at the piece directly before you, eyebrows knitted in concentration to match the deep set focus of your eyes, and Eddie, despite himself, was lost in you. 

It was a horrifying notion to realise he was back in this same situation again, entirely different and yet all the same. Here he was, stuck motionless, staring helplessly at something beautiful, something entirely foreign to him. Naked breasts had been enough to melt a twelve year old Eddie’s mind, but this Eddie, now grown, was entirely transfixed for another reason. Never in his life had just looking at a person knocked the wind right out of him. This was beyond attraction, he thought. Beyond a pretty face and a beautiful body and all those hormones that made people spin. You were all of that, and so much more. 

How he knew that seemed entirely out of reach, but the thought settled in him all the same. 

Eddie watched the subtle angle of your head, the way you tried to see from a different perspective, before fixating your attention on your notebook once more, scribbling away furiously at stained parchment. 

All better judgement seemed to leave him as he approached, slow and long strides to avoid the echoes of boots against floorboards in such vastness. His body took residence beside the lounge, standing tall at the opposite end, arms crossing as he tried to see what it was that had you so fascinated. 

Cheese. Bread. Nuts of some kind. He tilted his head as you had, browns furrowing in confusion. Still cheese. Still bread. Still nuts of some kind. He let out a defeated huff. 

“Are you okay?” 

He hadn’t expected you to speak, let alone notice him, but when he turned his chin towards you he was met with a curious expression. You were even more captivating up close, as it turned out, so much so that he could not decide what captured his attention more. The soft bags of sleepless nights hung low under your eyes, your cheeks flushed with a dusty sort of colour that only the artifice of candies could achieve, your cheeks indented so delicately with the lines of so many smiles that had come before. 

It was embarrassing in his eyes that he was still gawking, and even more embarrassing that you had to ask your question a second time. 

“Oh– yeah. I mean… yeah. Sorry. Was I being too loud?” 

The soft shake of your head was accompanied by an even gentler smile, and Eddie felt his shoulders ease a fraction away from his ears. 

“No, not at all. Just seemed like a forlorn sigh.” You pointed out, uncrossing your legs to lower your feet to the ground. 

Eddie’s brow raised, his tone lilting with amusement. “Forlorn, huh?” 

You shrugged, though Eddie could see the slow creep of embarrassment flush your cheeks, your hand lifting to rub at it absentmindedly. “Yeah, I guess. It was just the first word that came to mind.” 

Eddie was smiling before he knew what he was doing. “I like it. Forlorn. Like it’s from a poem, or something.” 

A soft hum of contemplation fell from your lips, your pen scratching nervously in the margins of your notebook, patterns of stars falling into the sea of words below. “Could be. Poets are meant to be all crestfallen and stuff.” 

He actually laughed at that, something sounding like a punched out breath leaving him, his eyes crinkling delightfully at the corners. 

“Are you a writer or somethin’? You don’t just hear people saying words like that every day. Gotta know them by trade.” 

You shrugged again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the curve of your ear. “Student, actually. Art history, so I guess fancy words are part of the curriculum.” 

It seemed strange to be meeting you like this, like someone high above had heard his complaints only to send him an angel to set him straight. An art student; maybe you could teach him a thing or two. 

Eddie gestured to the seat beside you, flat palm dampened nervously at the prospect of speaking to someone so pretty, so much more learned than him. You nodded shyly, not bothering to adjust as he took up the empty space beside you, his elbows propping on his knees for comfort. 

“Can I ask you something, then? Since all of this is your thing.” 

You closed your notebook, folding your legs beneath you once more as you fixated your attention on him – something Eddie was sure no man could ever tire of wanting from you. “Sure”. 

“Why are you staring at this one? Out of all the pictures in this place, what makes cheese so interesting.” 

The astonished little chuckle that left you was something sacred, golden and warm and louder than he had anticipated. You could put that laugh to song. Maybe he would. 

“It’s not the cheese,’ You clarify, your smile never shifting from your lips, “though it looks great, doesn’t it? Looks real.” 

Eddie took in the piece once more, letting his eyes trace over the food to take in the finer details. It was true; it looked real. He could see the shadows, the cracks in the bread, the crumbs that had fallen onto the platter below. He realised it mustn’t have been easy to make something so real. It felt like a snapshot. 

Oh fuck, do I get art now? 

“Yeah, it looks real. Kinda crazy real, actually. How do they get it looking like that?” 

“It’s different for different people. This one’s by Peeters, and no one’s sure where she learned to paint, but she was one of the only female professionally working artists of the 17th century. She was a big deal.” 

Eddie tilted his head towards you. “Is that why you like her, then?” 

You shook your head, scrunching up your nose. “It’s very impressive, but it’s not the only reason. I was looking for her signature.” 

Eddie did not need to clarify himself, the confusion that etched across his face spoke volumes, leaving you to laugh again in amusement. 

“A lot of artists leave signatures so you know a work is theirs. Sometimes it’s their name, or an item, or a seal – sometimes it’s on the back, sometimes it’s made to look part of the picture. She writes her name down at the bottom, see?” 

You leaned in a little closer to Eddie, lining up his gaze with your own so you could point out a flourish of cursive in the corner. Drawn into you, Eddie could not help but lean into your orbit, his eyes following the line of your finger to its destination. “Oh yeah. Musician’s do that too, y’know. Chuck in a riff or a line or something to leave their mark.” 

“Seems like it’s an artist's thing. I think it’s pretty cool.” 

Eddie liked the insinuation that musicians were artists. He’d met too many people in his life who’d thought otherwise, who did not understand the value of art. He supposed he was one of them, though. He’d been ratting on the art around him only five minutes earlier. 

“You like music, then?” He asked, eagerness in his voice betraying the cool persona he was hoping to achieve. 

“I love music.” You confirmed, hands busily occupying themselves by twiddling the pen in your lap once more. “I wish they played music here. Imagine looking at all the art and listening to songs that fit. There’s these big dramatic paintings a few rooms over that are just begging for a rock instrumental to accompany it, and the cheese…” you trailed off, seemingly embarrassed to have been so caught up in the idea. “I feel like I'd be lost in it forever.” 

Eddie closed his eyes for the briefest moment, letting the vision of your little dream settle in his mind. He could get around that, art and music together – two worlds colliding. It seemed all the more enticing to think you would be there too, humming away as you watched the paintings and he watched you. 

“I think it sounds brilliant. You tell me when you’re building this fancy gallery and I’ll be the first one there.” 

He might have died at the sincerity with which you smiled. No heart was meant to withstand such adoration brimming inside of it. 

“You know, I–” you paused, garnering some courage to find the words, “the signature I was talking about before? That wasn’t the one that had me looking at this. The cheese, I mean.” You gestured vaguely towards the canvas before you, though Eddie was unwilling to peel his eyes from the work of art before him. 

“Yeah? What had you looking, then?” He couldn’t believe that for the first time in his life, Eddie actually cared about what was splayed across a canvas. Whatever it was that intrigued you so, he was aching to know. 

“She painted herself in the reflection of the lid on the jug. Up the top… see?” Adjusting the items in your lap, you slowly rose to your feet, extending a hand out to drag the boy up with you. Eddie faltered only for a second, contemplating whether this one single touch would make or break him. Would the sweat of his palms disgust you? He was so nervous to talk to you, after all, to take this chance. He swallowed, slipping calloused fingers into your own until he felt unperturbed digits grasp his own, your expression unphased as you guided him towards the wall. 

You both paused a foot short, your free hand pointing upwards to guide his flittering eyes. Lo and behold, painted so delicately into the reflection of the jug, was a face staring back at him. His hand squeezed your own with untapped excitement, and Eddie’s mouth dropped. 

“Holy shit, that’s so cool. That’s really her?” 

You nodded, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah, that’s Clara.”

It was silent for a beat, the two of you soaking in the image before you; the woman in and amongst all the pieces of a life lived so long ago. It was a moment in history, much like the one the two of you were caught in now. 

Eddie marvelled helplessly, unsure what seemed to amaze him more; all these details that he never would have noticed if it weren’t for you, or the fact that you, a complete stranger, were still holding on to his hand as if it were something normal. For the briefest moment, he wondered if this could be normal, you and him. 

“I think this is the ultimate signature in a painting, just writing yourself into the story like that. It’s such a small thing, but… it changes everything, doesn’t it?” You broke the silence, voice a little dream like as you spoke. Eddie could only nod dumbly, a contented smile spreading across his face. 

“You wouldn’t wanna show me more of these, would you?” 

Eddie couldn’t stand the idea that you might walk away after this, back to your own life that until now had been so far away from his own. He wanted to walk the whole gallery with you, your hand in his, your voice whispering sweet nothings about the history and details of the world around you. 

The sheer excitement that crossed your features was an expression unmatched, never before seen. It was like he had asked you the one question you had been waiting for your whole life. Maybe you had been. Maybe no one had ever taken interest in the thing you seemed to love so much. He knew what that was like after all, his music had not been everyone's cup of tea. 

Maybe it could be yours.

“Oh, I– really?” 

“Only if you want to. I spent my whole time here trying to work out what made this stuff so special; I think you might be the one to show me. I’ll buy you coffee as thanks, if you like. I mean… I’d like to take you out for coffee.” 

He felt like a bumbling idiot, pausing to breathe an embarrassed chuckle. “You can also tell me to get lost at any time.” 

Eddie wasn’t sure if you noticed the way your hand seemed to tighten in his own, the movement causing his heart to beat in unsteady rhythms. It was something so small that seemed to shift his entire world – your hand holding his. 

Your head tilted with a smile. “You never said your name, y’know.” 

“Eddie.” He breathed out a little too fast. He’d have to kick himself later for it, because right now, he was too fixated on the way his foolishness seemed to make you smile all the wider. 

“Eddie.” You echoed, turning your body to face his own. “I’d love a coffee.” 

It took everything in him not to fist bump in triumph, his body aching to wriggle with the excitement that was slowly taking over muscle by muscle. How the hell had his morning turned out this good? 

“Sounds like a date, then.”

(images not mine)

“Still Life with Cheeses, Almonds and Pretzels” by Clara Peeters (ca. 1615)

[rose-petles]

Boba n' backshots -> P.JS [ 어치 ]

Warning -> sex [ Mostly backshots ], sex with out protection, Don't be a dud- wrap your bud.

Paring -> BF!Jay x gf!fem!Reader.

Synopsis -> Having boba tea by itself is nice, but boba n' backshots are even better..

Jay held is girlfriend’s, your, hand as you guys walled through the city of Seoul, Korea. You guys were wandering the streets, since you wanted to go to the capital.

You guys wore matching outfits with a slight tweak here and there; He wore wearing a baggy white top while you wore a tight crop top. He wore Baggy grey jeans and you wore a grey skirt, he had on the boyish type of clothing and you was more feminine.

You was rich and wanted to get your normal skin care that was only located in a beauty shop in central korea. You let him hold the bags for you as you guys walked, after a few minutes, you spots a boba tea place.

You stopped in her tracks and looked up at you,

"Boba." Points to the store. "Please.!! Can I get boba.. baby..?" You pouts giving you cute kitten huge eyes which he couldn't really say no to.

"Yeah sure baby.." He gently squeezed your hand as you dragged him along to the boba shop. It was quite packed, well what do he expect to be?

It was in the centre of Seoul of course, and very VERY popular online.

"Pretty packed love," He mumbled in your ear as he stayed close to you by walking behind you, holding onto your hip.

You nodded, "Yeah, but i heard boba from here is so delicious though.." you said back to him as you guys walked up to the casher.

Jay waited as you went and orders boba for the both of you; he getting a white chocolate milk iced tea that had brown sugar pearls at the bottom while you got a strawberry milk tea with gummy strawberry pearls at the bottom.

After ordering, He payed for the both of you and waited to the side with you for the tea you guy’s number was °64.

After a few minutes, around 15 minutes, you guys collected the tea's and both drank the tea on the way back to his apartment. You was gonna stay the night over at his as you wanted to sleep over.

He waited for the taxi, when the taxi came in you guys got in and he told the taxi driver his location.

He lean back in your seat sighing then looking at you as you giggled and looked back outside to see the veiw as she drank her boba.

30-45 Minutes later

He payed the taxi driver and for out the taxi closing the door behind him, he took out his keys and used the fob to get inside the building. He held the door open for you, "Thanks baby.."

"No problem princess.." he stepped in after you and you guys both making the way to the elevator, he was still sipping on his boba.

When he already had drank 1/4 of his boba while you had just slurped up the remaining boba pearls and milk in her drink. He chuckled, you looked up at him.

"Whats so funny..?" You asked pinching his arm.

"Ow." He exclaimed smiling, "How'd you already finish your drink princess..?" He asked you as he threw your cup in the bin.

"Tasted too good," you chuckled the looked at his drink, "You barely drank your drink bae.."

"Ah not that thirsty like that so.." he said shrugging., "Why you ask? Do you want some.?"

He asked you holding his Drink up.

You shakes your head.

You guys then stepped in the elevator until it go to his apartment level. He unlocked your door, and walked in your apartment, Kicking off his shoes.

He sighed and yawned, as he plopped yourself onto the couch lying back. He closed his eyes when you felt you climb on top of his lap, straddling it.

He open your eyes and looked up at you, "Hmm?" You leaned down and kissed him on the lips before pulling away. "Nth.."

He chuckle, "Just a peck baby.?" He gently hold your hips. "How abt more kisses.?" He sit up and cupped the side of your face..

You nodded and leaned in kissing him on his lips, he kissed back. It led to you guys making out on his living room couch.

Now one thing led to another and he had you bent over the end of the couch, as he slowly entered you.

"Shitt princess.." he watched as his member slowly bullied its was into your tight pussy.

"Ah hmpf Jay fuck." You gripped the couch moaning in pleasure.

"Damn.. you're still tight after me fucking you last week..?" He leaned down asking you, "Oh shut up." You mumbled.

He chuckled, "Sorry princess, I'm gonna have to stretch you out again huh..?" You nodded, "hmm"

He started to move a bit, taking in the view, "I love this view baby." He mentioned to you as he moved a bit faster, your moans and whimpers sounding like music to his ears.

He sighed, "You don't mind backshots do you..?" He chuckled seeing you shake her head, "hngg ah.. fuck no d-.. mnphh.. daddy.."

He nodded and held your hips, you started giving him backshots. His hips thrusting at a pace that made you tear up; from pleasure - not pain.

He continued as he felt you clentch around him.

"Hm gosh princess you so.. fucking sound good." He panted.

You whimpered, "You feel so good..! Its ah like i can feel you in my hmm ah fuck stomach baby.!!"

He continued, "You close baby..?"

You nodded, "h-harder baby."

