#god blizzard finally did a valentine's thing. and it's actually all happy

[blizzardz]

lovebirds

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

The Art of Love (Part 7) ~ Steve Rogers x Reader College!AU

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day Weekend my loves! I’m finally getting back into this story. Hopefully I’ll be able to finish it up soon, but no promises. lol but I hope you enjoy. I wanted to get this out because this year the dates actually line up lol so here we are. 

Summary: You and Steve host his mom and Bucky for dinner. 

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader (Eventual), Bucky Barnes, Sarah Rogers 

Rating: K+

Warnings: None. Fluff . Idiots 

Word Count: 1968

Divider by: @whimsicalrogers​

Main Masterlist | The Art of Love Masterlist | Broken Hearts and Robot Parts Masterlist (Companion Fic) ​

You were unable to tear your eyes away from Steve as he tugged his shirt off and tossed it in the hamper, though you rolled your eyes when he laughed at you. It wasn’t until you heard him singing Sexyback that you huffed and turned back to the dresses.

You stared at your remaining options. You couldn’t help but smile when you came to a decision. If you were right, you knew exactly why it was his favorite. After you packed away the rest of the dresses you flopped down on the bed scrolling through your notifications.

“Did you make a decision?” Steve asked as he exited the bathroom, dressed in his jeans and white tank top but barefoot.

You gestured to the closet where the blue wrap dress hung next to his shirt.

Steve looked at it and grinned.

“My favorite.” Steve laid on his side next to you, propping his head in his hand. “We really should go back to California soon.”

You rolled on your side to mimic his position.

“I’d love that. Ooh maybe in the winter though because it’ll be nice and warm,” you giggled.

“That’s a great idea.”

You dropped your gaze from his and started tracing the pattern of his bedspread.

“What’s going through your head, sweetheart?” Steve asked as he covered your hand with his own.

“Just going over what’s left to do for tonight.”

“Everything is all set. There’s nothing left for you to do except to get ready.”

“How long do I have?”

Steve glanced at his phone.

“About an hour.”

“Okay, that’s probably enough time to make myself presentable,” you fretted.  

He cupped your cheek, focusing your attention on him.

“Sweetheart, please stop worrying. You are always beautiful.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Nope. It’s my professional opinion. Are you doubting someone who almost has a bachelor’s in fine arts?” he demanded haughtily.

You giggled and rolled your eyes, shoving at his chest.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” he beamed.

“That I do.”

“Why don’t you go take a shower. Take your time and relax. I even bought the candle you like.”

“Summer storm?”

“Yup.”

“You’re the best.”

You kissed him on the cheek as you climbed over him to go shower.

The shower helped calm your nerves and when the water ran cold you wrapped yourself in the fluffy towel Steve had bought just for you and padded back into the bedroom.

You kept the music on low as you got ready, fixing your hair and doing some light make up. When you were satisfied with your appearance you tugged on the dress and slid your feet into the low heels. The final touch was the silver necklace of a dancer that Steve had bought you for your first showcase.

“So how do I look?” you asked as you stood beside the TV.

“Beautiful.”

He patted the spot beside him on the couch and you happily joined him. He immediately twined his fingers through yours.

“I’m really glad that you’re here with me tonight. I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

He brought your hands up so he could kiss your knuckles you couldn’t help the fond smile that tugged at your lips. Your shower and primping had taken less time than you expected so you and Steve passed the time watching the Good Place.

You were tucked neatly into Steve’s side as you waited for his mom and Bucky to arrive. As his nerves mounted yours seemed to recede and you rubbed soothing circles over his knuckles.

“Relax, Steve. It’s your mom and Bucky. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“There’s a lot to worry about. The three people I love the most are all going to be in the same place.”

“I thought you weren’t worried about me meeting your mom.”

“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about me. The three people who have the most dirt on me in the same room. Yikes.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You know I live to lift you up. But I hope she brought baby pictures.”

“You’re awful.”

“You love me.”

“You sure about that?”

“Not a doubt in my mind.”

He pulled you closer and kissed the crown of your head.

“Good because I do. Mmm. You smell good.”

“I smell like you.” you giggled. “I forgot my shower gel.”

“Yeah but it’s your shampoo. It’s the perfect combination.”

You were interrupted by keys jangling and the door swinging open.

“Honey, I’m home.”

“Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, Smudge. Hey, Stevie.”

Neither of you moved from the couch as he hung his jacket up and walked into the kitchen.

“God it smells great in here.”

“Bucky Barnes, don’t you dare eat anything to spoil your appetite.”

“But I’m starving,” he whined.

“We’re having appetizers as soon as Steve’s mom gets here. Just wait.”

Bucky pouted into his beer as he sank into the opposite end of the couch.

“I promise it’s worth it.”

“I’m sure it is, doll”

“You’re too sweet, Buck. What did you do today?”

“I spent most of it at the hospital. A spot on their Saturday shift opened up so I took it.”

“Aw that’s great. You didn’t think you’d be able to this semester.”

“I know. I’m really glad. There’s this really sweet girl who just is amazing.”

You and Steve shared a smile at the excitement and fondness in his voice.

The three of you chatted, until your nerves got the best of you and you moved into the kitchen to triple check everything for dinner. The boys trailed behind you, but stayed out of your way.

Your eyes snapped to the door when it buzzed and you tracked Steve as he went to greet his mom. Bucky used your distraction to swipe a grape earning him a rap on the knuckles with a cheese knife.

“Hands off, Buck.”

“Aw come on, doll.”

“No more.”

Bucky pouted but kept his hands to himself as you retrieved the glasses from the cabinet.

