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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 1 day ago

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@jollyhunter

Okay, I'm finally home and this was such a wonderful thing to read through! It made my day 😊

Girl, let me tell you I was also giggling the entire time I wrote this. This fic was so self indulgent because the reader IS me, one billion percent, the awkward anxious person who has no idea how to catch someone's attention 😆 But I love it resonated with you too (but I'm also sorry it took you back to your past trauma lol 😂)

I love your writing style and especially the way you add humor!! Like this had me already cracking up - Butcher and the boys x LotR, where’s my funfic, hm??

Oh goodness THANK YOU SO MUCH! 🥰 I literally laugh to myself the whole time I write and most of the time I'm scared no one else will get the jokes, but thank you that really means a lot 💗 But YES the subtle Eomer drop... if you haven't read As Tradition Dictates, you need to because it's so good and it's been living rent free in my head since I read it. And oh my word the cross over would be wild- Soldier Boy does act like an Orc sometimes, but we love him for it anyway 🤣

It’s a real struggle 😭

Amen it is 🫶🏻

Sneaky bastard - I feel like he’s only saying that because he’s afraid that he will fall for her. (Probably already has and is taking his chance now since she’d basically friend zoned him 😂)

He could be... 😏 You could be getting dangerously close to the truth there my friend 😉

EDIT: I FORGOT TO COMMENT ON THE FRIGGIN LOCUSTS SUPE - I’d pay to see that scene; Butcher and Soldier Boy running from a swarm of locusts because they can’t punch or shoot their way out as usual and making a deal to never talk about this embarrassing moment again 🤣

You know, I am so happy you pointed this out, because I really didn't think that in depth about what that scene would look like. And I hate locusts so I was like... what supe power would just be too much for me. BUT THAT IS SO FUNNY! I can see Butcher firing off like two shots into the swarm, while Ben kinda holds up his shield half-heartedly debating if it's worth it (it's not), and the reader and Hughie are already in the car with all the windows rolled up just watching it unfold. Even funnier would be her not letting Butcher or Ben into the car because she doesn't want any of the locusts to get in and she's shooing the two of them away. 😂

NOW WHERE‘S MY PART TWO?? I’M READY

Running joke I have is that I really can't write a one-shot to save my life... and this fic is no exception. I would love to make this a series (and I sort of accidentally plotted one out for this lol). The problem is I'm trying to finish up a soulmate AU series I started last year for Soldier Boy called If The Stars Wish It So and I have a prompt celebration running so I want to finish up those two things before I start a series based on this fic... BUT I do want to, because I love fake dating and I think that I could make this exceptionally awkward and funny lol.

But I am so happy that you liked this one sweetie and thank you so much for all the lovely feedback! 💜

Promise Not To Fall In Love With Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader and a little bit of Billy Butcher x f!reader

Prompt: "I find him very attractive." /"I'm standing right here"/ "I know."

Requested by: @angrydragon90

Tropes: Fake Dating, Pining.

Summary: When you first joined Butcher's team the last thing you expected was to develop a crush on him, but after two years of pining, you get a proposition from the last person you'd expect to care.

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just in case (I don't really think it is). Some cursing, Sexual innuendo, References to sex, Over glorification of a man's shirtless body (I'm not complaining) Reader is a little anxious/anxiety/socially awkward? Drug use/Drinking (Soldier Boy), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (He's a warning, we all know it and somehow still love him for it).

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Prompt Celebration Masterlist

A/N: This is the third fic for my prompt celebration! This one was requested the incredible @angrydragon90 💗 Had to do something with a little bit of Valentine's Day spirit, but I'm going to be honest, this one turned into something that I didn't expect... let me know what y'all think. I also was thinking about @zepskies fic As Tradition Dictates for the more *ahem* gratuitous descriptions of Butcher 😉

Butcher’s muscles rippled over his bare chest and broad shoulders with every swing of the mighty axe down to the earth. Each strike of the axe against wood sent chips of bark flickering in the air around him like sparks. Sweat rolled down his sun kissed skin curving in the dips of his muscular torso, along the tensing muscles of his back, and through the dusting of hair on his torso, before disappearing into the waistband of the dark jeans hung low on his hips.