He did so, "hmm like this..?"

You tolled her eyes back, "Just like that jay.. just like that ah..!!" He felt you clench, "oh gosh imm gonna..!" He thrusted into your still tight pussy harder and faster.

"Mhm give it to me princess oh yeah fxck." He said holding yoi close.

"Hmm Jay..!!" You moaned his name as you shivered and collapsed onto the couch.

An hour later - Bedroom

He laid in bed with you asleep on-top of him, his soft breaths were heard in the room he yawned before turning off his phone and putting it down as he went to bed. Snuggling you in his arms keeping you company until, the two of you sleep, till late in the next morning.

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[whataperfectwasteoftime]

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.”

[cherry-luvz]

Boba n’ backshots - K.HR

Genre - Smut and fluff.

Warning- G!P Reader, sex [ Mostly backshots ], sex with protection, Don't be a dud- wrap your bud.

Paring - GP!Tomboy!Reader x gf!fem!Haerin.

Synopsis - A Boba tea by itself is nice, but boba n’ backshots are even better..💚

Word count - 1.1K

HAERIN - Green

READER - White

You held your girlfriend, haerin’s, hand as you guys walled through the city of Seoul, Korea. You guys were wandering the streets, Haerin wanted to go to the capital.

You guys wore matching outfits with a slight tweak here and there; You were wearing a baggy white top while haerin wore a tight crop top. You wore Baggy grey jeans and haerin wore a grey skirt, You had on the boyish type of clothing and haerin was more feminine.

She was rich and wanted to get her normal skin care that was only located in a beauty shop in central korea. She let you hold heels bags for her as you guys walked, after a few minutes, she spots a boba tea place.

She stopped in her tracks and looked up at you, “Boba..” Points to the store. “Please..!! Can I get boba.. baby..?” She pouts giving you cute kitten huge eyes which you couldn’t really say no to.

“Yeah sure baby..” You gently squeezed her hand as she dragged you along to the boba shop. It was quite packed, well what do you expect to be? It was in the centre of Seoul of course, and very VERY popular online.

“Pretty packed love,” you mumbled in her ear as you stayed close to Haerin by walking behind her, holding onto her hip.

Haerin nodded, “Yeah, but i heard boba from here is so delicious though..” She said back to you as you guys walked up to the casher.

You wait as haerin goes and orders boba for the both of you; you getting a white chocolate milk iced tea that had brown sugar pearls at the bottom while haerin got a strawberry milk tea with gummy strawberry pearls at the bottom.

After ordering you payed for the both of you and waited to the side with haerin for the tea you’re number was °64.

After a few minutes, around 15 minutes, you guys collected the tea’s and both drank the tea on the way back to your apartment. Haerin was gonna stay the night over at yours as she wanted to sleep over.

You waited for your taxi, when the taxi came in you guys got in and you told the taxi driver your location. You lean back in your seat sighing then looking at Haerin she giggled and looked back outside to see the veiw as she drank her boba.

30-45 Minutes later

You payed the taxi driver and for out the taxi closing the door behind you, you took out your keys and used the fob to get inside the building. You held the door open for Haerin, “Thanks baby..”

“No problem princess..” you step in after her and you guys both making your way to the elevator, you still sipping on your boba.

You already had drank 1/4 of your boba while Haerin had just slurped up the remaining boba pearls and milk in her drink. You chuckled, she looked up at you.

“Whats so funny..?” She asked pinching your arm.

“Ow.” You exclaimed smiling, “How’d you already finish your drink princess..?” You asked her as she threw her cut in the bin.

“Tasted too good,” She chuckled the looked at your drink, “You barely drank your drink bb..”

“Ah not that thirsty like that so..” you said shrugging., “Why you ask? Do you want some..?” You ask her holding your Drink up.

She shakes her head.

You guys then stepped in the elevator until it go to your level. You unnlocked your door, and walked in your apartment, Kicking off your shoes.

You sighed and yawned, as you plopped yourself onto the couch lying back. You closed your eyes when you felt haerin climb on top of your lap, straddling it.

You open your eyes and looked up at her, “Hmm?”

She leaned down and kissed you on the lips before pulling away. “Nth..”

You chuckle, “Just a peck baby..?” You gently hold her hips. “How abt more kisses..?” You sit up and cupped the side of her face..

She nodded and leaned in kissing you on your lips, you kissed back. It led to you guys making out on your living room couch.

Now one thing led to another and you had haerin bent over the end of the couch, you slowly entered. “Shitt princess..” You watched as your member slowly bullied its was into her pussy.

“Ah hmpf y/n fuck..” She gripped the couch moaning in pleasure.

“Damn.. you’re still tight after me fucking you last week..?” You leaned down asking her, “Oh shut up.” she mumbled.

You chuckled, “Sorry princess, I’m gonna have to stretch you out again huh..?” She nodded, “hmm”

You move a bit, taking in the view, “I love this view baby..” you said as you moved a bit faster, Haein’s moans and whimpers sounding like music to your ears.

You sighed, “You don’t mind backshots do you..?”

You chuckled seeing haerin shake her head, “hmm ah mmm no mommy..”

You nodded and held her hips, you started giving her backshots. You hips thrusting at a pace that made her tear up; from pleasure - not pain.

You continued as you felt her clentch around you. “Hm gosh princess you sound good..” You panted.

She whimpered, “You feel so good..! Its ah like i can feel you in my hmm ah fuck stomach baby.!!”

You continued, “You close baby..?”

She nodded, “h-harder baby.”

You did so, “hmm like this..?”

She tolled her eyes back, “Just like that Y/nie just like that ah..!!” You felt her clench, “oh gosh imm gonna..!” You thrust harder and faster.

“Mhm give it to me princess oh yeah fxck.” You said holding her close.

“Hmm y/n..!!” She moaned your name as she shivered and collapsed onto the couch.

AN HOUR LATER - Bedroom

You laid in bed with Hearin asleep on-top of you, he soft breaths were heard in the room you yawned before turning off your phone and putting it down as you go to bed. Snuggling haerin.

Two of you sleep, till late in morning.

[woominutes]

teddy bear | ko kyungjun x fem!reader

you found yourselves aimlessly walking around the neighborhood, kyungjun leading the way as you follow behind him. it was always relaxing to walk with him whenever he was in a good mood.

your eyes were wandering around the houses and shops when your gaze fell on a mid-sized teddy bear on display on the window of a small store, it immediately reminded you of your boyfriend in some way. "kyungjun, look!" you stop walking, pulling him towards your side while pointing at the teddy bear that had immediately captured your heart. "it looks like you!"

in his typical cocky manner, kyungjun laughs at the teddy bear which does in fact resemble him a tiny bit. "don't try to be cute with me, stupid," he shoves your shoulder playfully and scoffs.

you bite your lip, wondering if taking the comment further would put him into one of his moods. "but it does look like you..." the soft mumble that leaves your mouth catches his attention, noticing the way your gaze lingers on the stuffed animal. he snorts, his mood softening just a little, "fine, it does look like me. but don't think i'm going to actually buy it or any stupid shit like that."

"i never said anything about buying it, kyungjun," you groan as you link your arms so you can keep walking around. it would be weird to get upset over a teddy bear but you wanted it. he glances over at you and rolls his eyes, "so why were you pointing it out, then? just to mess with me?"

you groan, annoyed that he hasn't taken the hint yet, "i just genuinely thought it resembled you."

in response, he rolls his eyes and bumps your hip, "keep telling yourself that, y/n."

he leads you down the street and eventually into an empty playground. he heads for the swing without any hesitation, his long legs making his steps create a quick distance between you two. "come here," he calls you over once he takes his seat on the blue swing.

"what?" you sigh as you make your way to the swing, standing still in front of him and running a hand through his hair.

he wraps his arms around your waist, a small smile tugging on his lips, "just come here, stupid." he pulls you down and places you on his right thigh with a firm grip on your hips.

you are not startled, that is a regular movement coming from him. he gets what he wants whenever he wants it. you sit on his thigh comfortably, looking at him in the darkness of the night.

kyungjun gently strokes your cheek and chuckles softly. it's late and the playground is empty at this hour, the street lamps light the area, creating a romantic atmosphere. you sit there silently for a while, breathing in sync, until he breaks the silence.

"you really wanted that teddy bear, huh?" he stares into your eyes, his expression softening and his body relaxing.

"i suppose..." you nod as you move your gaze to the ground. you can't say you felt connected to a plushie that reminded you of him, it would sound weird.

he smiles softly and brushes the hair back from your face, grabbing your chin to make you face him again. his tone is gentle, filled with affection, "it's adorable how much things like that matter to you, you know."

"why?" you tilt your head slightly, genuinely wanting to see your boyfriend's point of view and what drew him towards this statement. he's not usually expressive so hearing his raw thoughts is rare.

kyungjun's expression softens even more. there's a hint of tenderness in his voice as he squeezes your hips, "it's just you. you seem to find beauty in everything. if you like something, no matter how small or unimportant it may seem to others, you just like it."

"hm..." you trace the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair again. you know there is a deeper meaning to his words, a much more personal one. "are you talking about yourself?"

his breath catches and he doesn't answer for a few seconds. he holds you tight as he lets those words sink in and feels his own emotions, "maybe..."

your other hand drops to his back, drawing big circles of comfort and support, "want to talk more about it?"

he tightens his hold on you and pulls your body even closer, burying his face in the curve of your neck. his expression is distant but his eyes tell another story, revealing the tender feelings behind them. "not right now..." he mutters as he nuzzles his head into your neck.

"kyungjun, you have to open up." you remind him, kissing his forehead. there is no way he can run away without explaining how he fits into the sentence.

he groans softly and turns his head away. he knows it's true, he knows that you're right. he doesn't want you to think that he isn't vulnerable, when in truth he is, he's just afraid of showing it. he finally decides to open up. he swallows his pride with difficulty, "maybe i am just a teddy bear too..."

you pause before bursting out in a fit of laughter that lasts a couple of seconds. "no, i meant–" you try to suppress a giggle, it's not out of mockery but pure adoration.

"seriously, about what you said..." your laughter dies down as the topic turns serious again, "about me liking something small and unimportant, did you mean yourself?"

he holds you close and sighs. he seems a bit upset as he confesses, "yeah... yeah, that's right. honestly... when I think of myself, i don't see much. i guess i'm just a plain guy."

as he says this, kyungjun's expression dims. a silence fills the air as he takes a deep breath and regains his composure. his eyes meet yours, his expression serious as well, "but you make me feel important. when you look at me with those adorable eyes, I don't feel plain at all. my world seems colorful when I'm with you."

he leans forward and kisses you gently on the lips. it is a much more gentle kiss than the usual ones you share. you both pull away after a moment and he sighs contently. the playful mood seems to be changing to a more intimate one. "you are not plain, kyungjun..." you whisper your truth, looking into his eyes.

he smiles softly and strokes your cheek, "maybe you're right... maybe I'm more than what i think i am, you know?"

his expression relaxes even more as he leans forward and places another gentle kiss on your lips. you didn't share big words of reassurance but they were always enough, for you and for him.

his fingers glide along the curve of your lower back while he pulls you into him and holds you tightly. once he has you as close as possible, his hands move to your waist and he places his forehead against yours, gazing at you with a look of love and adoration. "now, let's go get you that teddy bear," he pats your back and helps you up so he can stand on his feet too.

"really?!" you shriek in surprise, your eyes widening. just when you had accepted that the teddy bear would be a forgotten memory, he reminded you of it again. kyungjun chuckles at your cute expression and nods as he grabs your hand, "yes, it's time you got your beloved teddy bear."

the two of you walk hand-in-hand towards the store, your footsteps rhythmic and smooth, the air is cool and refreshing, the street lights illuminating your path. he looks at you affectionately as the wind blows through your hair, he really does love you.

unfortunately, time had passed and the store had closed. kyungjun notices this first, his expression falls upon realizing that you were too late to go to the store and he growls in frustration, "fuck."

it was a long shot anyway, and there was no way it would've been open since you first passed by. he turns to you with an apologetic look as he squeezes your hand, "i'm sorry, y/n, they're closed."

you stare at the closed store, a look of disappointment flashing through your eyes but you shake your head, not wanting kyungjun to feel bad. "it's alright," you look up at him with your lips pursed into a sympathetic smile.

he notices your disappointment and feels bad because of it. he feels even worse once you try to make him feel better. your look of sympathy makes him feel guilty, he feels like he let you down. he squeezes your hand again and lets out a resigned sigh.

"i'm sorry, i should've bought it earlier. that's so stupid of me," he was hesitant to buy the teddy bear because he felt a bit embarrassed about it. he thought it wouldn't suit his bad boy act but now he feels regretful for thinking too much because he could have made you, his girlfriend, happy.

"it's really okay, it's just a stuffed animal," you rub his forearm to reassure him while squeezing his hand. in truth, the teddy bear was indeed just a stuffed animal that he could buy tomorrow, he could've easily bought it back then and made you happy but now that you were disappointed, it felt different. now he felt bad because you felt bad too.

he doesn't like it when he disappoints his girlfriend. you were right, it was just a plushie. however, it was also an important thing for you because you felt connected to it. "i know it's just a stuffed animal... but it mattered to you."

he could have bought it without thinking too much. now, all he can do is feel bad for not being able to get it for you.

"kyungjun, it's fine."

it's clear that you were a tiny bit disappointed by the fact that you couldn't get the plushie but you also feel upset because kyungjun blames himself when he shouldn't. you don't like it when he feels bad because you know very deep down that he's a really sensitive person.

"why the long face? it's not like you!" you chuckle and nudge him, trying to brush the matter off. that makes him crack a smile but it seems like he is still feeling bad about it, though your words seem to cheer him up at least a bit.

you pull him closer for a moment, trying to comfort him. you lean into him and wrap your arms around his waist, gently rubbing his back. you can sense how guilty he feels, and you know how he takes your disappointment to heart. it's a sign that there is a sweet and vulnerable side to kyungjun, a side that you adore. "come on, it's not that big of a deal."

your tone is gentle and reassuring, trying to prevent him from feeling like this any longer. he is quiet for a few seconds but your reassurance and soft touch make him feel better. he relaxes his body and lets you hold him, enjoying the feeling of your arms around him.

your touch is calming in a way, and it's the type of comfort that makes him feel at ease. he smiles warmly at you and squeezes your waist before he suddenly grabs the back of your thighs with his big palms, "i can be your teddy bear instead."

you yelp softly as you are lifted up against your boyfriend's body, grabbing onto his biceps and wrapping your legs around him so your thighs rest next his hips. your face is mere inches away from his, and you stare at him with an adorable expression on your face.