Steve was laughing when he opened the door with the one and only Sarah Rogers trailing behind him. She smiled brightly when she spotted you and Bucky. You quickly wiped your hands on the dish towel and hurried to greet her.

“Hi, Mrs. Rogers, it’s nice to see you again.”

“It’s lovely to see you, darling. Please call me, Sarah.”

Once Steve took her coat she leaned forward to kiss you on each cheek.

“Hello, James.”

“Hey, Aunt Sarah,” he grinned around a mouthful of cheese.

“Buck!”

“Sorry, Smudge!”

Rolling your eyes you headed back into the kitchen.

“Can I get you something to drink, Ma?”

“I’ll just have some water.”

“Regular water or seltzer water.”

“Regular please, dear.”

“Sweetheart do you want anything.”

“Water please.”

You retrieved the charcuterie board fiddling slightly trying to disguise the gap Bucky’s munchies had left. He had the good grace to look apologetic when you glared in his direction.

Sarah had made herself comfortable in the arm chair and Bucky took the chair and a half across from her leaving you to sit beside Steve on the couch. He patted your knee before taking your hand as he had earlier.

“How was your Saturday? Did you work today?” Steve asked.

“No, I’m off this weekend. I went grocery shopping. Needed to stock up on a few items. It was a mad house though.”

“Really? It was quiet when we were there,” Steve hummed.

“We were there at like 6:30,” you pointed out.

“True. And it was getting crowded when we were finishing up.”

“I wonder why.”

Bucky and Sarah gaped at the two of you.

“You two really do live under a rock in that arts building don’t you?”

Sarah laughed at Bucky’s observation.

“Why? What are we missing?”

“There’s a blizzard coming tomorrow. Everyone was stocking up before the storm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Uh huh. It’s been on every news station for a week. What have you been doing?”

“Avoiding my phone at all costs,” you admitted.

Steve shrugged his agreement. “I’ve been distracted.”

“Well, I hope you got more than just food for tonight.”

“Yeah, we’re all set,” Steve assured his mom. “We’ll just hunker down here for the next few days.”

“Absolutely. It’s not like we were planning to leave for the next couple of days anyways,” you agreed.

“Oh did you two have plans for the holiday?”

You squirmed under Sarah’s amused but expectant gaze, not wanting to give her the wrong impression.

“Tomorrow is our annual Lord of the Rings Marathon. We do it every year,” Steve explained with a grin.

“How did that come about?”

“During Freshman year, I got really sick right around Valentine’s Day. And my roommate, and pretty much everyone else I knew had gone on this ski trip that whole week. Steve was worried about me so he brought me pancakes from the dining hall and chicken noodle soup and stayed with me the whole weekend. We watched a ton of movies, but somehow Lord of the Rings became a tradition.”  

“That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah it is.”

You squeezed as his hand as he looked over at you with that soft smile you loved so much.

Steve patted his stomach and hummed as he sat back in his chair, nudging your knee with his. Bucky was wiping his bowl with the last of the rolls, and Sarah demurely wiped at her mouth.

“Dinner was absolutely delicious. I’ve got to say, Y/n, I’m impressed you’ve taught my son to cook.”

“I wouldn’t say I taught him. We more figured it out together. Poor Bucky had to taste test a lot of nearly inedible things.”

“Except her baking. That’s always been amazing,” Bucky piped up as he shoved the last roll into his mouth.  

“Speaking of, I should get the pie in the oven to warm up or we won’t have dessert until midnight,” you fretted.  

“I’ve got it, sweetheart. Just relax.”

“I’m sure the boys won’t mind cleaning up.”

You glance at Steve who nods encouragingly before hopping to his feet, squeezing your shoulders as he kissed the top of your head as he passed by. Bucky finished chewing and began to clear the dishes.

“Why don’t we move over to the couch?” she suggested.

You nodded and grabbed your glass and followed her, sitting next to the older woman.

“I’m so glad that we’re finally getting to spend some time together. Steve never stops talking about you. You’re clearly very special to him.”

You couldn’t help but look over at him, smiling as he elbowed Bucky out of the way at the sink.

“He’s very special to me too.”

“Thank you for taking care of him. I know he can get lost in his work.”

“He does the same for me.”

“I also have to say, you’re a beautiful dancer. I’m looking forward to your performance at the Showcase. It’s always been a highlight in the past.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m flattered.”

“I also saw that you and Steve were celebrating a new job last night?”

“Yes, I just joined the Howling Commando Stage Troupe as a dancer and assistant choreographer.”

“Oh that’s so exciting. Congratulations. Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yes, absolutely. They’ll send me the info for the summer series in a few weeks.”

“And how does one manage being a dancer and a choreographer at the same time.”

“The Howlies always mount two shows simultaneously, so I’ll be dancing in one show while I help choreograph the other.”

“Ah, I see. Well that is quite the undertaking, but I’m sure it will all be beautiful. You’ll have to let me know when opening night is. I would love to come and see you.”

Her earnest support caught you off guard.

“Of course,” you finally managed. “Thank you.”  

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed ! 

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Update 3/15/2021: Hello, Lovelies. As some of you may have seen on the blog I have decided to suspend tag lists. If you would like to receive updates about new content please follow @naynay-writes​​ and turn on notifications. Thank you! Xoxo, Naynay

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[darklesmylove]

snowed in | jurdan

on valentine’s day, cardan and jude get snowed in together

modern au? they live in the mortal world but cardan’s still fae *shrugs*

anyways, happy valentines day! :) 

***

"Get the fuck out Cardan, I swear to god," I snapped, shoving his drunk, limp body away from me as hard as I possibly could. 