Heat kisses your cheeks and darkens the skin the longer you watch him and you bite your lip hard to keep the appreciative sigh of the scene in front of you at bay. But it does little to stop your eyes which rove over the rugged man chopping wood.

No man his age should look that good.

Butcher props one of his feet up on the tree stump he’s been using as a table oblivious to your attention, shouldering the axe for a moment to glance at the stack of firewood he’d chopped, looking like a mighty warrior surveying his lands.

Your mind starts to slip into a fantasy of a shirtless Butcher riding horseback across a desolate plain, his dark hair long, and a sword strapped to his saddle commanding a group of riders behind him to his every whim. Before scooping you up onto his saddle to ride with him, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his face buried in the soft skin of your neck, his rough whisper in your ear a grating caress as he-

You clear your throat, cheeks darkening crimson, and take in a shaky breath to dissipate the daydream that usually starred in several of your fantasies. The same ones that probably came from the romantasy book that you’d brought along on this trip and were too embarrassed to read when anyone else was awake.

He raises a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, shuffling it back through his hair that turns a chestnut brown in the light of the setting sun that flickered through the thick forest surrounding the small cabin you were all staying in.

Oh to be a drop of sweat.

You think mournfully, taking a long sip of your lemonade out of a brightly colored bendy straw, the same lemonade that you’d made in hopes of enticing Butcher over for a break.

It had worked, but only for twenty seconds.

Twenty glorious seconds that you got to bask in Butcher’s presence so close that you could smell the familiar cologne and the scent of sweat clinging to his skin while he drank the lemonade and you tried not to stare at his bare chest for too long. You hoped that Butcher thought the flush on your cheeks had everything to do with the heat and nothing to do with all the things you were imagining him doing to you.

And then there had been an additional two seconds when Butcher smiled at you and said “Thanks poppet” in the swoon worthy accent of his that made your knees weak before he sauntered back over to the woodpile and you watched him go shamelessly.

Hughie says something to Butcher you can’t hear, but it makes Butcher laugh. He throws his head back with a wide grin that makes you sigh to yourself again, hands tensing where they sit poised over the tangle of wires in your lap.

You were supposed to be working on a new gadget to help grapple up buildings, one that you and Frenchie had designed together, but you were distracted by Butcher.

You were always distracted by him.

It had been three days since Butcher, Soldier Boy, Hughie, and you arrived at the cabin in the middle of nowhere after a mission went wrong. The specifics weren’t important, let’s just say that there was a miscommunication and what the four of you thought was a supe who could turn into a single locust, was actually able to turn into a swarm of locust so thick you couldn’t see an inch in front of your face.

You had a sneaking suspicion that MM and Frenchie had something to do with the miscommunication, given how eager they had been to stay behind at headquarters and do paperwork, and the secretive smiles they had shared at the briefing before your team left.

But needless to say, none of you had been eager to live through a reenactment of the eighth plague and all decided to lay low to consider your options, while hoping the locust supe didn’t decimate all of the corn in the midwest.

You shudder remembering the crawl of the scratchy legs along your skin, the flapping of millions of wings like the beat of a drum, the crunch of locusts underfoot, and the low pitched hum of the swarm that vibrated so loud it made you feel your body shaking from the inside out.

At this point I would have taken a swarm of guinea pigs.

The cabin wasn’t the worst place you’d stayed at in all the time you’d worked with Butcher. There was running water and several rooms inside including two bedrooms with lumpy pillows and mattresses with creaking springs, a living room with a sagging floral couch, and a threadbare kitchen with dusty cabinets and doors that fell off whenever someone tried to open one.

Outside the cabin there was a small patch of wildflowers that fluttered in the strong wind that blew from the East, an overgrown garden where tomato plants, potatoes, and herbs grew without care, and a small front yard that was more of a grassy clearing.

Sure the cabin had it’s quirks, but the real problem was that the four of you were trapped here in the middle of summer with a generator that only did so much for electricity, but had no air conditioning whatsoever, which meant it was cooler to sit outside on the porch than inside the sweltering cabin.