"you were waiting for your chance, huh?" you giggle, completely comfortable and enjoying the feeling of his body against yours, his strength is oddly comforting. kyungjun smirks at your response, his hands fondling your thighs when he starts walking, "maybe I was, you'll never know."

he seems to enjoy teasing you a bit, he always has. his facial expression has playful elements as he keeps massaging the back of your legs. "so let's forget about the toy and just pretend i'm your cuddly teddy bear for all purposes."

you look up at him with a knowing grin, "all purposes?"

he shrugs his shoulders jokingly, "you heard me, all purposes. you were planning to hug and kiss your teddy bear, no?" he chuckles softly with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

"I was not planning to kiss it!" you hit his shoulder, not wanting him to even think about a scene like that happening. kyungjun chuckles again at how defensive you get about it. it's cute how he can embarrass you so easily, just from a simple harmless joke, "you sure?"

he pulls you a little closer to his body as he continues to speak and he whispers slightly so that no one but you can hear him, "you're so cute when you try to deny it. i bet you would kiss your teddy bear when nobody is looking."

"i would not!" you yell in embarrassment, burying your face into his neck while holding his shoulders tightly, your eyes closing as you get flustered. he feels your grip around his shoulders tighten and your breath quicken against his throat, a sign that you're blushing.

he gazes ahead with an accomplished smile, taking the route to his house, "call your mom."

"call my mom?" you frown in confusion at the sudden demand, pulling away from his neck to look at him. he had actually gotten your mom to like him and he even texted her himself but it was odd to bring her up now.

kyungjun lets out a playful snort, "so you can tell her that you won't be home until tomorrow morning," he says it in a lighthearted tone but it's very clear what he's implying. teddy bear for all purposes, he said.

"oh..." and you reach for your phone inside the pocket of your skirt without realizing it.

by the time you wake up in the morning, your boyfriend's absence from the bed makes you open your eyes wide and search for him around the room, only to find the teddy bear you wanted so much by the side of your feet.

you chuckle softly, knowing he woke up early to buy it for you. as you sit up, you notice the added piercing on its left ear and the card strapped to its little bow tie.

– from your actual teddy bear, kyungjun ♡

© to @woominutes on tumblr; do not repost or steal

[shitsndgiggs]

Marc guiu and the reader exploring London☺️

HOME IS WITH YOU - MARC GUIU

Exploring London with Marc

Marc Guiu x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The sun was shining brightly over London, casting a golden glow on the city. Marc and I had been looking forward to this day for weeks.

It was rare for him to get a full day off from his training with Chelsea, and we had decided to spend it exploring our new home.

“¡Mira, cariño!” Marc pointed excitedly as we emerged from the underground station.

The towering presence of Big Ben greeted us, its iconic clock face gleaming in the sunlight.

“It’s even more impressive in person,” I said, slipping my hand into his. “Where to first?”

Marc grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Let’s walk along the Thames. We can see the London Eye and maybe take a boat tour.”

As we strolled along the river, the city’s energy surrounded us. Street performers played music, and artists showcased their work.

Marc stopped to watch a group of dancers, his competitive spirit lighting up his face.

“Think you can dance better than them, futbolista?” I teased.

He laughed, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to football. But maybe you can show me some moves later, mi amor.”

We continued our walk, eventually reaching the London Eye. Marc’s eyes widened as he looked up at the massive Ferris wheel. “Do you want to go up? The view must be incredible from the top.”

I nodded eagerly. “Definitely. Let’s do it.”

As the capsule slowly ascended, the city unfolded beneath us, a patchwork of historic buildings and modern architecture.

Marc wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.

“Look over there,” he said, pointing to the distant silhouette of Tower Bridge. “It’s like something out of a storybook.”

“It’s beautiful,” I agreed, leaning into him. “Thank you for today, Marc. It’s perfect.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Anything for you, princesa.”

After the ride, we wandered through the streets, exploring little shops. We came across a charming bookshop, and Marc insisted we go inside.

As we browsed the shelves, Marc picked up a book and began reading the blurb out loud, his spanish accent thick. “This book is about... how do you say... a detective?”

I giggled, nudging him playfully. “Your accent is so cute when you speak English.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh, really? And yours is much better, is it?”

I laughed, trying to sound offended. “Of course it is! I have the perfect British accent.”

Marc chuckled, shaking his head. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Clearing my throat dramatically, I put on my best British accent. “Good day, sir. Would you care for some tea and crumpets?”

Marc burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s terrible! You sound like a bad movie character.”

I pouted, crossing my arms. “Fine, but at least I’m trying.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “And I love you for it. Even if your accent is terrible.”

We spent the rest of the day exploring the city, visiting museums, parks, and more iconic landmarks.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the city, we made our way to the last stop of our day—Tower Bridge.

Standing hand in hand, we watched as the lights flickered on, illuminating the bridge in a soft, golden light.

“It’s magical,” I whispered, leaning my head on his shoulder.

Marc nodded, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water below. “It really is. I’m so glad we moved here, even if it’s just for a while. Exploring London with you has made it feel like home.”

I turned to look at him, my heart swelling with love. “Home is wherever we are together.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss me softly. “Te quiero, mi vida.”

“Te quiero más,” I replied, my voice full of affection.

[steviebbboi]

Ordinary is Ordinary

Chap 02/02: Gem Meets Steve

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Gem)

Rating: Teens and up!

Summary: You viewed life as it was: ordinary. To you, life was an endless cycle of simply trying to make ends meet. People work, sleep and wake up to do it all over again. A chance encounter with a certain captain challenges your philosophy of what is considered to be ordinary.

A/N: Fluff on fluff, a meet cute with Steve and Gem! This is a two-parter that I also wrote around 2018. There's not many warnings other than getting ready for some teeth-rotting sweetness from Steve. Hope you enjoy reading :)

Coffee dividers by @saradika-graphics - Thank you so much for creating these cute coffee banners - perfect for this lil meet cute moment <3

Diamond divider by @firefly-graphics - wonderful work as always! Thank you sm!

Read Part 1 here.

You walked to your coffee shop on Court street, feeling slightly in a daze. You still could not believe that Captain freaking America bought your coffee. It’s been a few weeks since your "meet cute" had transpired and you were hoping to run into him again.

"God, what am I thinking?" You said to yourself, thinking of how the scenario would go down. 

"Hey, Captain—Cap. El Capitán. Thanks for buying me coffee the other day and so sorry I was such a bitch—sorry, excuse my language. I meant to say that I was being rude. Also, thanks for saving the world from flying alien robots. And oh yeah, the robots from the day before..."

You shook your head and scolded yourself for your imagination. People like you did not just run into one of the Avengers. Who were you to ever say anything to them—to Captain America?! You were just a girl born and raised in Brooklyn. 

Taking your life, as boring and ordinary as it was, day by day.

You continued to walk into the cafe, the familiar bell at the top of the door dinged as you pushed the door open. It was 7AM and you're already in line for the morning rush. Falling into line like the other mindless drones going to work, You stood there being idle with your thoughts.

Completely out of it, due to lack of sleep and your wandering thoughts, you neglected to hear the door’s ding as another drone entered the cafe. You subconsciously stepped forward as coffee orders were taken and given up ahead.

You felt the person behind you step up as the line shifted. Distantly, you heard a throat clear. You didn't pay it any mind and continued to stare straight ahead. After a minute, you heard another throat clear, purposefully this time. You began to turn your body and look behind you but then you heard a soft ‘hey Gem’ spoken from someone in the front. You straightened and looked towards the register and saw Chris greeting you a good morning.

"How are you, Chris?" You asked as you gave your coffee order. Luckily, you have been promoted at your job, going from assistant to secretary. Not that big of a bump but you took it since it meant that you would be getting out of buying ten cups of coffee every morning for the next five years.

"I'm alright, Gem. How are you feeling?" Chris asked you. After the ‘transformers’ incident, although the attack didn't happen on American soil, the damage was felt by all people in New York. Everyone was still recovering from all these other worldly attacks.

"I'm alright. World keeps spinning, I suppose." You grinned humorlessly and stepped aside for the person behind you to order as Chris nodded his agreement.

You were waiting for your order at the end of the bar and after a few moments, you heard a voice beside you say, "Does it really?"

You turned and saw the very man, and hero, that has been occupying your thoughts the past few weeks. He looked...tired but still put together. You had a weird moment of just seeing him in his whole get up until you realized that he was just wearing casual attire. You stared at him for a while and noticed that he was just staring at you with his eye brows slightly raised.

You shook your head a bit, "Sorry— what was that?"

He gave you a grin and said, "Does the world really just keep spinning?"

Your mouth opened a few times, as you were at a loss of what to say. How do you respond to Captain America that through all of his stress, tribulations and hard work of trying to save the world, it didn't really matter because the world ‘just kept spinning’? As if nothing happened.

"You, you freaking idiot!" You thought while looking down, a bit ashamed. "I’m so sorry, I meant no offense."

He looked taken aback, a soft grin still on his face. "Hey, it's okay. No offense was taken. That's what the world is supposed to do, spin." He didn't discuss it any further but you understood what he was saying.

It was his job to defend and keep the world going. To keep it spinning. To operate as if nothing happened.

You smiled slightly and said quietly, "Still though, it wouldn't continue to spin without you guys." His eyes widened a bit and his small grin widened a bit as he tucked his head down, not saying anything. 

"My cover is blown, I see." He said.

You smiled and said, "It's kinda hard not to notice Captain America taking pity on the girl in a coffee shop and buying your coffee even after you were being super rude to him."

Steve laughed a bit, "You were not being rude. You were being cautious, as everyone should be. But, I will admit that you're slightly off about one thing. I'm not Captain America taking pity on the girl in the coffee shop and buying your coffee for you."

He extended his grin and his hand, "I'm Steve, and a few weeks ago, I saw a pretty girl standing in front of me in a coffee shop and decided to buy her coffee, all in the hopes of getting her to talk to me."

You were taken aback at his unexpected forwardness, "Captain America is a flirt." Surprise flitted your thoughts. You blushed when you finally registered what he said, "Captain— Steve thinks I'm pretty."

Although still blushing, you extended your hand and introduced yourself. 

He shook your hand, "It's really nice to meet you. So, your name isn’t Gem, either?”

You smiled back at him and couldn't look away from the teasing glint in his eyes. Giving him a glimpse of your laugh, “No, that’s all Chris. I chalk it up to the fact that I’ve tried to charm him into making me ten cups of coffee every morning for the past five years.”

Steve hummed his agreement, “Yeah, I can see why he would.” 

You flushed again as he continued to flirt with you. There seemed to be something in both of your expressions, an energy or a spark that seemed to ignite the moment that your hands touched and your gazes met each other. You both let go, but only after you heard your name called for your coffee.

You turned to get your coffee and checked your watch that read 7:30AM. You noticed that you had no time to chat with him if you wanted to get to work. You wondered if you even should. You smiled sadly, thinking of what it could be like to date a superhero. "I'm better off without that kind of stress. I have my job and myself to look after. Maybe it's not such a good idea. Maybe it is for the best."

You turned back to Steve with a reluctance that you couldn’t help keep out of your voice. "I have to go but...it was really nice to see you again, Steve."

Steve looked at you and you could tell that he was disappointed but not surprised by your reaction and reluctantly smiled, "You too, Gem."

You smiled regrettably and quietly said bye. You walked towards the front door but stopped before you could pull it open. You couldn't stop thinking about the moment you touched hands. The spark. His deep blue eyes. Unknowingly, you were walking away from a handshake that had the potential to change your life forever.

But you didn't walk away.

Steve was still facing the bar counter, waiting for his coffee. Slightly disappointed that he could not manage to stop you from walking away but accepted the situation for what it was. He knew that times were different but he gave it a try and he failed. He was being too forward and you weren't interested.

But, in that moment, he couldn't stop thinking about the moment that you touched hands. The unflinching, bright spark that tingled between your touch. The bright gleam in your eyes.

He made up his mind to chase after you until he realized that he didn't hear the ding of the door nor did he hear the pause of your footsteps. He turned around to see you at the door, facing him, holding your coffee with a genuine smile laid on your face.

It was Steve’s turn to flush as he was caught turning to go after you. You took two steps forward towards Steve and you both stood quiet for a second until you said, "So, how'd you propose a girl would ask a cute guy to walk with you 'till you had to go to work?"

Steve's eyes lit up in humor, recognizing their little dance. "Do you have the time?" 

You looked at your watch that said 7:45AM and looked back at Steve.

"Eh," You shrugged with the same humored smile. "Let the world spin."

Thanks so much for reading this two-part series! Reading this again after a few years, my heart is really staying with Steve and Gem.

Comments/reblogs/like are so appreciated and welcomed. Thanks for reading and enjoying :)

Main Masterlist

[hughesluv]

Flower Girl | Quinn Hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader quinn finally musters up the courage to ask out the cute girl who owns the florist shop down the street. (words: 1.3k)

a/n: first post and first writing! hope you enjoy reading <3

The second Quinn laid his eyes on you, he knew he was a goner.

You newly opened a florist shop down the street from Quinn’s apartment to which he had stumbled into Mother’s Day morning. You noticed him wandering around, looking at various flowers, but yet to choose one. His widened eyes and dumbfounded expression revealed his lack of knowledge on flowers.

“Would you like any help?” you offered with a smile. His gaze redirected from the plants over to you- who was probably the prettiest girl he had ever seen. He admired every inch of your face from your perfect smile to your piercing eyes. Red flooded your cheeks as you watched him scan your face.

“That’d be nice.” he responded, placing down the pink tulips in his hand.

You showed him around your shop, pointing out Mother’s Day favorites for flowers and the prettiest bouquets in store. After minutes of contemplating what his mother would like, he finally decided on an arrangement of daisies and lavender.

“Good choice.” you complimented while cutting and wrapping the flowers. He blushed while pulling out his credit card and offering it to you. “No need to pay, these are on the house.”

“I can’t allow you to do that,” he argued, urging his card out towards you. You smiled at his politeness, still declining his payment. Any other customer would’ve taken the free flowers in the blink of an eye, but he didn’t. The simple gesture sent butterflies into your stomach,

“I insist! In a way you already paid me.”

His brows furrowed and curiosity painted his features, “In what way?” he questioned. A small grin graced his lips. You took this moment to really observe the features of the man whose name you were yet to know. You’d be lying to yourself if you thought he wasn’t truly handsome.

You brought your finger to your lips, tapping on them as if you were pondering telling him. He chuckled and rolled his eyes playfully. His laugh set off even more butterflies in your stomach. It was the type of laugh that could cheer anyone up, even on a bad day.

“By allowing me to help out a cute customer.” pink colored his cheeks all the way up to the tips of his ears. Was he imagining that you just hit on him? No, he couldn’t have.