"You really want me to drive home drunk, Jude? That's heartless, even for you," he smirked, though he did manage to stagger to his feet, bracing himself against the side of the couch for support. The Valentine's Day party I had somehow been roped into hosting by Vivi and Taryn had long since ended, now only an obnoxiously drunk Cardan remained, though I couldn't possibly fathom why. Somehow he had taken it upon himself to make my hosting as difficult as humanly possible all fucking night, bumping into me and spilling drinks and doing every possible annoying thing he could probably think of to make my life even more difficult then it already was. 

"Leave, Cardan," I pressed two fingers to my temple, the headache throbbing at my skull non coincidentally directly connected to the sound of his voice. 

"Suit yourself, my company is delightful, even for mortal bitches like you," he lofted, grabbing one of the unopened bottles of vodka from the granite kitchen countertop before proceeding to stumble down the hallway towards the front door, swaying heavily on his feet. 

Good lord, he was not driving in his condition. 

"I'm calling you a cab!" I yelled, grumbling obscenities under my breath as I yanked my phone from my pocket. Despite my words, he seemingly decided it was a good idea to throw the door open anyways. 

A gasp parted my lips as an immediate blast of icy wind blustered down the hall, the dim porch lights revealing that it had begun to heavily snow since I had last looked outside, the yard already blanketed with sparkling white. 

"Cardan, get back here," I ordered, which he pointedly defied by taking a heavily staggered step forward onto the porch. Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I practically sprinted to his side, grasping onto his arm and yanking him back into the house before slamming the door. 

"I thought you wanted me to leave." His grin was wicked and spiteful and god damn infuriating. 

"You'll kill yourself if you drive drunk in this weather," I grumbled, releasing him and stalking back down the hallway. He followed close behind, making sure to pull at the ends of my hair in purposefully obnoxious fashion.

"Jude Duarte cares about me, how sweet," he snarked, proceeding to tear the seal off of the liquor bottle he had grasped in his long, elegant fingers, twisting it open and guzzling down the contents as if it were water.

My hand pressed to my forehead in horrified realization. I was going to have to endure entertaining Cardan for a whole fucking night.

There was a significant chance I would be walking out into that blizzard myself by the end of it.

"Not wanting to be responsible for your death is nowhere near the equivalent of me caring about you, Cardan Greenbriar," I finally retorted in irritation, shoving past him and resuming the painfully slow process of cleaning up the kitchen from the mess of the party. My eyes narrowed instinctually as I watched him amble lazily across the room before ceremoniously collapsing down onto the living room couch, turning on the tv while humming a nameless tune to himself. The soda can in my hand crumpled as my fingers clenched into a tight fist.

How did he get under my skin so easily by merely existing?

The trash bag soon became stuffed full with napkins and cups and plates and other various things, the plastic begging to rip as I hefted it over my shoulder, dragging it towards the back door. "Looks heavy," Cardan commented from his spot on the couch, a smirk clear in the tone of his words. I ignored him, my teeth gritting as I lugged it the last few feet before setting it by the door. There was no way I was going out in that mess of a blizzard tonight; it would just have to wait until morning. Rubbing my hands together in the empty movement of dusting invisible germs off, I made my way back down the hall, emerging into the living room. 

Cardan hadn't moved, his eyes now holding a slightly glazed look as he gazed at television screen, clutching the half empty vodka bottle into his chest. A split second of hesitation wound through my limbs. It would be heavenly to sit down and watch some guilty pleasure tv seeing as I wasn't quite tired enough for bed and I had been hosting all day, but there was also no way in hell I wanted to voluntarily spend more time in close proximity to Cardan.

My lip curled in exasperation. I wasn't going to let him chase me out of my own living room.

Stalking over to the couch, I threw myself down rather aggressively onto the worn leather, snatching the remote from his lap. 

"Excuse you," he scoffed, making a wild grab to try and steal it back. I jabbed my elbow into his chest, knocking him back against the couch. 

"That hurt," he glared. 

A wickedly bitter laugh fell from my lips. "Oops."

 I thumbed over the remote's buttons, finding a movie that looked vaguely familiar before putting it on and tossing the remote to the side. With that, I leaned back against the cushions, arms tightly crossed over my chest as the two of us watched in tense silence.

Tense, but blissful. And it only managed to last a few brief moments before Cardan began to run his stupid, stupid mouth once again.

"This is boring, change it back," he groused, swatting at my hand as I snatched the remote back up before he could.

"My house, Cardan dear," I reminded him with venomous sweetness, instantly regretting even the sarcastic use of a pet name when his eyes immediately lit up with a malicious glint. 

"Oh now I see, how could I have been so blind? You forced me to stay so you could have a romantic Valentine's Day date. Why didn't you just ask, Jude?" My teeth bared, my skin itching with a quick spark of anger. 

"You think way too highly of yourself, your head will surely explode if your ego gets any bigger." 

He took another long drink of vodka as a mockingly contemplative look graced his elegant features. "You know what I think? I think that you're afraid of me, Jude. That's an accomplishment enough to inflate my ego all on its own." I had to resist the urge to strangle him. 

"I'm not afraid of you," I snapped. A soft voice of disagreement chimed in the back of my mind, though I quickly stomped it to death with an invisible boot before it could formulate into an actualized traitorous thought. Cardan grinned widely, dazzlingly white teeth on full display. 

"Prove it then," he challenged, all spite and malice, "Kiss me, Jude. Show me you're not afraid."

My heart stuttered.

"You-you're insane," I sputtered, unable to maintain any semblance of composure at his proposition. He arched a brow, taking one last drink from his bottle and emptying it without hesitation. It slid from his fingertips, hitting the carpeted floor with a soft thump. 