Overall, it had been three days of nothing, but listening to Soldier Boy bitch about the lack of extracurricular activities, three days of nothing but hearing the soft chuckle under Hughie’s breath when he texted Annie, and three days of nothing but you lusting after a man who was twice your age chopping wood.

Why was he chopping wood when it was so hot and none of you needed it… You had no idea, but you figured that the universe was finally throwing you a bone because you got to watch him do it.

The porch was cooler than sitting inside. There were two creaky rocking chairs that faced the overgrown “front yard” that was more of a clearing and the breeze did weave under the overhang of the roof to wick the sweat that gathered at the back of your neck, but the problem was, it was impossible for you to feel anything but warm, especially with what was unfolding in front of you.

The weather isn’t the only thing heating up.

You think to yourself watching Butcher lean down to pick up another piece of wood, admiring the way his worn dark jeans cup his muscular ass.

Fuck, I’m just as bad as Soldier Boy.

The truth was, you’d been crushing on Butcher for the better part of two years since the moment the two of you met on your first day when you’d tripped and dropped the giant pile of blueprints you were carrying to your desk and he was the only one who stopped to help you pick them up.

After Homelander had been stripped of his powers and exposed for the narcissistic psychotic freak he was, you’d started working at Supe Affairs, thinking that it was the perfect way for you to make a difference in a world reeling from the revelation. It had shaken quite a few people to know that the so-called heroes they looked up to were in fact just as crooked as a line drawn by an elephant on a tricycle.

But you liked your job… sometimes.

Sure, the pay sucked, the benefits were dismal and the hours were long, but you didn’t care about any of that. You felt like you were making a difference, using the engineering degree that your dad had insisted on for something other than trying to figure out how to build a bridge that withstood the force of a punch from someone as strong as Homelander.

And you hadn’t meant to develop a crush on William Butcher of all people, you swore that each day to yourself, but it happened without warning. He was nice to you, he always had your back on missions, and sometimes when you were working on something after hours on a mission- like the gadget in your lap- Butcher would sit with you while everyone else slept, nursing a glass of whatever it was he had, and he always made you feel like a valued member of the team.

Yes, he might be a little rough around the edges, but you liked that about him, that he didn’t pull punches, rather he told it like it was. It was refreshing in the world you lived in when everyone else was so afraid of offending someone that they just kept their mouths shut.

But the problem was that you were younger than him and a little inexperienced.

Well… a lot inexperienced. You’d never been in a relationship before, never really done anything before because there wasn’t time when you were in school getting your degree, not to mention you had spent the last two years imagining yourself in a relationship with a man who didn’t know you existed.

That might be a little harsh, he knew you existed, obviously, but rather he didn’t see you as anything more than a teammate or at least like a little sister. The nicknames that he called you were all some form of “kiddo” or “poppet.” Nothing like the things you’d read about men calling the women they loved in books or heard in movies.

The most experience you had in the realm of love and relationships was binge watching Sex and The City (you could quote it by heart), flipping through Cosmopolitan Magazine and other articles about love on the internet like they were opioids, and reading through romance novels reverently as if they held the secrets of the universe.

Not to mention the draft of the romance novel on your computer… but you’d go to the grave before anyone ever saw that, and if they did see it you’d take them with you.

Reading about relationships was easier than having one, at least that was what you told yourself to feel better. It also didn’t help that you’d seen two out of three sisters married with kids, with the third one getting married in a few weeks and you without even a shadow of a date for the wedding.

That meant you would be stuck at the awkward reject table again with your weird fourth cousin who always came on to you and tried to show you the rooster tattoo he had on his hip bone, your dad’s brother who cleaned his dentures in public after he ate and his wife who always asked you what you were “doing” with your life and curled her lip up in distaste no matter what you said, and the gaggle of their ungrateful children who were always sticky for some reason and chewed with their mouths open while spilling food all over the table like cavemen.

Sitting there with them made facing the locust supe more appealing.

But even with the pressure of trying to find someone, anyone to take, you couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Butcher how you felt about him.