You giggle at his reaction, eyes admiring the adorable color that coats his face. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Y/N… that might’ve been the prettiest name Quinn had ever heard. Your name was just as breathtaking as you.

“I’m Quinn- Quintin.” he blurts out, mentally kicking himself for telling you his whole name. A toothy smile adorns your lips, revealing the dimples on the sides of your cheeks. Quinn mentally captures the moment, wishing he could take a photo of your gorgeous smile.

“Well then I guess I’ll see you around, Quinn-Quintin.” you tease playfully, pulling an embarrassed smile out of the boy. He thanked you, accepting the flowers from your hand and exiting the store.

Since that day, Quinn made up excuse after excuse to go into your shop again. He’d visit at least once a week- sometimes more- and buy flowers. The gorgeous bouquets now decorated almost every counter in his apartment as a constant reminder of you. His roommate, Elias, teased his sudden obsession with the arrangements, but Quinn brushed it off.

Over the weeks of him visiting your store, you learned more and more about him. He told you about his career as an NHL player in which you told him about why you started your floral business. As he kept uncovering more facts about you, he fell in love with you even more. He needed to do something about his longing crush; he needed to ask you out.

Quinn walked through the store doors, causing the doorbell to chime. “There's my favorite customer!” you exclaim as you see him. He smirked at the praise, only adding to his already huge ego. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” you quirk an eyebrow, earning a hardy laugh out of the eldest hughes.

“I need your advice,” he begins. You lean against the counter and urge him to continue. “I have this, well, crush…” his eyes glue to the floor, wondering if he should be doing this. “And I don’t know how to ask her out.”

Your smile slowly fades. You thought Quinn had liked you, and that’s why he was always purchasing flowers, but you guess you were wrong. Your ego deflates as you feel like such an idiot. However, you don’t let your smile fully drop, you mask it and attend to Quinn as a friend.

“Well, does this girl like flowers?” you inquire, hopefully covering your sudden displeasure.

he nods, “She’s obsessed with flowers.” Great, so his crush also shared a liking of flowers. If only you had made a move on him first, considering his type of woman was either florists or borderline florists.

“Get her flowers, then. That’s a perfect way to ask someone out.” you smile, turning around and busying yourself with random items. You wish he got the hint and bothered someone else with his lady problems.

“That’s going to be perfect,” he beams. His sudden happiness feeds the green-eyed monster inside you. “What flowers should I get for her?” it almost feels belittling as he continues to annoy you with questions.

You roll your eyes while responding, “I don’t know, Quinn. It’s been a busy day and this is the last thing I want to do right now.” you avoid making eye contact with him as you trace the rim of your coffee cup with your finger.

He notices the edge to your tone. You clearly weren’t hiding the fact that you didn’t want him here. Insecurity washes through his body. What if you didn’t like him back? or even worse, what if this ruined your friendship? He pushes his negative thoughts to the back of his head, continuing on with his proposal.

He takes a deep breath, turning around and scanning the flowers displayed. One particular flower caught his eye- baby’s breath. Days ago you had mentioned your favorite flower was baby’s breath. You liked how minimalistic but stunning it was. You even went on a rant about how it was so underrated and how it clearly trumps the classic red rose. He smiled at the memory, grabbing a bouquet of baby’s breath flowers, and making his way back to the counter.

You divert your attention from your phone over to the floral Quinn held in his hand. Was he trying to make you jealous? He got your favorite flowers and was giving it to another woman? You felt pathetic and used.

You scoff as he hands it to you with a wide smile. It’s loud enough for him to hear, but he ignores it. Nonetheless, you cut, wrap, and tie the flowers as normal. Even if you were upset the flowers weren’t for you, you still had the decency to make them look nice. Silence filled the room as you handed the plants to him, sending him a half smile. “Hope she likes them.” you mumble.

Quinn thanks you, turning around and almost immediately turning back again. He holds out the flowers to you with a devilish grin.

Your eyes flutter back and forth in between him and the bouquet, “Is something wrong with them?” You ask. Confusion graces your features.

He shakes his head no, licking his lips, and speaking again, “Y/N, would you like to go out with me?” your eyes widen and mouth falls agape. He was never planning to ask another girl out, it was always you. “Ever since I met you, I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. After getting to know you, now I know you’re not just the prettiest girl, but you’re also the funniest and most exciting girl I’ve ever met. It would mean the world if you went out with me.”

Your hands cover the toothy smile on your lips, “I’d love to go out with you, Quinny!”

[vulpixisananimal]

(Odile)

("Cardio is good for you." Yes and so is sunshine, and you get sunburnt easily. Gems alive. . .)

(You hastily walk down the street, to catch up. Thankfully, Pétronille got Ramos and Bonnie to wait for you before continuing on. You sigh when you do catch up.) "Oh try not to rush an old lady too much."

"Sorry M'dame." (Ramos rubs the back of their head.) "Just, excited! So-"

"Less talk more walk then!!" (Bonnie interrupts, before continuing on. You shake your head, and follow.)

(Ramos and Bonnie took the lead, the two of them joking and chatting while you stayed a little back with Nille. Wolworth seemed like a nice enough town, but you really would like to sit down.)

". . . So." (Nille talks a bit quieter.) "Still got suspicions?"

"Hard to say. . ." (You glanced at her.) "You?"

"I dunno." (She squints, thinking.) "they were a crab and a half in Jouvente, but they've only been helpful since then."

"Or is that mind craft talking." (You chuckle softly.) "But I can't help but agree. . ."

"Right?" (She laughs as well.) "Like, c'mon. . ."

"Mhm." (You look back up to Ramos and Bonnie.) "Boniface seems to trust them now."

"Right. . ." (Nille pauses for a moment.) ". . . If Ramos lays one hand on Bonbon they're dead meat."

"That'll make two of us." (You nod. Gems. . . And here you were all excited to travel the world with your new little family. Take a vacation, try new foods, not a care in the world. . . But now you were off being heros again. Ha! You wonder which aspect you must have annoyed to deserve this.)

(Ramos gasped excitedly as they turned a corner.) "There's my house!!!!" (They took off running. Again.)

(You sigh; joining Nille and Bonnie in catching up. Turning the corner, the little side street had a collection of houses, two stories, each with ample space for a garden. Ramos was waiting at the third one down, bouncing excitedly.)

(You chuckle as you catch up.) "Something tells me you're a little excited."

"YEAH!!!" (Ramos turned to the gate to the small garden and stepped inside.)

"Who's keepin' this garden?" (Bonnie asks, they wandered over to a bushel of lavender that was dying.) "Looks dead."

"Oh! I used to before I left, but Eri liked taking care of it!" (Ramos waved a hand, having made it to the front door.) "It's probably just because it's not the season. Winter and all."

"Y'sure?" (Bonnie squinted.) "Still looks pretty bad."

"I dunno, it's kinda cute." (Nille chuckles, joining Ramos.) "Bet the plants'll be glad you're back!"

"Haha! Makes two of us!!" (Ramos smiled, and tried the door. Locked.) ". . Weird."

"Hmm, could they be out?" (You comment, looking at the closed curtains.) "Shopping, perhaps?"

"Or asleep." (Ramos knocked on the door.) "Eriiii!! Knock knoooock!!!"

(You wander around the garden. It was small, nice. The front door was along one side, the opposite was the gate to the street. Either side was bordered by a neighbors garden. You went to one side, looking at the hedges that, by the looks of it, was once very well kept.)

(You turn back to the others. Ramos and Nille were still waiting, and Bonnie was looking at the other plants. Well, if Eri wasn't in you could go to the House of Change. Leave a letter, talk to a neighbor. There's options.)

"O-oh!" (A strangers voice from behind you. Turning, the neighbor, an older man, had come out of his house.) "You're, Change you're not one of the Saviors, are you?"

"TWO!!" (Bonnie somehow was right by your side, peeking over the fence.) "We're the Opposite Spectrum Alliance!!! Heheh."

"Quite." (You chuckle.) "My name is Odile, this is Boniface. That is Pétronille, Boniface's sister, and that is Ramos, who we've been traveling with."

"O-oh, well. . ." (There's hesitance in his voice.) "Are you. . . Looking for something?"

"well yes, we're looking for-"

"Oh! Hey Mr. Fluran!!" (Ramos runs over.) "How've you been??"

(Mr. Fluran looked confused for a moment before it clicked.) ". . . Oh!! Did you Change? Ramos now?"

"Yup!" (Ramos was beaming.) "I liked Jasmine but I just, needed something different."

"Ah that's the Vaugarde spirit!" (He chuckles.) "I've been, well I've been better. Running around, taking care of the place, the back's been acting up again. The aches only got worse when. . ."

". . . When. . ?" (You ask curiously.)

"Well, you know. . ." (He looks between you, Ramos, Nille, Bonnie. His smile drops, his eyes soften.) ". . . Do, do you not know?"

"Did something happen?" (Nille chimes in.)

"I. . ." (He look away, covering his mouth with his hands. He took a few breaths, then looked back at Ramos.)

". . . M-mr, Mr. Fluran?" (You dare not look at Ramos' face.)

(The neighbor looked horrified, and looked.) ". . I-I. . . Ramos, I'm sorry, but. . ."

(The bugs in the garden stopped moving out of politeness.)

(Even the wind paused to listen.)

(Your heart would have stopped too if it didn't have a job to do.)

(Ramos voice wavered.) ". . . P-please, please don't say it. . ."

"I'm, I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, but. . ."

(The moment lasted forever.)

". . . Eri is dead."

(No one says anything.)

(No one could say anything.)

(. . . . . . . . . . . . . .)

". . . . . . Okay." (It was Ramos. Their voice was shaky, soft, cracked even.)

". . . . . There's, some, papers with, details if you want them or. . ." (The neighbor offers.)

"Please give them to Odile." (You turn to look at Ramos. Their face was a masterwork of agony and shock.) "Do you have a key. To the house."

"Y-yeah, your house now. Left in the will."

"Okay." (Ramos responds flatly. Fluran fishes the key out of his pockets and drops it into Ramos' hand.)

(Ramos turns to the door and unlocks it. Bonnie walks up to them.) ". . . 'Oz? You okay?"

"I need to be alone, please." (Ramos opens the door.) "Second floor, first door on the right. That's my room. I'll be there."

>>>

(Mirabelle)

"I-I, I need should run and tell them!!" (You start to move.)

"You don't need to, they know already." (Perci responds flatly, eyes closed. He wasn't focused on the puzzle.) "The neighbor just told them the news."

"The- oh of COURSE you did." (You huff, and storm back to where you were standing.)

"Yes yes I know I know." (Perci started working on the puzzle again.) "Apparently a letter was sent to Ramos, so I thought they would have known. I'm sorry."

". . ." (After the King attacked, the mail had been struggling with getting letters delivered. And still were. . .)

(The two of you didn't say anything for a while. Listening to the metal puzzles tink tink tinks. . .)

(You don't know what to do. Sif was exhausted, Perci was here, but you had a kind of. . . Truce? But, the person you were here to see was. . . Dead.)

". . . Well. . ." (Perci sighed, and slipped the puzzle into his pocket.) "I have, chores to do. Work to get done. Excuse me, Lady Mirabelle."

(You moved back so he could pass.) ". . . Chores?"

(Perci chuckled.) "What, do you think I'm so evil I can't clean the house?"

(You shook your head.) "N-no I just, didn't think- clean the house?"

"Ha! Lady Mirabelle, I live here."

". . . O-oh!" (He, lived here?!? But, didn't- O-okay!!) ". . . Well. . . I hope, you, have a nice, day?"

(Perci smiles at you, then turns to leave.) "Same to you, Lady Mirabelle. . ."

(. . . . . . .)

(. . . . . . . . . . You turn back to the medhouse. You had to, let Isabeau and Null know.)

>>>

(Odile)

(Eri "nomiddlename" Tempest. Non-binary (They/them). Aged 72 (Estimate). Country of origin: unknown (Estimate: Island). Occupation: retired, former captain of the Wolworth Militia. Date of death: the middle of Autumn, two in the morning.)

(Ever since the Kings attacks, Eri Tempest devoted themself to training the new members of the Wolworth Militia. Dr. Joy stated many times that they are pushing themself too far. Eri died in two in the morning of a stress induced heart attack. The neighbor was alerted when their garden was not watered in the morning. Doctors declared them dead at scene.)

(They leave their favorite longbow and the duties of the Captain of the Wolworth militia to Ark. They leave multiple small trinkets to friends. They leave their home and remaining items to one "Jasmine A. Tempest.")

(Their last wish is to have their body cremated and sealed in a jar for Jasmin to spread across the highest peak along the sea.)

(. . . . .)

(You looked over the Last Will of Eric Tempest again and again. Committing each word to memory, and adding little details mentally. Was this a joke? Another tragedy on this little comedy?)

(Ha. Siffrin is rubbing off on you.)

(You were sitting on a couch in the living room, looking down at the coffee table that was covered with papers. Every time you looked up, your eyes focused on the Urn.)

(. . . Well, it's good to meet you, Eri.)

(You shake your head and look down again. Maybe this blow wouldn't have been so bad to Ramos if the letter informing them of their death wasn't lost in the mail.)

(You lean back. You can't read this anymore, you take off your glasses and rub your eyes. Gems alive. . .)

(The place was well kept, Mr. Fluran had come by once a week or so to dust things down and such. Bonnie was already getting to try the kitchen, and Nille was unpacking things and getting it all organized. You, of course, where here reading some of the most morbid words one could read.)

(The loss of ones parent. . .)

(. . . . .)

(You wonder how Ramos is taking this.)

(The front door opens, looking up, it was Mirabelle. She looked very tired. You wave her over.)

(She walks over and sits down in an armchair with a sigh. There was a silence for a moment, only hearing the cooking from Bonnie in the other room.)

". . . . So Isabeau is staying over, isn't he." (You ask.)

"Yes, he is." (Mira nods.) "The doctor said SIffrin should stay the night, and Isa wanted to make sure he'd be safe."

"I doubt there's much to worry about in a city like this." (You smirk, then drop it seeing Mirabelles face.) ". . . What is it."

". . . Perci was at the medical house. Merlon is recovering from craft exhaustion as well." (She scowls and looks away.) "Perci offered me a truce, essentially. Don't mess with each other until they're recovered."

"I. . . See. . ." (You rub your temple.) "Why are they here, I wonder."

"Apparently, they live here." (Mira crosses her arms.)

"Who lives here?" (Asks Nille, who was walking down from upstairs.)

"The Monets. From the Inn?"

"Oh crabs." (She sighs dramatically and collapses onto the couch.) "Can we not get one crabbin' break?"