Then he was leaning forward, alcohol infused breath washing over me as he hissed.

"Coward."

The word struck a chord I didn't even know was there. My hands shot out, grasping the material of his half unbuttoned dress shirt before yanking him forward. A flicker of surprise flashed in his coal black eyes. 

"I thought I was a disgusting mortal, kissing me would be repulsive, wouldn't it," I sneered. Something like a shudder passed through his body. 

We were too close. I could feel the heat of his skin, the brush of his stilted breathing. 

"Yes," he replied.

Then his lips were on mine.

My body immediately fell back against the couch, the kiss feverish and angry and lustful and dizzyingly wanting with desire. He tasted of the strong, bitter taste of alcohol, though much more intoxicating was the smell of him, sandalwood and pine needles and something else I couldn't quite place. My thoughts were too jumbled to make sense of anything, not the way my mouth reciprocated his with unbridled hunger, the way moans formed on my lips as his body moved against mine, or the way my hips lifted to meet his. 

"Jude," he rasped, my name a reverent prayer on his lips as I grasped at the back of his neck, pulling him closer and closer still. His tongue slid over my lower lip, entering my mouth and consuming me with the taste of him, drowning me in it until it was everything around me, the only thing. My fingers wound through the soft strands of his hair, roughly twisting and pulling with need, heat simmering across the surface of my skin. He grazed my bottom lip with his teeth in retaliation as his hand trailed down my waist, latching onto my thigh and pulling it upwards to straddle his torso. 

His arousal was painfully obvious, a notion that made my cheeks flush and heat pool in my lower stomach. 

My exhale was shaky at best as he broke the kiss, his head dipping as his lips sealed to the curve of my neck, tugging and licking and nipping at my skin. I could do nothing but gasp, my pathetic attempts at stifling the obscene moans parting my mouth embarrassingly unsuccessful. My back arched, my head tilting to give him better access, wanting more, wanting everything. Pleasure washed over me like warm water, spreading throughout every inch of me and enveloping me with its inescapable caress. I had never felt anything like this, insatiable need and pure, unadulterated desire and longing.

And it was directed towards Cardan.

A mixture of horror and dread yanked my movements to a halt as finally, I became aware of exactly what I was doing. 

"Get off, get off of me!" I frantically gasped, bracing my hands against his lean shoulders and shoving him backwards. He startled, pulling away with a jerk, our eyes meeting. His pupils were blown wide with want, his hair disheveled and his lips slightly swollen, chest heaving and clothes in disarray. I didn't doubt that I looked the same way. "You're drunk, and I'm- I'm just exhausted, this is not what- this is not happening," I stuttered, my thoughts a tangled mess that I couldn't seem to sort out for the life of me. 

He shook his head, one hand lifting from its position braced against the couch to run his fingertips down my cheek. A trill of excitement and fear sent goosebumps racing down my arms. 

"Stop," I uttered softly. 

"I don't want to," he denied rather mildly, gaze flickering between my eyes and lips. 

"You hate me," I toned, pausing before adding a faint, "And I hate you." His tail curled against my leg, gently running down the length of my thigh. 

"I hate that I can't stop thinking about you," he mumbled, his body flush against mine as his head tilted down, eyes half closed as his lips grazed the corner of my mouth. My breath hitched. "I hate that I try to hate you and I can't." His lips chased mine as I turned my head to the side, desperate to avoid being consumed by him once again. 

This was madness. 

"You're drunk," I reiterated in soft insistence.

"Drunk words are sober thoughts."

My body stilled. Could he actually mean what he was saying?

I shook my head slightly.

"Fine, Cardan. But I'm still not having sex with you." For the first time in our exchange, my words were firmly confident. 

He hummed in agreement, a faraway, intoxicated look glazed in his eyes. "I know that. You have too much self respect. Balekin always said no one would ever want me." 

My mouth opened, then closed, at a loss for words at the sudden shift of his words. His head hung forward as he broke eye contact with me, a soft tremor traveling through his body. "Cardan," I murmured, confusion and indecision grasping at my chest.

He bullied me at every turn, insulted me to no end, ridiculed me with malice, and here I was, underneath him and feeling pity for the person that made my life a living hell.

"I hate myself, I hate that the way I treat you, I hate that I want you, I hate... I hate everything." His words were raw, painful.

Impulsiveness pushed away rational thought as my hand grasped for his shirt, pulling his lips back against my own in something like consolation. The kiss was soft this time, chaste. When I broke away, gazing into his eyes glimmering with a yawning chasm of self loathing, a significantly large part of my brain wondered if I had somehow gotten drunk without realizing it. I was comforting Cardan Greenbriar with kisses. The thought brought me back to reality with a harsh, painful slap. 

"I'm not going to sit here and act like I don't resent you for everything you've done to me," I sharply spoke, making his expression fall even further. 

A sigh emptied from my lungs. "But I will lay here with you. Just for tonight, Cardan." 

His lips quirked into a miserable half smile. "You are too good for me Jude Duarte." 

He paused, considering for a moment. "Feel free to use that against me later." 

A mournful laugh formed on my lips. He sunk down against the cushions, cradling me in his arms and pulling me close in a frighteningly natural manner. The heat of his body, the heady scent of him, the flex of hard muscle underneath his half unbuttoned shirt, it was all almost too much. His tail wound around my wrist, face falling to rest in the crook of my neck. 

Slowly, my body relaxed of its tension, my labored breaths calming. 

"Happy Valentine's Day, Jude," he murmured drunkenly, his hand finding mine, our fingers lacing together. 

I let out an exhale of something like amusement. "Good night, Cardan."