Butcher glances over as if he can sense you and you immediately drop your eyes to the bundle of gears and wires in your lap pretending to fiddle with something that doesn’t need to be fixed.

Yes, because that’s the way I’m going to win him over, by making absolutely no eye contact. Perfect, masterful. What can go wrong?

What the books, magazines, tv shows, and movies didn’t prepare you for was how to find the courage to talk to someone of the opposite sex without feeling like your tongue was going to drop out of your mouth or like you were going to throw up.

You wait a few beats until you’re sure that he’s no longer looking at you before you raise your head to watch Butcher again.

Ben chuckles under his breath where he sits beside you in the other rocking chair, leaning back with one of his hands behind his head. His muscles tense in the black t-shirt as he adjusts his arm.

“What?” You ask him.

He exhales a long and obnoxious cloud of foul smelling smoke from the joint he has in his hand. “I think you’re a hypocrite.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re out here eye-fucking that asshole and you yell at me for staring at you.” He chuckles with a wide smirk as he takes another hit from the blunt.

How can he smoke that? It’s like 100 degrees out here!

“I am not!” You reply as loudly as you dare, glancing over to Butcher to make sure that he didn’t hear Ben’s comment, anxiety prickling along the back of your neck, but he’s still talking to Hughie about something. “And you don’t just stare at me! You come up behind me like some gremlin out of hell, with your big hands and-”

“We both know how much you like the attention doll.”

“I do not!” Your cheeks flare bright red.

The only downside to working on Butcher’s team was sitting directly next to you. When you found out that you’d be working with Soldier Boy, one of your dad’s favorite heroes, you were excited to meet him, and then you had and he turned into another giant disappointment. He was loud, brash, short-tempered, rude, and was always either ogling you, coming on to you, smoking something, or drinking.

You supposed it could be worse. You didn’t hate him, and you got along with him, but he was always around. The plus side was that Ben was the one of the only people you didn’t have a hard time talking to.

Yes, he was attractive, but his particular lifestyle didn’t appeal to you and for that reason whatever nerves you had about talking to attractive men of the opposite sex evaporated when it came to Ben.

It was unfortunate that such a skill was wasted on him of all people.

“I just-” You hesitate, eyes dropping back down to the grappling device in your lap, not sure why you’re about to admit this to Soldier Boy when you haven’t been able to admit it to anyone else.

Probably because I’m sick of singing the line from Frozen “conceal don’t feel” over and over in my head.

“I find him extremely attractive.” You mumble on a shaky breath.

“I’m sitting right here.” The frown in Ben’s voice is prominent, but it only makes you roll your eyes at him.

“I know.” Your eyebrows furrow together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why are you looking at him when you could have my full attention.” He leans forward, dark hair falling forward into his eyes, mouth pulling up in a confident smirk. "I mean there's nothing else to fucking do, might as well do me."

Your cheeks flush with his words, but you tilt your head to the side to study him, eyes slipping over his rugged features. Tracing over the neatly trimmed beard on his cheeks, the brilliant green eyes that seemed to glow, the way his muscular body filled out his black t-shirt and blue jeans, the soft dusting of freckles that contrasted the hardness of the man he was flecked over his skin, and his full lips that are curved up in a sinful smirk that would make even the strongest woman crumble.

But not you. Ben was… Ben. He was brash, obnoxious, handsy, impatient, and disrespectful.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Sure you didn’t work with him often, but you believed you had a pretty good grasp on the kind of person he was. You did, right?

“You’re not my type Benny.” Your eyes flick back to the project in your lap, moving your fingers deftly through the wires of the internal mechanism.

Ben recoils at the use of his nickname, but he recovers with a low chuckle. “Don’t call me that and I’m everybody's type.”

“Not mine. I don’t like supes.”

You weren’t sure if that was 100% true. You liked Kimiko. What you meant to say was that you didn’t like supes like him. Supes that used his powers without care for the consequences, Supes like Homelander who didn’t give a shit who got hurt as long as the job was done.

And you weren’t a supe, which meant that if you were with a supe there was always the possibility of you dying during sex or dying before you had sex in the first place. Your job also presented the possibility of you dying before you’d had sex, but you weren’t going to let that hold you back.