"No rest for the wicked." (You start picking up the papers and organizing them.)

(Mirabelle leaned in, curious.) ". . . What's that?"

"Eri's last will." (You respond flatly.) "Ramos asked me to look through it."

". . . R-right. . ." (She looks away. You weren't sure if she knew or not but. . . It looks like she did.) ". . . That must have been, terrible. . ."

"Ramos' been holed up in their room all day." (Nille rubs their shoulder.) "Hopefully sleep'll do them good."

"I hope so too." (You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment with all the paperwork gathered. The Monets, the wave of sadness, Ramos and Eri, Siffrin. . . It's all getting quite complicated already. Gems. . .)

"DINNERS READY!!!!" (You hear Bonnie yell from the other room. You chuckle, standing up. You'll file all those curious little thoughts for later. Because right now, you were hungry.)

[adventuringblind]

Hi I saw your requests are open you don’t have to write anything if you don’t want to but I had this idea and I wanted to share

I was thinking of meting Charles on Monaco maybe during Sumer break or something, and being a little homesick so he decides to take us to a bookstore (sorry I just like to rad a lot you can change the place) and just talking about like a book he likes and just sitting on the floor with him looking for something to read and getting romantic

Idk if it makes sense but thank you and have a nice day/night

Home is Where You Are

Charles leclerc x reader

Genre: fluff

Request: Yes! I hope you enjoy it, I thought the idea was super cute! I'm open for Max, Charles, Lando, Oscar, George, and Daniel. Also, up for poly fics if anyone is interested. (If you have too much love to go around, clap your hands)

Summary: living with Charles is a dream come true. Longing for home, though, can strike anyone. Good thing he's there to help you through it until you can find time to go visit.

Warnings: home sickness, straight fluff

Notes: written in second person. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

Also, I've sent up my account to let tips be enabled. I was debating whether or not to say this because i dont want to sound like im begging, but frankly, people opinions do not matter me me. If you like my writing and want to support me, please consider tipping my posts or my blog. I put a lot of effort into my writing, and it would mean the world to me. Obviously, I won't have my feelings hurt if you ignor this, but I wanted to put it out there.

Masterlist

You and Charles had been together for a while now. Managing to do some long distance when you couldn't travel with him.

Now you were engaged, and you said yes. Knowing you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

You traveled more now. Finding yourself in different countries for the majority of the year. But you always went back home when you could. The family and familiarity bringing you comfort.

When Charles asked you to move in with him, you'd been happy. The two of you now completely together. Ready to share your lives with each other.

You were lucky you could take your job anywhere. The traveling often helping provide inspiration for your novel.

Charles made sure you felt comfortable in his, now yours as well, apartment. Making sure you had your favorite foods. He purchased an entire bookshelf just for you. He even stockpiled the apartment with soft blanket.

It was a dream come true for you.

You loved it. Waking up with Charles. Eating breakfast with him. Not having to FaceTime him to say goodnight for half the year.

When the summer break for formula 1 came around, you found yourself wanting to go back to your home country. You'd been back in Monaco for less than a week, but the days had you missing things you didn't realize you would.

You liked it in Monaco. It's your home now. But it didn't stop your mind from wandering back to the streets you grew up on. To your friends and family. The shops you frequented.

That's how Charles found you. Sitting at the table, staring into your cup of tea. Lost in the world of your subconscious.

"Mon Amour? Are you alright?"

His voice dragged out out of your thoughts. Your eyes dragging themselves to his face as he found a spot next to you.

He knew something was wrong. There was really no point in trying to lie when it was written all over your body.

You run your finger around the rim of your glass. Taking comfort in Charles nimble fingers running up and down your arm.

"Just a bit homesick, I guess." You confessed. Sighing at your relentless thoughts. Pulling your heart deeper into its sad state.

Charles hums in response. Considering what you'd said to him. "I think I know how to cheer you up." He smirks.

Charles couldn't take you back to your home country currently. You'd been working ridiculously hard, and he'd been busy doing sim work. He'd get you there soon, but for now, he'd settle for trying to get your mind off things.

An hour later, you were dressed and walking down the streets of Monaco. Nonclue where Charles was taking you. Just giggling as he held your hand and pulled you along with him. The two of you are making conversation about anything that pops into your heads.

Charles was basking in the warmth of your smile. So much so that he almost missed his intended destination. A little corner store with a vintage looking sign reading 'Nook's Books'.

"Here we are." He smiled and opened the door for you. A little bell rang to alert the owner that someone had entered.

Charles watched as your mouth opened in awe. Taking in the shelves lined top to bottom with books new and old. "I thought you might like it."

"Why did I never know about this?"

"It's hidden away, so those who don't know the city will have a harder time finding it. It's our own little corner of peace." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I was going to surprise you right before the wedding."

It didn't take long for you to grab Charles' hand and lead him down the rows of books.

You'd found many books that you liked and had picked a spot on the floor to look through them.

Charles couldn't help but admire you. On the floor surrounded by books. You looked adorable in his eyes.

He plopped down next to you and spread out his arms and legs. Inviting you without words to come rest your body against his. You happy oblige. Crawling into the safety of his arms.

You spent hours in the small store. Charles listening intently as you either talked about a book or read chapters from one.

The twobof you finally left when the store was about to close. Having spent so much time there that it was now dark outside. The streets illuminated with the orangey hue of lampposts.

Charles spun you around as you walked, Making you giggle. Completely unbothered by the nightlife of Monaco.

When you two made it to the outside of the apartment building, Charles pulled you into him.

"I know I can't get you back to your family right now, but are you feeling a bit better?"

"Yes, thank you, for everything." Your eyes met his soft gaze.

"No thanks needed. I was simply doing my job." He chuckled. Leaning in closer to you.

Finally, his lips landed on yours. A loving kiss shared between you two. But this time, when he kissed you, you knew Charles was your home.

[riocinn]

So my friend @maplecherri inspired me to make a LSOH Pokemon trainer au! A lot of the information is listed in the drawing itself but I'd like to go into it a bit more. Click to read more!

Instead of a flower shop in real-world NYC, I imagine this AU taking place in a grass-type-focused Pokemon nursery in a dingy part of Unova's Castelia City. The stories of the human characters remain mostly unchanged, except now there are Pokemon!

Furze is a shiny Leafeon that Seymour specifically bred for. She hatched when he was still a teenager, so they go way back. They're best friends, and she keeps him company at night when everyone else has gone home. She is beloved by every person and Pokémon who comes through the nursery. She's sort of the unofficial mascot of the business!

Cream Puff is Audrey's Sylveon, which she's also had since she was a teenager. She found him as a stray Eevee wandering the streets and took him in as her own. She had no preference on what he would eventually turn into and made no effort to rush his evolution. Their bond was so strong that he eventually evolved into a Sylveon!

Cream Puff and Furze are very fond of each other. He will often sneak out at night to spend time with her. Maybe someday, if they can ever get out of Castelia City, they'll start a family together.

He may look cute and have a silly name, but Cream Puff is not a Pokemon to be messed with. He won't let Orin's Mightyena, Fang, get near Audrey. Fang is weak to Cream Puff's moves, anyway, and he wouldn't make a fool out of himself by picking a fight with him. Fang isn't a bad Pokemon deep down- there really isn't such a thing. He's violent because his trainer is, and it's all he's ever known.

Audrey II is a Carnivine who was purchased by Seymour from a Pokemon Breeder as an egg. He was just about to, you know, walk on by, when suddenly, there was this strange humming sound like something from another world... and then, the egg was just... sitting there! He swore it hadn't been there before, but the old Pokemon breeder sold it to him anyway. And I'm sure you can piece together the rest.

[sophswritingthings]

HIIII, how are you? <3 I just finished Candy Candy and Blue Eye Samurai at the same time and I just thought it would be fun to see how Mizu would deal with a cheesy, golden retriever, extrovert reader. (I see them close from the Enemies to Lovers trope).

Just imagine them when it comes to fight other people, they would be a nice duo.

pairing: mizu x fem!extrovert!reader

a/n: oh my god hi guys... i... ive been gone... i know... but im really getting back into writing recently. and. im here. hi! ive missed this i really have. i just rewatched blue eye samurai so the hyperfixation is kinda back.

warnings: nothing!!

word count: 597 words / 3,218 characters

you and mizu never ever got along, per say.

you were maybe the most extroverted person she knew; and god, did she hate it. you were on her side, yes, but she avoided you at all costs. and had threatened to attack you more then once if you didn't keep your mouth shut.

you got along well with ringo, which was maybe the only reason she was keeping you around. it wasn't that annoyingly pretty face, or those smarts that seemed to appear whenever she truly needed them. no. just ringo.

"mizu, i think you should learn to be more social," you said this to her sometimes. it especially ticked her off. did you not understand the gravity of her situation? or were you blatantly ignoring that fact?

maybe you did understand. but you were a fool in her eyes.

one night, you were visiting a nearby village, you needed supplies. without supplies, you weren't going to last one more day in the thick snow of japan's winter.

she was hesitant to let you even set foot in town.

she knew what would happen. you would chat it up with the wrong people, get yourself in danger, and she would have to save you much like every other time you got near people.

she practically kept you at her heel the entire time.

"but mizu," you whined.

"but no," she replied, her voice curt and not any less angry then the last time you had whined at her. if anything, it was worse. "you're not wandering off."

"i wont," you say for maybe the hunderth time, while the woman holds tightly onto the back of your kimono.

"you will.''

"i wont!"

"you definitely will, (y/n)," she sighs, glancing at you. that cute pout on your face was her kryptonite. the way your eyes pleaded with her, the way your bottom lip jutted out. with a scoff and a roll of her eyes under her orange tinted glasses, she loosened her grip on the back of your kimono. "stay. close."

"i promise!" your smile beamed up at her. she was practically melting where she stood. you knew mizu was slowly warming up to you, but you could see a very uncharacteristic softness in her eyes.

"you better keep that," she grumbled, heading down the street. the streets were full of brothels, con-men, and supply shops.

you stop in front of a shop, rifling through the supply shop and picking out just what you needed. it was a few items, that were obviously very overpriced. mizu tried to bargain, but it wasn't working.

"no is no, sir," the merchant shakes his head, gazing at mizu; who is obviously getting more upset by the second.

you gently step in front of her, giving the merchant the sweetest smile you could manage, "excuse me, sir... your items are of so much value, and such good quality... i'm sure they're worth as much as you're selling them for! but, we need these to survive... and you wouldn't want a poor young woman to pass in the snow, right? i mean, that's just horrible!" you place your hand on your chest, gazing at him with begging eyes.

"well, i mean--" he pauses, taking in your sweet and begging expression, "-- i suppose i could sell them for a bit less."

"thank you, sir!" you grab the items, and watch as mizu hands over the needed money. as youre walking away, you say with a laugh, "maybe talking so much isn't that bad after all, huh?"

she rolls her eyes, and sighs, "maybe not."

[danikamariewrites]

More Azriel casual ddlg hc's bc I need it 🙃

A/n: this is just selfindulgent and I'm not sorry

Warnings: ddlg dynamic, daddy kink

Azriel isn’t usually super dominant unless you want him to be so on days where you weren’t at 100% he could tell

He’d be more gentle with the way he talks to you

He knows what it’s like to have a bad day and he wants to help you through it

At first you’d be a little distant from him wanting to be alone but that makes your mood even worse

You’d wander up to his office, his door open and waiting for you. You walk in shyly staring at the floor

Azriel gets up and strides over to you cupping your face lightly since he doesn’t know if you really want to be touched

You lean into his hands, closing your eyes and letting out a soft hum

“You ok princess?” You shake your head and immediately wrap your arms around his torso

He rubs your back and runs his fingers through your hair. “How about we relax for the day yeah? I can make you some lunch, does that sound good?” You nod against his chest. Your muffled ok making it to his ears

He starts to guide you out the door but you stay still making his stop

“Will you carry me?” Az gives you a small smile and picks you up so you cling to the front of him

After he makes you lunch he’d def have you sit in his lap while he feeds you

You like the physical reassurance when you’ve had a bad day

Azriel can never keep his hands off you anyway so he has no problem with it

Every time he tries to get up without you, you pull him back and whine

This also the only time Azriel will let your whining slide

Kisses your nose and cheeks often which makes you smile

“There’s my princess. That cute little smile.”

Azriel makes sure your warm and comfortable by dressing you in his hoodie and sweatpants

Wraps you in your favorite fluffy blanket

Bakes you cookies and feeds you

If it’s winter and really cold he’d make you hot chocolate with extra marshmallows bc you deserve it

You’d sit on his lap all day until you fall asleep then Az would carry you to bed

Other times if you had more energy Azriel would take you out to spoil you

Azriel would hold your hand while you walk down the street looking into the windows of shops

“Oohh can I get that Azzy?” “You can have whatever you want princess.”

Sometimes you want to just hear Azriel’s voice

“Read to me daddy?” You’d say pouting at him from the couch

He’d pick up your favorite book, nothing too long just something over 200 pages, and pull you into his lap

“Of course I will princess.”

You could listen to his smooth dark voice for hours. Others found it scary but you were soothed by it

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

MARTHA'S IS PRETTY ROMANTIC - CHAPTER TWO: JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

summary: a lot can happen over two days, but the stand-out event just had to be that time you went to that restaurant and discovered that you didn't really enjoy seeing tyson flirt with other people. also: who the fuck is jamie?

warnings: awkwardness, mentions of anxiety, swearing, alcohol consumption, meddling, sexual tension, jealousy (both parties), tyson kind of being a dick

word count: 9.9k

previous part | series masterlist | final part

Mat and Toni, respectively, were on a mission. Oddly enough, neither of them had actually discussed their missions, because neither one was aware of the other’s mission. Mat didn’t know what Toni had been chatting about with you, and Toni didn’t know what Mat had been talking about with Tyson on the boat the day before.

But they each had a plan.

Both involved leaving you and Tyson alone at any possible opportunity. Take now, for instance, Toni was completely set on wringing the truth out of Mat about you and Tyson – but only after she’d insisted that she and Mat have a wander around some shops by themselves. That way she could kill two birds with one stone: talk to Mat and leave you and Tyson alone. (She had every intention of talking to Mat after tea, but as soon as the door shut…)

It was how you found yourself sitting at the window of yet another cute cafe, Tyson’s hat askew on your head after he kept complaining about it itching his forehead (he’d patted you rather condescendingly on your cheek when he placed it on you), the man himself at the till ordering your breakfast. There was a gift shop opposite, and it had taken approximately three people to walk out, all bearing paper bags for the idea to come to you.