Gradually, as my eyes fluttered shut and unconsciousness blanketed my mind with a soft hush, one resounding thought lingered.

Maybe I didn't hate Cardan Greenbriar after all.  

[pocketsizedsam-blog1]

Valentine’s Day

Word Count: 2.5k

Jared- You woke up to the sweet smell of bacon frying in the pan. Hearing it sizzle. You heard music playing from out in the kitchen, It was your favorite song... (I Can't Help) Falling In Love With You by the king of rock himself! Fitting for the day. It was February 14th, 2018! You and Jared have been married for six months now and you couldn't be happier! You pulled on one of his shirts and made your way out to the kitchen.

"Morning sleepy head!" Jared smiled as you ran your hands through your greasy hair.

"God... I need a shower." You muttered. "Morning!"

He looked up from the bacon.

"I'm almost finished cooking, you take a seat princess!"

Once he finished he sat across from you and he couldn't contain his happiness. It was your first Valentine's Day as a married couple! He handed you a slice of toast with jam, three pieces of bacon, some scrambled eggs, Orange juice and a cup of tea.

"You really went all out this morning, huh?" You giggled at Jared.

"Of course I did!" He smiled big. "It's our first Valentine's Day together, married, and I wanted to make it special for you!"

Jared got up and he went to the living room, He returned with his hands behind his back, holding something. He pulled out a bouquet of roses and a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

"I know you're not a very 'over the top person' ... so I got you these!"

You took the flowers from his hands and pressed them up against your nose. You took a big sniff of them and smiled in response.

"How did I ever deserve a guy like you?" You giggled as Jared caressed you face with one hand and pressed his lips against yours.

Jensen- Jensen was taking you out for supper. At a romantic restaurant! You wore a red lace dress, that stopped at 3/4 of the way down your legs. For footwear, you put on high heeled ankle boots. You held a red clutch in your hand and your hair was put back in a french braid. You couldn't wait to see what Jensen had planned! He knocked on the bathroom door, where you were finishing the final touches on your make up.

"Ready when you are, babe." A smile crept across his face.

You opened the door and his jaw dropped.

"Oh please... You're overreacting and you'll catch flies!" You patted his cheek and brushed past him taking a step down the stairs.

You looked back teasingly as he turned around. He opened the front door for you once you put your coat on. Then, being the gentleman he is, he opened the car door for you too. You two pulled up to a fancy restaurant. You thought 'how is he going to afford this place?' Then you stopped to think again... 'Oh wait never mind! I married Jensen Ackles!' While you were waiting to be seated, Jensen placed wet kisses on your forehead and down on your cheek, which continued down to your neck and shoulders.

"Jensen..." You half moaned, blushing when a waiter approached you two.

Once you were seated and eating food, another waiter delivered a bouquet of roses to your table. They had a card attached to them. It read "I never want to live a day without you, You're my one and only. Happy Valentine's Day, Y/N! Love Jensen." You gave him the biggest smile and pressed your lips against his.

"Thank you Jensen. This has been the best night." You smiled, placing your hand at the base of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

Misha- When you woke up, your bed was empty.

"Misha?" You called out.

He was no where to be found.

"Misha?" You called again, pulling your silk house coat around your bare body.

You tied it loosely as you carefully walked down the stairs.

"Where are you...?" You mumbled to yourself quietly.

Downstairs, you heard the front door open and close again. What was he doing going out at eight o'clock in the morning on Valentine's Day? It was cold in your house. February wasn't exactly the warmest.

"Oh hey! You're up!" Misha smiled.

"Yeah, no thanks to you! I got cold baby, where'd you go?"

"To get a little something for you." He chuckled.

You wondered what it was. And why it was so important at eight o'clock in the morning. You finished walking down the stairs. Your feet met the cold tile in the entry way of your house.

"Misha... baby? Can we go back to bed?" You yawned.

"Sure... If you don't want your surprise present!" Misha whistled.

"But I want my presents!" You whined.

Misha took out a blindfold and placed it over your eyes. He led you out to the living room and sat you down on the couch. Misha really loved the element of surprise, and he used it on you quite regularly. You played with the blindfold but Misha swatted at your hands.

"Hang on, woman."

When you took off the blindfold you seen a life sized teddy bear sitting next to you with hearts all over him. You smiled when you seen the card and you had even started crying.

"Actually, I have a gift for you too." You smiled, running up to your bedroom and grabbing a long, skinny, red velvet box.

When you returned you handed the box to Misha. His reaction was priceless.

"I'm going to be a dad!" He looked up from the box smiling at you.

"Congratulations, proud papa!"

He pressed his lips against yours and showered you with kisses!

"We're going to be parents!"

Mark- Mark surprised you with a homemade dinner. When he was home, he was an excellent cook!

"Mmmhm. Turkey! Babe, you didn't have to slave over it all day! I could have helped!" You smiled, taking your seat at the table.

"No, dear, it's okay!" A smile made its way across his face as he placed a plate in front of you. "Eat up."

The kids had gone to their grandpa's for the time being, so you and Mark could have the day alone!

"This is perfect, Mark!" You dug into your meal.

Sam- "I'm sorry that I'm missing it, okay? I am." Sam sighed into his phone.

"Sam it's a hunt. I'll be okay! We can celebrate when you get back." You frowned.

At least he couldn't see your facial expressions. You were honestly heart broken. You broke your foot two weeks ago and Sam made you stay at the bunker. He didn't intend on being that long. He planned on being home for Valentine's Day. But duty calls and lives needed saving.

"I'll be back as soon a possible, okay?"

"Okay." You sniffed, hoping Sam wouldn't notice that you had started to cry a bit.