“But Butcher has-” Ben begins to say.

“Temporary powers. Not all the time.” You correct, unable to stop your eyes from drifting back over to where Butcher has begun to start swinging the axe again. “And look at him. Fuck, he’s over there like Paul Bunyan, rugged, chopping wood-” You sigh continuing to watch the man who probably has no idea you exist.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I could do that.”

You don’t pay Ben any attention, because Butcher is bending over again and you bite the inside of your cheek hard.

Ben sits there for another few beats watching you watch Butcher. The wind chimes that hang above your heads jingle merrily as the breeze picks up once more bringing the smell of the wild flowers and wet earth from the forest surrounding the cabin.

“You know I could help you.” Ben says slowly.

Your eyes flick back to Ben from Butcher in confusion. “Help me?”

What is he talking about? Does he think he can figure out how to fix the grapple gun? The other day he couldn’t figure out how to open the automatic trunk of a car and he just ripped the trunk door right off.

“Get him.” Ben nods his head in Butcher’s direction, but you’re still confused.

“How?”

And why? Why does Soldier Boy want to help me of all people?

“Well, I could help you make him jealous.” Ben leans towards you, his eyes sweeping once over you as he does, lingering too long on your chest and the edge of the jean shorts you were wearing.

“And how would you do that?”

“Well for starters you could come sit on my lap baby, see how you like it.” Ben winks. “Take me for a little ride.”

“Pass.” You roll your eyes.

“Oh I see you want to have a more advanced lesson.” He smiles, scooting his chair towards yours, a dull scrape of wood on wood, so now his knee is touching yours. “He could catch an earful of us tonight. I’d be happy to fuck you. It’d give me something to do.” Ben takes another hit of his joint, the smoke making you scrunch your nose in distaste, while he gives you an appreciative once over. “Fuck knows the only entertainment I’ve had for three fucking days is my hand and it would be good to have a nice tight-“

“No thanks.” You interrupt, face flushing when you imagine what he was about to say.

Ben stiffens in surprise. “What?”

“I’m good.” You shrug. “I’m gonna get him the old fashioned way.”

The same old fashioned way that I’ve been using for the past two years and had absolutely no results.

“And what way is that? Pining after him and hoping that one day he’ll finally notice you?” Ben scoffs. “I can see how well that’s working for you doll-face. How long have you been working with him?”

“Two years-”

“Fuck, two years?” Ben sputters. “You should just tell him that you want him to fuck you.”

“That won’t work.”

Ben’s face scrunches in confusion, the joint clasped in between his thumb and forefinger forgotten. “Why the hell not?”

“Because-” You glance down at your hands, thumb running along the jagged edge of the grappling hook slightly embarrassed. The last thing you wanted to tell Soldier Boy was that you were a virgin. The guy would mock you endlessly. “Because I’m younger than him and he’s-”

He’s experienced.

“So? You think that he hasn’t thought about fucking you?” Ben takes a long sip from the whiskey sitting beside his chair. “He’d be lucky to have a little piece like you.”

You blink in surprise. It was the closest to a compliment that Ben had ever given you. He did tend to compliment your figure whenever you were around, but you usually ignored that because he did that to everyone.

Truthfully, the thought of dating Ben didn’t appeal to you at all, but the thought of using him to make Butcher jealous was not a terrible one. And at this point, you didn’t have anything to lose.

Well… except THAT, but you wanted it to be special, at least that’s what you’d always told yourself.

You sigh, a little frustrated, watching Butcher out of the corner of your eye swing the axe in a glorious arch to the earth. You weren’t sure how to get Butcher’s attention. You’d tried the usual things…

Leaving the room as soon as he walked in to avoid a conversation.

Gone completely mute when he asked you a question.

Pretended you didn’t see him whenever he walked into a room.

Tried to bring him coffee, but then chickened out and drank his and yours and then immediately had to go to the bathroom to avoid shitting your pants while having heart palpitations.

Basically the social anxiety was working wonders on the office romance you wanted so badly.

“Ben?” You say tentatively, hands tightening on the contraption in your lap. At this rate you were never going to fix it and Butcher was going to have to figure out how to fly.