“A cappuccino with pancakes, milady.” The tray was placed in front of you, as was a glass bottle with am orchid poking out of the top, and you looked up to come face to face with a grinning Tyson, who, after sitting down opposite you, rubbed his hands excitedly, “Fuck me, I’m starving.”

Your eyes wearily scanned over the heads of people in the near vicinity, a little worried that some kid had overheard, but everyone seemed consumed in their own company – no children in sight. You sat up a little straighter.

Martha’s was pretty romantic, wasn’t it?

You swallowed, trying to clear your mind, and almost as soon as your eyes landed on the food in front of you, you felt your stomach rumble loudly, “Me too.”

Tyson nodded, mouth full of his own stack of pancakes, and you stifled a laugh at his impatience, taking a sip of the coffee. 

It had been less awkward than you’d initially expected – waking up next to Tyson – considering the comments you’d so thoughtlessly said. He’d actually not even been in bed when you’d woken up, and it took you getting dressed and wandering downstairs to find him also dressed, sitting on the porch swing with a glass of juice as he watched the water peacefully.

(You would have gone back inside after finding him, had he not spotted you and patted the place next to him – but you decided the extra time with him couldn’t hurt. And anyway, you’d both mostly just sat in silence, not really having anything to say.)

It wasn’t until you’d finished eating your pancakes, both your cups of coffee half-empty that you started talking, his eyes instantly snapping to yours, “I think I’m going to get something for Mat and Toni as a thank you for letting me crash their vacation, d’you want in on it?”

Tyson nodded, “Sounds good. You got any ideas?”

You shook your head, “There’s a gift shop across the street, I thought we could start there?”

“That’s fine by me.” 

You offered a small smile, wondering if you were imagining the tension as Tyson averted his eyes back out of the window. 

And you also didn’t know if he noticed your lingering stares, or if he purposefully chose to ignore it altogether. In fact, you were sure you’d rather it be the former, but you weren’t exactly being subtle. It was always pretty easy to notice when someone had just looked away from you when you looked straight at them – and each time Tyson caught you, you could almost draw the look on his face as he pressed his lips together to muffle a smirk.

“You done?” Tyson leant forwards across the table, peering into your empty coffee mug.

“Yeah.” You nodded, grabbing your bag from the back of your chair, a little distracted by something as your eyes scanned every person sitting at the table.

There were flowers on each table, as well as a few candles, and above the door were more flowers, and everything seemed to be a shade of pastel. The entire cafe seemed…lovey. Ribbons were wrapped around the cakes, and when you thought about it, even your pancake had a heart drawn out in whipped cream.

You hadn’t noticed you weren’t paying full attention to your surroundings until Tyson’s hand shot out to move a chair out of your way, knuckles protecting your leg from an inevitable bruise.

“Are you okay?” He mumbled, and you met his eyes, nodding a little overwhelmed.

His eyes were flickering across your face, no trace of a smile on his lips as he opened his mouth again. You waited for him to say something, but instead he stayed put and silent. It wasn’t until he raised his brows, more out of concern than amusement, that you remembered he’d asked you a question and you hadn’t answered.

“I’m fine.” You said weakly, flashing a tight smile.

He clearly didn’t buy it, but he nodded and continued the winding journey around the tables to get to the door, you at his heels, where he held the door open for you.

It was almost a relief to see the pavement and breathe in non-baked-treat air. It seemed to calm your raging mind – from where that little thing had come from, you didn’t quite know, but it was weird. 

It wasn’t until Tyson was stepping up next to you, a strange look on his face that you realised quite what it was.

It was panic. 

What for?

You didn’t quite know.

“You sure you’re good?” He asked, “You look a bit shaken up.”

“I’m fine, I just didn’t realise how…cutesy everything was here.”

He tilted his head, “What do you mean?”

You swallowed, looking right to avoid his stare. It felt insignificant and a little embarrassing to be admitting it out loud, but this was Tyson.

You’d passed him neon dino undies last night.

“Martha’s is pretty romantic, you were right.” You mumbled, crossing your arms protectively.

His face didn’t waver one bit, and you were glad, “Thought you said you weren’t allergic to romance?”

Your shoulders shrugged before you could stop it, “I wouldn’t really know.”

Tyson swallowed, a little confused by your words. You still looked distracted, eyes bouncing everywhere, cheeks a little red. If he didn’t know better, he’d have assumed you were about to bolt back to the house, but you stayed cemented to the concrete beneath your shoes, completely unmoving. 

And he was about to inquire as to what you meant by that, because his mind was running around pretty quickly.

You wouldn’t know if you were allergic to romance? He had some serious questions, and if his hunch was right, he was about to get pretty pissed with some specific people that you—

Your eyes had settled. They were still moving, but the motion was less hectic and stressed. He followed your gaze, mouth parting at what you were looking at. It was an elderly couple walking down the other side of the street, hands clasped together, and bright smiles plastered on their faces as they conversed with each other.

Oh.

“You…” He started, trailing off. If he was being honest, he wasn’t quite sure where to start that conversation, or if he should start it.

But he knew what you were trying to say.

You turned to him, brow raised and a sigh leaving your mouth, “The gift shop?” 

He just nodded.

***

You and Tyson were the first ones back at the house, feet sore and legs a little achy, immediately seeking out the comfort of the soft sofa cushions, deep sighs of satisfaction released from your very souls. Neither of you said a word to each other as Tyson took one end of the sofa and you took the other, feet stretched and overlapping in the centre, eyes glued to the TV screen.

There were much better views to be had in the house alone; the porch swing you’d both sat at earlier was wonderful, but once you’d walked through the front door, all of that logic had just vanished the moment the sofa was in your eyeline. It was comfy – much too comfy to even consider the thought of having to haul yourself up and walk back outside.

By the time the front door opened and the sound of Mat and Toni’s voices travelled through the corridor, Tyson was asleep, head resting uncomfortably on his shoulder, and you were blinking sleepily, the bags by the side of the sofa just out of reach.

“Oh, they’re here–”

You widened your eyes, a finger pressed to your lips as you pointed at Tyson’s sleeping form. His arms were folded against his chest, and it took Mat to lean over his head to see his closed eyes for him to believe you. He pulled a shocked face, disappearing into the hall where Toni was lining up their own bags at the bottom of the stairs, and dragged her out into the living room to laugh at Tyson.

“He’s gonna be so sore when he wakes up.” Mat whispered, once again eyeing Tyson’s positioning, “What did you do to him?”

You shrugged, “Nothing, we just walked around all day. We actually got you guys something, but I’d wait until he wakes up first.”

Toni silently cooed, a hand over her heart as she rounded the sofa to get a look at Tyson, “How long has he been asleep?”

“About twenty minutes.”

“Can I get a photo of you two?” Toni asked, already pulling out her phone, and you hesitated, eyes drifting to the way Tyson’s curls seemed to hang over his eyes with the low angle of his head. 

He looked kind of adorable, actually. It wasn’t until Toni was encouraging you to look at the camera that you realised it was the first time you’d actually seen him asleep – he’d woken up earlier than you in the morning, and you’d both slept back-to-back in bed, limbs almost hanging off the edges because you were both too conscious of accidentally touching each other.

In fact, now that you were thinking about it, you weren’t sure he even slept a full eight hours. You’d both gone to bed pretty late, and he’d woken up early – you thought at the time the puffy-eyes were because he’d only just woken up, but now you were looking at him so completely out of it, that it had you wondering if he actually got any sleep at all.

You smiled as best as you could, though after Toni had lowered her phone, it dropped instantly. Mat fidgeted from the doorway, bringing bags of groceries through into the kitchen and shooting you a questioning glance.

“Should we wake him up?” He asked, wandering back into the living room, something else hidden in his eyes. It felt like you were missing something, but you weren’t well-versed enough in the ‘looks’ of Mr Barzal to catch onto what he was trying to ask.

You shook your head, “I don’t know if he slept properly last night. He went to sleep after me and he’d been out of bed a while by the time I went downstairs.”

“When did you wake up?”

“Eight-ish.”

Mat nodded, swallowing, before nodding, “Leave him until we’ve done dinner.”

You agreed, your attention going back to the TV until Mat and Toni had left the room. Then you turned to Tyson, where his feet were by your head, him pressed into the back of the sofa and you on the edge. If you moved or got out, you weren’t sure if he’d wake up at the lack of warmth, or if he’d be disturbed by the sofa dipping. 

So you decided to stay put until Mat and Toni started cooking. Then, and very carefully, you peeled yourself off the cushions, cringing everytime Tyson seemed to twitch or move in his sleep – which was more or less successful, especially when you dared to risk putting a cushion between his head and shoulder, attempting to alleviate the inevitable neck cramp he’d experience when he’d wake up later.

And even though none of you were trying to be quiet, pottering around in the kitchen or conversing (the TV was also still on), Tyson still didn’t wake up. In fact, he seemed to slip further from the arm of the sofa until he was laid horizontally on the cushions, rolling over at one point to face the back. 

It would have been endearing if you weren’t so worried about him.

And even after all the food had been cooked, and even after you’d filled him a plate up, not even the smell could wake him up.

“You gonna wake him up? Yeah, thanks.” It was Mat, escaping quickly out of the back door and joining Toni on the patio, leaving you alone in the kitchen, your sole focus still glued on the curly haired brunette curled up.

For some reason you’d expected Tyson to snore.

You stood at the front of the sofa, arms crossed. Waking people up was always a tricky thing to do, especially because it was always strangers you had to rouse; people were fussy and mardy about being woken up, but some people were impossible.

And you had a feeling Tyson belonged in the latter group, with the way he’d slept through the noise and commotion.

“Tys?” You asked, rather awkwardly trying to avoid touching him.

Nothing.

You sighed, reaching down to his jean-clad knee and shaking it. When that didn’t work, you contemplated tickling his feet, but the risk of getting kicked in the face was a little off-putting, and then you found yourself poking his cheek. Judging by the warmth radiating off him, you gathered he was pretty snug.

You threw a cautious glance over your shoulder, checking to ensure no one was watching through the window into the back garden, before kneeling down in front of the sofa, by Tyson’s head, and – rather nervously – reaching a hand into his hair. If nothing else worked, head or back scratches were always a pretty good shot.

“Tyson?” You murmured, nails gently scratching his scalp (his hair was softer than you’d imagined), and getting caught in his curls.

It took you using your other hand to flick his earlobe for a sign of life: he hummed, rolling onto his back and simultaneously forcing your hands off him. His eyes were still shut, face half-screwed up, and you held back a small laugh at his sleepy state.

“Tys,” you started, voice soft, “dinner’s ready.”

He slowly blinked awake, eyes immediately squinting at the lights above, before yawning and rolling his head towards you and scratching the beginnings of his facial hair on his chin, clearly a little confused.

“What?” He mumbled, a crease between his brows as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Dinner. We’re eating outside.” You stood, pointing to the back door, where you knew he’d be able to see the outside lights from where he was laying.

“Already?” He asked, swinging his legs over the side and lifting his bare wrist up to his face, “What time is it?”

“Six.” 

His eyes widened, and he stood up next to you, stretching and groaning at the relief in his joints. A rough palm cupped the side of his neck and he frowned at the dull ache, “How come no one woke me up?”

“We weren’t sure how much sleep you got.” You said, a little uncertain.

He nodded, though, but didn’t say anything else on the matter, “It takes a day or two for me to be able to sleep in a bed that’s not mine.”

You nodded, your gaze sympathetic as you led him to the back door, where Mat and Toni were sitting at the outside table opposite each other, drinks in hand and pasta bowls full, two empty seats next to them. When Tyson followed behind you, Mat cheered and Toni made a joke, but Tyson only shrugged, taking the seat opposite you, immediately digging into his food.

You snuck glances at him throughout the meal, noticing he had a little more colour than earlier – which wasn’t something you immediately noticed – and that the bags under his eyes looked less severe. Letting him sleep had clearly been the right idea.

“Right.” Mat clapped his hands together, before pointing to the conservatory behind Tyson and Toni, “Pool tournament anyone?”

You froze, mid-sip of your G&T, a pebble of dread settling in your stomach. Automatically, your eyes flickered to Tyson opposite, hoping he’d provide you with some reaction, but he was looking straight at Mat, a competitive gleam in his eye as he grinned, “I’m down. What’re the teams?”

And because you were still looking at Tyson over the top of your glass, admiring his almost childlike excitement, you missed the look Toni shared with Mat.

“Me and Tyson?” Toni spoke up, twirling with her earring as her attention focused on you.

In fact, after you’d swallowed another mouthful of your drink, all three pairs of eyes were on you, and you hastily turned to Mat, finding yourself nodding before you could even dare to protest.

You’d expected Mat to go with Toni considering their relationship and all, but you were probably in pretty secure hands if Mat was your teammate too (besides, you got the impression he’d probably be a little more honest with you than Tyson).

It was how you found yourself in the conservatory thirty-seven minutes later, holding a pool cue and dreading your turn. 

You hadn’t played pool in ages, and your skill wasn’t that great then, so you’d prepared yourself for a game of failure and maybe a little embarrassment, but the alcohol would hopefully give you the confidence to embrace that fact.

Only, it seemed you didn’t have to worry too much about your ability, because everyone else was a little too inebriated to concentrate on hitting the ball accurately, and by the time it got to your turn, the only thing you couldn’t play off as the alcohol was actually holding the cue in your hands. You placed a hand on the table, mindful of the nearby balls, and lifted your palm onto your fingertips, slotting the cue between the crevice of your thumb and pointer finger. 

Now for the aim: you looked down the cue, lining it up with the cue ball, which was also straight on and in line with a solid ball. If you slammed the cue ball into the solid ball, you’d knock it against the side and…more or less near a pocket.

In your peripherals you could hear Mat and Toni muttering to each other, shoulder to shoulder – clearly no love lost even despite the competition – and you inhaled, steadying your hands, before pulling the cue back and smacking the cue ball; only your angle was a little off, and the ball landed…just shy of the pocket.

You stood up, unable to help beaming to yourself. It wasn’t as bad as you’d initially predicted. 

“Boom.” Mat stepped forward, knuckles bumping against yours in celebration.

“You can do the next one.” You mumbled, taking a step towards the shelf on the wall and drinking a mouthful of your drink.

When you turned back around, the first thing you saw was Tyson. He was standing on the opposite side of the table, both hands clasping his cue, and his eyes were trained on you. He caught your stare, pointedly glancing back at the table before mouthing ‘you’re going down, fucker’.

You stifled a grin, and if it were months earlier, you’d have probably teased back something along the lines of ‘on who, you?’, but this was now, and something had admittedly changed the entire dynamic of your friendship – probably for the worse, because as much as you tried to deny it, with all the odd tense moments, there was something beginning to nag at the back of your mind that nothing good could come of it, and you were downright petrified of even the thought of not having Tyson in your life.