The one thing you wanted this Valentine's Day was to be with your sweetheart... and he was in a town four states over. ~ It was late and you had went to bed, But at nearly three o'clock in the morning, you woke up to a pair of lips being pressed against yours. Instinctively, you moaned into the kiss, and pressed against the dark figure more and more.

"Sam..." You smiled. "I thought you were working a case?"

"I couldn't leave my baby girl alone on Valentine's Day!" He smiled big pressing more kisses against your lips as he reached for the lamp.

Once he turned on the lamp, you seen a single rose, with heart shaped chocolates tied to it. As well, taped to the stem, was a petite envelope. on the front, which was decorated with stenciled hearts, read your name. You sat up on the bed, making room for Sam to sit down. He handed you the rose.

"It's beautiful, Sam!" You smiled, opening the card.

Inside the card, something fell out.

"Sam, you never!" An even bigger smile crept across your face.

It brought out a smile on his too.

"Tickets to see (your favorite artist) perform live? In Canada!" You wrapped your arms around him tightly. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"You're welcome baby. I love you, and for once, I want you to be extremely happy and monster free."

"This means a lot Sam." you breathed heavily, muttering between the kisses Sam was planting on your lips.

Dean- You and Dean were headed to Rochester, New York for a case when the snow hit hard. The conditions were worsening the more you drove. When it got to the point where visibility hit zero percent, Dean couldn't go any further.

"This is not how I planned our Valentine's Day going..." Dean sighed.

"We could always make out in the back of the impala!" You suggested.

For once, Dean wasn't in total agreement with you.

"I wanted this Valentine's Day to be more than just sex, Y/N." He sighed, smoothing his hands through his hair.

"Oh, I'm sorry... Why the mood change?" You half chuckled, half grumbled.

"Never mind." He mumbled. "It's nothing now."

"What did you have planned, sweetheart?" You scooted over to the middle of the seat in the impala. "Are you sure we can't have sex? 'Cause I'm horny."

"... It's nothing now." He sighed.

You could sense Dean wasn't in the mood and you didn't quite know why. But you planned on finding out.

"Dean, baby... It's not nothin'... What's wrong?"

"I had dinner reserved at this really nice place for us, and now we're not going to make it in time." He sighed. "This day really meant a lot for me... to make you happy. It's almost like a 'get out of jail free card' for all the times I put you through hell."

"You've never put me through... hell per-say."

"Oh yeah? 'Cause the last time I almost got killed you said 'it was that same feeling'." He frowned.

"Dean, honey, I-I'm sorry." I sighed, laying my head on his shoulder.

"I-it's okay." He reaches into the back of the impala. "I was going to give you this at dinner, but considering we're stuck on the side of the highway in a fucking blizzard...  there's no better time!"

You unwrapped a box of chocolates, then a beautiful necklace.

"Wow, Dean! This is very nice!" You smiled and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"Don't thank me yet! Open up the card!" He chuckled, his mood coming around.

You smiled, opening up the card, which had a big paragraph written on the inside. It was signed "Love Dean". There was also a gift card on the inside.

"You didn't have to do this!"

"What are you talking about? Of course I did!"

You opened up the gift card and it read "Victoria Secret" in pink letters on the black card. You flipped over the card to see the digits one, five and a zero written on it.

"Dean! A $150 Victoria Secret card! You're the best! What am I going to do with all that?"

"That stuff is expensive! It won't get you very much." He half chuckled but pressed his lips against yours. "Happy Valentine's Day, hot stuff!"

Castiel- Cas didn't really understand Valentine's Day. Before Cas, you've never really had a reason to celebrate. After your dad got sick, you moved in with your parents to help him out. You woke up pretty early. Cas wasn't there. But then again he doesn't need sleep.  You pulled your bath robe around your body and slipped into your slippers.

"Cas?" You yawned. "Cas baby?"

"Good morning, Y/N." He said properly. "Did you know, that on this day, 1,740 years ago, St. Valentine was beheaded."

"Well thanks for that little piece of info, Cas." You yawned. "I was thinking that maybe we could do something romantic today!"

"Why today?" He cocked his head at you. "Why not any other day?"

"Cause today is a day to celebrate love! It's Valentine's Day!" You wrapped your arms around Castiel's shoulders.

"I don't know what you find 'romantic' about someone being beheaded back in the year, 277..."

"Cas, the way the story goes is that St. Valentine was one of the first guys to have multiple wives... I think. Anyways us 'humans' celebrate this day with their loved one." You pressed a kiss against his cheek.

"So what do we do on this... Valentine's Day?"

"Whatever... we can cuddle, or we can go shopping?"

Cas smiled back at you. Later on that day, Castiel took your shopping. He handed you a little bit of money to keep yourself occupied while he snuck off to get you a gift. The angel had been doing some light reading on Valentine's Day and realized that couples gave gifts to each other. Cas didn't really know what to get you for Valentine's, but he made do! He got you a pandora charm bracelet! Castiel also got you a card with cute little love poems all over it and inside was a gift card for your favourite store. You gave Cas a big hug and kiss.

"Here look, I have a little something for you too!" You smiled, rubbing up to your room and grabbing a plushie.

"I've had it for a while..." You giggled, pulling the plushie out from behind your back. "He's an angel... reminds me of you!"

"He does!" Cas laughed.

You two kissed again.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Y/N!"

"Happy Valentine's Day, Cas!" You murmured against his lips.

Crowley- "Hello, Darling." Crowley's gruff voice sounded throughout the room.

"Morning, babe." You yawned, pulling the blankets up over your chest.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" He said more enthusiastically than usual.