So you stuck your middle fingers up at him in playful competitiveness, a dead serious look on your face, ‘in your fucking dreams’.

The smirk and adamant shake of his head in response did nothing to change the fact that you and Mat absolutely thrashed Tyson and Toni. So much so that Tyson pushed you into the pool after teasing him too much, though not before you could grab his shirt and pull him in after you.

You both went to bed with aching cheeks after that.

***

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you looked up at the owner of the shadow that had darkened the printed words in your book significantly – not that you needed to look at him; you would have recognised his voice through a fucking whisper – and faced an extremely familiar silhouette, blocking your strip of sun on the lounger. His chest was heaving a little and his entire upper body seemed to be glistening with sweat, even to the edge of his curls as they caught the sunlight, and he stood before you with his hands on his hips, looking undeniably and frustratingly attractive, “where were you this morning?”

You blinked, finding some semblance of safety and solace behind the dark lenses of your sunglasses, eyes secretly roaming…everywhere. You weren’t aware of the phenomenon of someone getting unbearably more attractive by the day, but you were absolutely certain the person standing in front of you was experiencing it in real-time.

Like the day before, you’d woken up by yourself in bed. The sting of disappointment was still there, but you’d managed to get yourself used to it; your expectations were lower and a part of you seemed to acknowledge the fact that his hockey schedule had his internal clock waking up about two hours earlier than you. According to Toni, the same went for Mat, too.

His broad shoulder shrugged, “I went to the gym with Mat and then we both went on a run for a bit. Why, d’you miss me?”

“I just haven’t seen you before ten in the morning, yet.” You excused, moving your hand to shield yourself from the onslaught of the sun – to say it was late morning and the back garden at the house Mat had rented was facing away from the sun, it wasn’t half blazing.

Tyson raised his brows, his cheeks still a little red from the exercise, “You mean you want to see me before ten?”

In truth, somehow you felt as though things between you and Tyson had eased a little – despite the fact this was the first time you were even interacting with the man since last night; something had just been sorted. It felt as though a squeaky joint had been oiled, though you felt partially that it was the buffer of one day separating you from the awkward comment you’d made about dressing him.

Nevertheless, you welcomed the previous ease with a smile and a fluttering heart. After all, he was standing in front of you perfectly tanned and sweaty and with a glorious smile on his face as he looked straight at you. There wasn’t really anything you could complain about.

“I mean,” you started, “I’d like to at least wake up with you in bed.”

He swallowed, “Oh, really?”

“It’d make me feel less like a lazy-ass.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No.” For some reason, you were gripped by a sense of boldness that had never really shown itself, “I bet you look cute in your PJ’s.”

Even in the ensuing silence you didn’t take your eyes off of him. It felt like a pointless exercise at this point.

Except, what he answered next seemed to just blow your mind into smithereens.

“I only wear boxers.”

The shorts he’d gone jogging in weren’t all that long compared to the usual sports attire you’d seen him in and the tease of imagining him in only boxers – like the night you’d made that god-awful comment – sent your mind spiralling and your cheeks heating in misplaced anticipation. You knew he looked good in boxers; anything that highlighted the bulk of his thighs and the muscles in his chest and abs seemed to do the job, and knowing that each night so far he’d been sleeping in so little couldn’t help but render you into speechlessness.

Still, you feigned indifference, “I stand by what I just said.”

“I wear a PJ-based outfit nearly everyday,” he excused, swiping a hand across his face, “I’m gonna go shower and then I’ll come back out. Where’s Mat and Toni?”

“Toni’s wandering around and Mat’s in the shower I think.”

“In that case, I’ll be back down soon.”

“‘Kay.”

And Tyson remained true to his promise, returning not even ten minutes later wearing a pair of swimming trunks and a smile as he plopped down on the empty bed next to you, a bottle of sunscreen in his hand. Your eyes remained loyally on the book in your hands, even as he began lathering himself in sunscreen, his skin almost shimmering in the glint of the sunlight.

At least, you didn’t look until his struggle became a little obvious.

“Do you think you could get my back? Please?” He asked, twisting from where he was sitting, the bottle still in his hand but within reachable distance.

In all honesty, you never even had the thought to say no. Why would you?

“Sure.” You tucked your bookmark into the crease of your book, placing it on the bed before swinging your legs over the side of the lounger, choosing to spray the suncream onto the palms of your hands first instead of straight onto his back.

It was no secret that Tyson, along with the general hockey population, had broad shoulders. It was hard to miss; sometimes the seams on his t-shirts stretched a little too much for comfort, or sometimes the seams just simply weren’t aligned with the angles and joints of his shoulders. It wasn’t something you hadn’t noticed before, but it was a whole other thing to experience when your hands were touching him.

He was warm, and his skin was deliciously soft. 

It was actually the first time you’d ever touched him skin-to-skin, and he seemed to remember that fact entirely when he shivered, bending his head to his feet to hide the planes of his face from your suspicious eyes. Only, once you’d touched him, it seemed to leave an uncomfortable tingling in your palms.

“Hang on, I think I missed a spot.” You mumbled, squirting some more lotion into your hands.

The relief seemed to kick in when your hands were back on his skin once more, and the confusion of that realisation seemed to send your heart hammering so forcefully against your ribs that it was almost painful.

Tyson’s back was so covered in suncream by the end of it, you’d be shocked if he even got any tanning done in the first place. 

He cleared his throat when you clicked the lid back on the bottle, but when he turned back around, there was a little extra something in his eyes when he looked at you. His eyes usually were softer with you, but there was something else hidden in the depths of the dark pools; something you couldn’t quite translate, because you’d never exactly seen that specific kind of look directed at you.

Ever.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the immediate and instantaneous flush of your cheeks as you ducked your head, tucking some hair behind your ear just to give your hands something else to do to distract yourself from the dissatisfaction at not touching him still.

You thought the idea of losing Tyson was the most terrifying thing you’d ever imagined, but it was nothing compared to the devastation you could experience if it meant you’d never be able to do…that. 

And that seemed to send you spiralling a little.

Until, of course, he intervened.

“Do you want me to do your back?” He posed, an empty hand held out.

You nodded, swinging your legs over the other side of the lounger. If anything it gave you time to stall and reorganise your own face so that when you inevitably looked at him again, you’d at least appear somewhat normal.

This is what Tyson had meant when he’d told Mat your relationship was complicated.

His hands were like an antidote to the thoughts swirling in your mind, and for a brief moment, everything went silent. He took his time, hands even smoothing under the strap of your bikini, yet not straying into disrespectful territory. You wondered if he was having the same internal monologue as you, but even though you tried to ignore it, there was a small part of you wondering if this was something he had come to terms with a while ago – especially if he’d told that to Mat so long ago.

Nothing seemed to quieten your mind when, not even five minutes later, you turned back to your book. Your eyes were skimming pointlessly over the words, but nothing was quite registering, the main voice heard being the one in your mind, practically screaming mindless and senseless theories at you whilst Tyson laid peacefully next to you.

***

The rest of the day seemed to go by like someone had held in a fast-forward button: nothing but a blur of light and colours or a cacophony of sound. You knew nothing extensively productive had been done; mostly just relaxing by the beach and pool respectively, trying to recuperate the energy everyone had burnt and spent yesterday.

And naturally, after a full day of lounging around, you’d all pretty much agreed dinner out was the best way to go: you’d yet to go to a local restaurant, and no one could really be bothered actually cooking after the barbeque yesterday (there was also the washing up, and absolutely no one was willing to stick their hands in a scalding tub of water in this hot weather).

It took about ten minutes to decide on which restaurant to choose that’d cater to everyone’s tastes, and you were pretty glad at how it had turned out. The place wasn’t too busy, and by the time you’d all sat down at the table and already managed to work your way through two rounds of drinks, the role of ordering the next round had miraculously fallen to you.

It was how you found yourself leaning against a sticky bartop, forearms aching slightly at the pressure of leaning against the wood. The drinks you’d had so far hadn’t kicked in yet or provided you with some relief to get away from Tyson’s burning gaze and dim the sharp awareness you seemed to have developed in the last twenty-four hours, but even so, you didn’t notice the figure next to you until he’d shuffled close enough for you to smell his cologne and feel the material of his shirt against your bare upper arm.

“Woah.” You muttered, taking a sidestep to avoid getting shoved into.

Luckily, the guy didn’t follow your movements, but when you turned to see what had happened, he was wearing a friendly smile and holding his hand out for you to shake – not only was it a little creepy, probably trouble, but it was entirely inconvenient considering the fact that you could still feel Tyson’s searing stare on you from the other side of the room.

Your skin prickled with it, and you felt kind of glad you’d been told to get the next round because at least it was an excuse to get some fresh air without feeling so on edge all the time (and it wasn’t even like Tyson had done anything – that was all you, which made it all the more difficult to deal with).

“Sorry, I tried getting your attention but I don’t think you heard me.” The man explained politely, his hand still suspended between you both, “I’m Jamie.”

You tilted your head, taking him in. There was something about him that was vaguely familiar, like you’d either met him before or he just had one of those annoying faces that reminded you of someone you couldn’t put your finger on; he had thick blonde hair that curled under his ears and seemed to fall in layers on the top of his head, and very clear sea-green eyes. There was a rugged handsomeness about him, and whilst you pasted a polite smile on your face, you shook his hand.

And almost as soon as you made the move to do so, his face seemed to crumple as his brows furrowed and his lips parted – all attempts at possibly flirting flying right out of his head.

“Do I know you?”

“Have we met before?”

You spoke at the same time, both now wearing equal expressions of confusion, and unable to help laughing a little awkwardly, minds racing.

You introduced yourself, wondering if your name might ring a bell, but he shook his head, the creases on his forehead deepening. 

“Nothing.” He said, “I do know you, though.”

It was a blunt thing to say to a stranger, and if it weren’t for the way your brain seemed to also be spinning you’d have probably run the opposite way, but you felt glued to the spot. It was like your brain wouldn’t let you move until you figured out just what significance Jamie had in your life.

“Where did you grow up?” He asked, tapping his fingers against the bartop, his eyes momentarily leaving you to flicker to the front of the line.

No one had budged: there was only one bartender, and apparently everyone ahead of you in the queue had also been designated to buy the next round and was ordering drinks for their groups, because each person was taking a while to be served. 

“Minnesota.” You answered, “You?”

This was fucking weird.

“Fort Mac. College?”

“Penn State.”

“UBC.” He sighed, scratching the scruff on his chin and letting out a sound that was somewhere between a frustrated huff and a psychotic cackle.

It made you smile a little.

“Where do you live now, if you don’t mind me asking?” You asked, raising a brow.

He could be a friend’s ex? Or an old work colleague? A family friend? A neighbour?

Jamie swung his gaze back to you, and there was a flicker of something that seemed to click in your mind. A fragment of a memory – it was a split second of a frame of something, but the face in it was younger: his cheeks were a little fuller and he didn’t have any facial hair.

But before you could grasp onto it, the flicker of recognition seemed to dissipate completely, leaving you just as clueless as before.

“Fuck.” You groaned, “I thought I had it, then.”

Jamie laughed, it was a deep, gravelly sound that seemed to resonate in your bones, and from where you’d put your hand against your head in frustration, you turned to him.

He was actually quite pretty for a man. It was a realisation, sure, but with that also came the knowledge that when you thought that thought, you felt…nothing. There was nothing. 

Oh no.

You swallowed, risking a glance back at your table to see Tyson chatting to Toni about something, and almost instantly the symptoms seemed to kick in: your hands got clammy and your pulse picked up. Your eyes caught Mat over all the customers, and he flashed a concerned thumbs up, clearly hinting at Jamie, and you offered a smile, repeating his action, before turning back to the man at hand.

You must really like Tyson.

Like a lot.

You cleared your throat, trying to distract yourself from the way your thoughts seemed to take a spiral down and remove you from your present being, but before you could even conjure up something to say, Jamie had gasped – as far as a man of his stature could do such a thing.

“I know.” He stuttered, pointing a finger at you with a wild look in his eyes, “I live in Vancouver right now, but you live in Buffalo, right?” He asked, talking quickly as though he was afraid he’d lose his train of thought mid sentence.

All you could do was nod.

“We met before at a hockey game in Vancouver, it was against Buffalo, and you were in the drinks line with a friend and you guys overheard me tell my buddy about something–”

Tyson felt off – only he knew the sole reason for the off-feeling and also knew what the off-feeling was: it didn’t take much guessing or analysing on his behalf. All he had to do was sneak a glance at you out of the corner of his eye (Toni was still talking to him, but every so often he felt like his eyes were just pulled in your general vicinity), and the reason for the prickle of his jealousy was staring right back at him.

There was a guy talking to you. Tyson wouldn’t have minded at all if it didn’t look like you two knew each other, or the fact that as the line grew shorter your conversation seemed to get more animated. You’d been laughing, the guy had been laughing, and Tyson wasn’t unaware of the fact that he was attractive.

No, that was a fact he was painfully aware of.

And he knew the whole jealous thing wasn’t necessarily a possessive spirit, because instead of feeling the need to walk over and interrupt, all he felt was a vague swell of panic that had been slowly building under his sternum and had spread out across his ribs. He felt his heart rate pick up and his mind disconnect itself from Toni’s conversation (she wa a little tipsier than everyone else, and Mat was involved in the conversation too, so he assumed Toni wouldn’t be able to pick up on his lack of presence), and he had to swallow the rising lump in his throat.

He’d never been affected by you like that before, and a part of him knew it was because whenever you two would see each other outside of hockey fixtures, it’d just be the two of you, which meant he was blissfully unaware of other people’s intentions with you. In fact, when he thought about it, he didn’t think he could ever remember feeling threatened by someone else that could hurt his chances with you – although at the time he hadn’t had any kind of hope that you’d reciprocated his buried feelings, so things were a little different.

Even so, he still wasn’t sure about how you felt, and he was far too much of a chicken to outright ask you.

Something drove against his shin under the table, pulling him out of his thoughts. He turned straight to Mat, who was shooting him a pointed glare and subtly nodding his head in Toni’s direction and Tyson had the horrid feeling as though he’d just been caught ignoring her.

He cleared his throat, turning to Toni with an apologetic smile, “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Toni took a sip of her drink, trying to hide the knowing smile on her face. Tyson might have unintentionally not heard what she’d said, but one glance at his eyeline gave her all the answers she could ever need, and for that, she rather found Tyson getting distracted amusing (even if she repeatedly said his name to get his attention – Tyson could do little wrong in her eyes, ever).

“I was asking if you had any ideas on what we could do tomorrow?” Toni repeated gently.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Tyson was thinking, but his mind was blank. All he could picture was the word and Toni’s face as she waited patiently for an answer.

He cleared his throat, “I don’t know, what’re you guys thinking?”

“We were thinking we all do our own thing and then have a movie night?” Mat proposed, shrugging as he kept one arm over the back of your empty chair. And like there was some magnetic pull towards you, Tyson flickered his attention over to you.

He wished he hadn’t. 

The guy was scribbling something down on a piece of paper, and you took it from him with a smile.

Tyson ducked his head, staring into the bottom of his empty beer glass, a little despondent, “Yeah, that sounds fine by me.” He mumbled, completely missing the shared look between Mat and Toni.

“You okay, Tys?” Mat asked, and though he was somewhat amused by his friend’s lovesick symptoms, he was equally as concerned for his quietness. Tyson wasn’t usually so silent; most of the time he was always engaged in some kind of enthusiastic conversation – and it was pretty rare that he wasn’t smiling.

He just nodded, changing the subject, “Why don’t you guys use those spa vouchers we got you for tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Toni hummed, looking at Mat, “That sounds like a nice idea.”

“Yeah, we can do that.” Mat agreed.

“Sorry it took so long, the queue was pretty slow.” You retook your seat, the previous conversation coming to an abrupt end – causing you to raise a curious brow.

Your eyes swept right over Mat and Toni, both of whom eagerly took their drinks off the tray muttering their thank you’s, and came to rest on Tyson. He took his drink all the same, but there was a weight and heaviness on his face – it looked like concentration with the way his mouth had twisted to one side, but he hadn’t even acknowledged your presence.

“Is everything okay?” You directed the question to the group, but your eyes slipped unintentionally to Tyson, who shrugged.

“Yeah, we were just talking about tomorrow. Mat and I are gonna use those spa vouchers you got us.” Toni explained, and you nodded.

“Sounds like a plan.” 

And with that, the conversation started flowing again – but your attention was still somewhat tied to Tyson, who still hadn’t said anything.

You tried to get his attention by sneaking unsubtle glances at him in the hopes he’d look back, but it worked to no avail. 

“I need the bathroom.” He excused himself quickly, not making eye contact with anyone at the table before he’d turned on his heel to make his way to the bathroom. There was a patterned divider screen paving the short corridor before his figure completely disappeared from view as the door shut behind him.

When you turned back to Toni and Mat, the question of whether he was alright or not died on your tongue at the way they were both looking at you.

“What?” You questioned, your hand immediately going to rest against the cool glass of your drink. 

They were both looking at you with identical expressions of something on their faces, but you couldn’t quite place the meaning of it.

It was Mat who took the liberty of answering your question, “He saw you talking to that guy at the bar.”

Oh.

“So?”

Toni laughed softly, “So he got jealous.”

You felt yourself pull a face at her words, almost scoffing in disbelief, but no words came to mind. 

“You two did look pretty cosy.” Toni continued, arching a brow in your direction as she elegantly took a sip of wine, peering at you over the top of her glass.

“We weren’t flirting.” You excused, shaking your head as your eyes went back to the divider near the bathroom.

“Josty didn’t know that.” Mat said, “But he did see you guys laughing–”

“And he saw the piece of paper he gave you.”

“There was a piece of paper?” Mat’s eyes widened, before he winced, “Ouch.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes, “His name is Jamie and we met a few months ago at a Buffalo-Vancouver game and he gave me his number, yeah, but it was because he mentioned his company had a position in his Buffalo office–”

“He offered you a job?” Mat tilted his head in your direction, shock clearly written across his features.

You shook your head, “He told me about a job; it pays better than my current one and it doesn’t involve a fifty-minute commute. I think I’d be pretty crazy not to consider it.”

They were both silent.

“So he really wasn’t flirting?” Mat double-checked, and you sighed, a little frustrated.

“He tried to, but I told him I wasn’t interested.”

“Why?” Toni shot back, interest in her eyes.

You huffed, and maybe if you weren’t already a little tipsy, you’d have said something about not knowing why, but the alcohol currently in your system as well as the sips you’d taken from your new round made you a little less self-conscious of being honest…at least to a certain extent, “Because he’s not my type.” You shrugged.

“And your type is what, exactly?”

And then you went silent. The hand clasped around your glass seemed to react before you could register what you were doing, but you raised the glass and took a mouthful.

Mat, however, seemed to have the opposite reaction. He slumped comfortably in his chair, a lazy smirk on his lips, “Your type is Tyson.” 

And if you were being honest, the thing that stung you most wasn’t necessarily the truth: that perhaps the pinnacle of ‘your type’ was Tyson after all, but the fact that other people had caught on. You weren’t entirely aware your recent not-so-subtle crush on Tyson had been obvious – mostly considering it was a realisation that you’d come to within the last few days.

“Come on, you guys have liked each other for months–”

What. The. Fuck.

“What the fuck.” You breathed, unable to help the comment slip out of your mouth in shock, “No.”

Mat frowned, his brows knitting together as he shook his head in your direction, an adamant expression on his face as he seeked out Toni for reassurance, “Yes.”

You inhaled sharply, hand now pressed against the table, “No, I didn’t figure that out until literally two days ago. I’m only now realising that I’ve been crushing on him this entire time. Some fucking denial…”

Once more, a shroud of silence seemed to envelope the entire table. Mat remained frozen, crazy eyes fixated on you (not that you blamed him, you weren’t entirely sure you weren’t making this entire conversation up in your own head at this point), and Toni’s mouth had dropped in shock.

Then, something seemed to crawl across your skin. It was a prickle of foreboding, something that could have been easily mistaken for anxiety had you not had the displeasure of experiencing said emotion firsthad, but this kind was unfamiliar.

Again, like your body was trying to tell you something, your eyes circled back to the divide near the bathroom.

Something sour immediately seemed to collect in your stomach, and you swallowed harshly, tearing your eyes away from the scene with a curl of displeasure fogging your brain, “Looks like you were wrong on his behalf, though.”

In his defence, Tyson was ambushed. He was wholly and honestly ambushed right from the second he stepped out of the bathroom door. He hadn’t seen it coming; though who could? She’d been blocking his path back to the table completely and he couldn’t even say he’d ever seen her before, and the second she introduced herself with that sultry smile he knew what was about to happen. It was something that had happened numerous times before, and not something he could say was exactly convenient in that exact moment – especially if you were to look straight over, because from your seat he knew you had a pretty solid view of the doors, kind of like how he’d had a pretty solid view of the bar not even ten minutes ago.

Perhaps it was karma. Maybe it was a coincidence. Or maybe it was an opportunity to get back at you, to see just how you’d act when he sat back down at the table. If you were completely normal, he’d know for certain you weren’t even the slightest bit interested, but if you weren’t? Well, he’d definitely take note and then have to ask Mat how to proceed because he wasn’t that good at stuff like that.

Though, he tended to be good at it when you were involved, but that was riding on a major ‘if’.

It was why he (rather cruelly) entertained himself in the conversation with the lady clearly waiting for him. She was bold, he’d give her that, but she wasn’t you – could never be you.

“Are you liking Martha’s so far?” She asked, tilting her head seductively in his direction, and Tyson physically restrained himself from sneaking a glance in your direction.

“Yeah, it’s pretty incredible. Good views, and all. What about you, you having fun?” He couldn’t ever say he was good at talking to people he didn’t know, because if he did he was sure he’d be branded some kind of world-class liar, but he attempted it, at least for appearance’s sake.

“I mean,” She laughed, placing an unwanted hand on his bicep that he’d luckily kept covered with a blazer, “I could be having more fun, if you get my drift.” She raised an eyebrow, and to be polite, Tyson shuffled out of her grip subtly, and although she dropped her hand, the smirk on her face remained pretty steady.

He laughed a little awkwardly, something between a grimace and a smile on his face, “I do, but I’m taken.” He lied easily, this time momentarily making direct eye contact with you for a brief second. He couldn’t decide if his heart simply stuttered or actually stopped beating, but he swore when you looked away he’d never felt so aware of what he was doing.

He was being a dick just to get a reaction out of you.

“Oh.” The girl’s expression dropped and she took a respectful step back, “I apologise.”

“No need, I...” Tyson shrugged, trailing off pathetically.

Then she turned around, clearly able to focus on exactly who had stolen his attention for that brief moment, and when she looked back at Tyson there was a gleam of understanding on her face, “She’s beautiful.”

“I know.” There wasn’t even a debate about it, the words had just flown so freely out of his mouth that he couldn’t ever really imagine saying anything with such confidence in his entire life.

The girl flashed a soft smile, the kind that had Tyson wondering if she ever really had the true intention of really flirting with him, and simply wandered into the ladies bathroom next to him.

He remained rooted to the spot, his mind reeling. Really, he was flattered, but other women flirting with him had never felt so uncomfortable. He felt the awkward desire to apologise to you for some reason; it wasn’t as though there was anything tying him to you on any kind of level. There’d only been a  few moments but not enough for him to hate it when it wasn’t you flirting with him. Surely?

He cleared his throat, hand over his chest as he looked up. Straight in your direction. The food had arrived, the plate in his empty place steaming, but it was the look on your face that had him moving. You’d bitten the inside of your cheek and there was a thoughtful, vacant look in your eyes – something was up.

Only, when he’d returned to his seat, you ignored his questioning glance and instead offered a tight, clearly irritated smile.

And something dropped in his stomach: it felt an awful lot like guilt.

***

Somewhere along the lines it was decided a walk back to the house would be a good way to end the night. Mat and Toni were walking ahead of you and Tyson, hands intertwined and hushed conversation flowing easily. It couldn't have been more opposite than yours and Tyson’s current situation.

There was at least an arm’s length between you both, and neither of you had spoken a single word since the restaurant. 

It was awkward.

He had still given you his jacket, though – but even that went without words other than your concerned glance to his bare arms (he shrugged), and a muttered thank you.

You wanted to ask if he was okay, there was just something nagging you in the back of your mind, but you pushed it down. It wasn’t even fair of you to be a little pissed at him, but you were. In fact, you were more pissed at yourself. Perhaps if it hadn’t looked as though you were flirting with Jamie, Tyson wouldn’t have flirted with the gorgeous girl outside the bathroom.

Then again, you had learnt a lesson from tonight, so you’d chosen to take that presumption with a pinch of salt, because if you didn’t, you’d be a whole hypocrite.

You just needed a breather, and the only way you could process everything in your head and everything your body was telling you about the man next to you, was to process it in silence. In your own head and on your own terms. 

Hopefully the processing wouldn’t last too long, though.

“Excuse me.” You stopped, twirling around at the sound of a soft, delicate voice. Your arms immediately uncrossed from against your chest, coming to rest at your sides as you flashed a polite smile at the elderly couple that had stopped you.

Your eyes automatically flickered down to their chained arms, and that slow sense of panic from yesterday began to tease at your insides again.

“Is everything alright?” You asked.

The sound of footsteps getting closer registered somewhere in the back of your mind, and your skin seemed to erupt in goosebumps when a subconscious part of your mind registered it was Tyson that had pressed himself closer to you. Again, he wasn’t touching you, but you could still feel his presence and warmth.

You’d never really been this in-tune with him before.

The man smiled back up at you, and you ignored the way his wife’s curious eyes slipped to Tyson behind you, “It is, but we’re just a little bit lost, and we were wondering if you could point us in the right direction?”

You nodded instantly, automatically turning to Tyson, who’d already read your mind and was pulling up maps on his phone, “Where do you need to be?”

The man – Eric – answered, and you nodded in understanding, curling your head to look down at Tyson’s phone. You felt your heart start to race at the closeness: he was still standing a little behind you, but he’d placed his phone in a position you could also see his screen, so all you had to do was turn your head a little to the right, his curls ticking the top of your head. 

Neither one of you made a move to inch away.

“I’m really sorry if I’m overstepping here, but you two make a lovely couple.” The lady – Freda – said a little sheepishly.

The breath in your chest seemed to still, and you felt your mouth form a shape, but no sound came out. Luckily, Tyson seemed to take the lead, his media training and prep for keeping a straight face and calm demeanour (all of which you were failing ridiculously in) being used to–

“Thank you.” 

You inhaled sharply, head snapping back to him in surprise. Of all things you’d expected him to say, a simple thank you was most definitely not on the cards – at all. In fact, you’d fully prepared for him to shoot it down with a smile, but here he was, accepting it with a smile.

And you misjudged exactly where he was, because in all the heart-stopping seconds you’d just experienced, it hadn’t even occurred to you that he’d also turned to face the couple. So when you turned back to him, chest aching with something that had recently come into fruition, you turned into him.

The proximity of your faces was so close that even with a small breath you could feel it fan across your cheeks. His nudged your cheek, and almost as though it was rehearsed, both of your gazes instantly went to the other’s mouth.

Before flicking back up to the eyes, and when you did, something seemed to crack. Or click. You couldn’t quite determine which, but there was a heavy vulnerability written there clear as day: he was just as taken aback by the sudden closeness as you were, though he seemed to have mastered the ability to hide the rest of his emotions pretty well.

As for you, you were sure he could see just about everything on your face.

Before the moment could be ruined, you took one daring look back at his lips, suddenly struck with the strength of the magnetism between you both. You felt compelled to kiss him then. The thought had the corner of your mouth twitching up fractionally and your breath hitching in your chest, because that idea wasn’t at all as petrifying as you thought it would be.

You wanted to kiss Tyson in a way that if you did, it’d just screw you both up.

He must have been on a similar wavelength, however, because his cheeks seemed to colour and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, almost testing you, a hungry glint in his eyes.

And then it was over as quickly as it had happened.

The couple got their directions and you and Tyson all but speed-walked home in the exact same situation as before the interruption: maintaining a safe distance and in an awkward silence, though this time for a slightly different reason.

“I’m going to bed.” You announced immediately after walking through the front door, needing to sit in silence in the dark for a while longer.

Tyson.

Your brain just seemed to scream his name, and although you knew exactly what it meant, it didn’t mean you weren’t a little intimidated by the prospect of it. Only, when he came upstairs twenty-minutes later, you were laid on your side facing the window, and he didn’t bother to be quiet, probably assuming you weren’t asleep anyway, and threw a piece of screwed up paper onto your bedside table with an audible, resigned sigh.

You felt him hesitate, and you cracked your eyes open a little to see him with his hands over his face before they fell down to his sides in resignation. There was a hardness to his jaw and he looked…devastated.

It wasn’t until he’d gone into the bathroom that you unfurled the piece of paper, nerves haywire at what exactly could have caused such a dramatic change in demeanour.

Fuck.

Jamie’s number.

You placed the paper back where he put it, anxiety crushing through your system when there was a muted sigh from inside the bathroom, followed by a muffled bang.