"Oh... it's Valentine's Day?" You chuckled nervously.

"Yeah." Crowley grumbled. "It is. You forgot didn't you?"

You nodded yes.

"I'm so sorry, baby! I'll cook you something for breakfast." You offered, sitting up, ready to face the day.

"No, no. Never mind that. I hired a chef for for the whole day!" Crowley took a seat next to you and made you lie back on the bed. "Today, you will have breakfast in bed."

"Such a gentleman." You grinned. "Thank you, baby."

"And also, for you," he handed you a box with a card taped to it. "A gift. From yours truly."

You took the gift from Crowley. You took off the card and opened that first. It was short and sweet, Crowley's style. Next you opened the box. It was a diamond necklace, matched with a pair of diamond stud earrings.

"My god, Crowley! These are beautiful!" You smiled, running your fingers over the necklace.

"I'm glad you like them." He smiled. "Those jewelers are probably running around with their tails between their legs looking for this."

"You stole it?" You gasped. "Honestly it's not a surprise."

"I don't need to pay for it if I'm the king of hell!" He boomed.

"Okay, get down off your high horse there, mister." You giggled. "I love you so much. I'm sorry that I forgot."

"Don't Be Sorry, dear. We'll have many more Valentine's Days together." He pressed a long and passionate kiss on your lips.

[epchapman89]

The Haunted Cappuccino

A German bishop named Johanne Fugger, traveling to Rome for an audience with the Pope in the year 1113, sent his servant ahead to discover all the best wine along the route. When his servant found what he determined to be the finest wine in any village, he would write the Latin word “Est” in chalk on the door of the inn so the bishop would know where to stop, Est being a word that in this instance meant “Here it is.”

The bishop’s servant was so impressed with the Moscato wine in the town of Montefiascone, Italy, that he wrote on the door of the inn with great enthusiasm, “Est! Est!! Est!!!,” an appellation that remains attached to the wine of that region even now. It seems the servant knew his master’s tastes well. Bishop Fugger was so enthralled with the wine that he remained in Montefiascone and kept drinking. He drank himself to death. From the stuporous fog of his last moments on earth, with his final breath it is said, he asked that his great wealth be left in trust and that every year, on the anniversary of his death, a barrel of Moscato be poured over his grave.

“Is that really your name? Raffi?”

Rafael looked up from the espresso pouring into a shot glass and into the tight smirk of a face he’d seen before. He’d only been working as a Barista at the coffeehouse for a few days, but the customer had been in several times, a regular.

“It’s short for Rafael,” he said, and smiled gamely.

“My parents made me listen to that singer, Raffi, when I was kid,” said the customer. “God, what a dork that guy was. What is that, a Mexican name?”

“It can be. In my case, it’s Italian.”

“My family used to be Italian too, but they came over so long ago they were settlers not immigrants, you know what I mean, before the Revolution.”

“Your cappuccino,” said Raffi, placing the cup and saucer on the service counter.

The customer stared down at the drink and waved his finger over it. “You know this arty farty stuff is completely lost on me, so don’t waste your time. The other baristas will tell you, Billy is a regular and spends a lot of money in here, but he doesn’t need pictures on his cappuccino.”

Billy picked up the cup, leaving the saucer behind, started to turn, then stopped and turned back. “Okay, I have to admit, I’ve never seen that before and it’s kind of cool.” He showed his cup to the customer next to him. She nodded and smiled, then rolled her eyes as Billy walked away.

Pouring wine over the grave of bishop Fugger became not only a ritual in the town of Montefiascone, but a time of celebration, a large festival so cherished that when the bishop’s money was gone, the tradition continued nevertheless. That is, until 1657, when the plague came to Montefiascone. With the plague came Capuchin monks, summoned by the mayor to establish a friary and care for the sick and dying.

The humble Franciscan friars made the townsfolk feel ashamed for the money they spent on a ridiculous celebration punctuated by the wasteful pouring of wine over a grave. They encouraged a new tradition. Money that would have been spent on the barrel of wine and countless other frivolities associated with the annual event, was used instead to help the poor. The change to this new tradition was far from welcomed by all. After a few years of being deprived of their celebration, a group of belligerent men, drunk on their beloved Moscato, confronted the Capuchin monks.

The next day, from the middle of the line where he was waiting to order, Billy called out. “Hey Ravioli, how about another skull today. I forgot to take a picture and the morons upstairs don’t believe me.”

The other baristas looked at Raffi, who just shook his head. “I think it was a tulip,” he murmured.

Billy frowned at his cappuccino a few minutes later. “What is that, a whole skeleton? I like the skull better but a whole skeleton, that’s cool too. Morbid as shit though.”

“It’s a rosette, brother.” said Raffi.

“A what? Bullshit. That’s a skeleton, a skeleton sitting cross-legged.” Billy showed his drink to the man waiting next to him, who said it looked like a flower.

“Whatever,” said Billy, turning his back on Raffi, talking as he walked away. “Next time I want just that big skull, and I’m not your bother. My brother isn’t even my brother.”

Of course, all the monks refused to fight or even defend themselves… all the monks except one, Brother Raffaele Fossombrone. It was no secret that leaders of their order questioned Raffaele’s devotion to their “Rule of Life” and considered him, perhaps, too impetuous and undisciplined for the Capuchin Brotherhood. Their concerns proved valid when the mob began shoving the monks and Brother Fossombrone backhanded one of the men across the face, shouting, “How dare you put your hands on men of God.”

This was all the excuse the angry mob needed. Since Fossombrone was the only monk willing to fight, the men converged on him and beat him in a wild frenzy until pleas from the other monks and the hands of others from the town stopped them. It was too late. He died a short time later as they were still tending to his wounds. His fellow monks carried his body back to Rome and he was buried in the crypt under the Capuchin church, Our Lady of the Conception of the Capuchins.

Billy was back after lunch and had another man with him, a man who didn’t look happy to be there. “That’s him,” said Billy, while standing right in front of Raffi. “He’s some sort of hipster goth kid, makes these spooky pictures on my cappuccinos. Do the skull. I want to show Tony.”

Raffi shook his head. “I told you, brother, it was a tulip, and this morning a rosette, and this,” he said, setting a cup down in front of Billy, “is a heart.”

“Jesus,” said Billy, staring down at his cappuccino. “You’re a sick son-of-a-bitch. I mean a skull is one thing, but that looks like … like a bloody heart inside a rib cage.”

Tony leaned over the drink and said, “It’s just a heart, like Valentine’s day. It’s sweet.” He made a heart with his hands as he backed away toward the door.

Billy looked at Raffi, squinted, then started to chuckle. “It’s some sort of joke. I get it. It’s clever. What color is the dress, right? I don’t know how you’re doing it. I don’t care actually. Whatever. It’s over now, enough with the pictures, and stop calling me brother.”

In the years after Brother Fossombrone was beat to death, the people of Montefiascone grew to believe all their misfortune was due to a curse, the curse of the Capuchin monk. The earthquake of 1697, a mysterious epidemic in 1791, cholera in 1837 and 1855, meningitis in 1916, bombing by the allies in 1944, a deadly blizzard in 1956, all these things were said to be a consequence of the curse. Ironically, the first to help during all these tragic events were the Capuchin monks; and though the townspeople accepted the help gratefully, it was said to be bad luck to look a monk in the eye, “lest our shame be made manifest and bring on the next calamity that much sooner.” So strong was this superstition, that when their Muscato wine fell out of favor, when it “lost its charm,” they blamed the curse.

Billy did not come into the coffeehouse the next day, but the day after that he waited quietly in line, frowning at his phone. He didn’t look at Raffi. Even as he stood at the service counter waiting for his drink, he kept his eyes on his phone and didn’t look up. Raffi set the cappuccino down in front of him and he blinked, moving his eyes from his phone to his drink. His expression, drooping eyelids and a deep, pouty frown, did not change.

“That’s a pile of bones with skulls on top.” he said, as if it was exactly what he expected to see on his cappuccino.

“What you are now, they once were; what they are now, you shall be.”

Billy looked up at Raffi but then let his gaze drift from his eyes to his shoulder. “What the hell does that mean? What are you talking about?”

“I said, we call it a bellflower,” said Raffi. “It’s only a bellflower, nothing more.”

“Bellflower,” said Billy, nodding as if this made perfect sense. “Sure. It’s a bellflower.”

The custom among Capuchin monks at Our Lady of the Conception of the Capuchins until the 19th century—the results of which can still be seen today—was to disinter bodies that had been buried for many years and use the bones to decorate the interior of the church. However, when Brother Raffaele Fossombrone was unburied, decades after his death, they found his body mummified. The withered, leathery skin was dark and shrunk to the bone, but largely intact, as was his Franciscan robe. Having no idea why such a thing would occur, they left the body the way they found it and placed it in the chapel, sitting on the ledge of a small alcove, surrounded by the bones of his brethren.

Billy stood outside the coffeehouse the next day for half an hour, starting for the door and then stopping, pacing, staring through the window. He didn’t look at Raffi. He seemed to stare at the spot where he usually stood waiting for his drink. When he finally came inside he didn’t stop to order a drink, he just dropped ten dollars on the counter and took his place in front of Raffi, looking down.

After a moment, Raffi pushed a cappuccino forward. Billy stared at it for several seconds, then started nodding.

“That’s me, isn’t it, the skull under that hood? That’s me and I’m dead. You’re going to say it’s a flower or a sunrise or a turtle, but it’s me, a dead man.”

“I did not pour a design in your cappuccino today, brother,” said Raffi. “It’s just a white circle.”

Billy looked up but still avoided Raffi’s eyes and growled, “I told you, I’m not your fucking brother,” and then lunged at the barista, reaching over the counter for his neck, only his arms didn’t move. His body didn’t move. Nothing moved.

Though rare, the mummified body of Brother Fossombrone has been known to change its position. The church’s official statement on this has always been that it is the result of pranksters, but it’s been happening for hundreds of years and no one has ever been caught nor confessed and no amount of security keeps it from happening. No one has ever seen the body move, but it is said that a change in the body’s position is always proceeded by a voice whispering the words found on a plaque near the entrance of the crypt: “What you are now, we once were; what we are now, you shall be.”

He watches people enter the chapel, their eyes wide as they look at all of the bones. The chapel is filled with bones, stacks and stacks of bones, rows and rows of skulls. He notices that when their eyes fall on him, their expressions change from fascination with the horrid, to apprehension, revulsion, and a touch of confusion. He isn’t bones, exactly. He is something more than a skeleton, but something far less than a body. When the people get close, he tries to speak, tries to move, tries to show them that he is alive… or if not alive, then something. But he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. In his mind he is shouting at them, begging for help, but the chapel remains silent beyond the soft murmuring of his visitors. The people wrinkle their noses and the children stay carefully behind the adults who take pictures reluctantly and then leave without looking back. Eventually, when the chapel has been empty for a long time and grown dark, Billy stops screaming.

Mike Ferguson (@aboutferguson) is an American coffee professional and writer based in Atlanta and currently part of the marketing team at Olam Specialty Coffee. Read more Mike Ferguson on Sprudge. 

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