“Yes, gorgeous?” Ben raises an eyebrow. The blunt is between his lips now and he’s looking at you curiously.

“If we did pretend to be…” You swallow nervously.

“Fucking?” He leans forward eagerly, eyes twinkling with interest.

Well… I’ve never understood what it meant when someone wrote “his eyes darkened” until this very moment.

“Dating” You correct holding up a finger.

Does his mind always go to the gutter?

You remember everything you think you know about Ben.

Yes. Yes it does.

Ben leans back with a frown. “I don’t date.”

“Well it wouldn’t be real! You’d just be helping me make him jealous and it would be nice to have a little practice maybe…”

“Practice?” He looks confused. It wasn’t the first time he had in this conversation or within the last five minutes, but like hell you were about to admit without at least one drink to Soldier Boy the extent of your dating life.

“Yeah. I’m not the best at talking to people or-”

“You’re talking just fine right now.”

“You’re different.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you annoy me and I don’t know you’re easier to talk to for some reason!”

“Thanks.” Ben says dryly.

By now all the anxious energy has begun to pop and crackle against your skin at the thought of what the two of you could be doing and at the thought of you two actually pulling this off and you having a shot with Butcher. Not just a shot in hell, a real shot.

“But if you’re serious about helping me get him-“ You continue.

“I was.”

It was odd that he was the one who had suggested this in the first place, and even weirder that he didn’t seem hesitant at all to be doing this.

Maybe he thinks that we’re going to have sex. Your throat tightened at the thought, eyes widening, your nerve endings electrifying with anxiety. Oh holy fuck what if he thinks that if we do this he’ll get to do whatever he wants to me?

You clear your throat, heart beating just a little bit harder in your chest. The entire situation was making you regret the extra cup of coffee you had this morning. “What exactly would I have to do?” You don’t recognize your voice. It comes out a little more wobbly and just a little more tentative than it was.

You didn’t know what Ben was expecting you to do and you didn’t want to say yes, only for him to force you into sleeping with him like he’d suggested earlier, the most you'd thought the two of you would do is just make out a little-

Oh holy fuck then we’d have to kiss and I don’t know if I’m a good kisser and he’s definitely kissed more than one person not to mention he’s-

The thought made you flush to the roots of your hair.

Ben hesitates, eyeing you and you wonder if he can hear the deranged monologue inside your head or if he can hear just how hard your heart was beating. You hoped not.

“You wouldn’t have to do anything, doll. I’m not going to force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” There’s something genuine in his eyes when he answers your question, something that you’d never noticed before.

Your mouth drops open in surprise.

It wasn’t that you believed that Ben was that kind of man, but rather that what he just said to you might have been the most caring thing that he’d ever uttered in front of you. He was the last person that you’d expect to care about someone being uncomfortable or care if someone else was okay with everything that was happening in the bedroom.

Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

In all honesty you only knew the way Ben acted, you didn’t know anything about his life. The man kept his cards closer to his chest than a well-seasoned card player and his poker face, forget it. You couldn’t crack that combination even if you wanted to.

Everything else you'd heard about him was through the grapevine of gossip at work. None of it was first hand.

Ben sighs and shakes his head at you as if he’s a little annoyed with himself for saying that out loud. “But I still think it would be easier if you just told him that you wanted him to fuck you. Would’ve worked on me.”

“I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

And it was true. You could take down a target, diffuse a bomb in less than ten seconds with a thin mint and a bobby pin, but saying something out loud like that to something else made you feel nauseous.

Ben hesitates again and in his hesitation the anxiety and embarrassment starts to come soaring back into your chest.

You were asking Soldier Boy, Soldier Boy, to pretend to date you so Billy Butcher would fall in love with you.

Well kids, this must be what rock bottom feels like. I might as well just pray that the locusts come back to take me away.

“Fine.” Ben states.

“Really?” Your eyes widen.

He shrugs, but doesn’t answer.

“We’d have to have rules.” You blurt, and Ben makes a face.

“Rules? Never been too good with those, Sweetheart.”

“And I’d need you to promise that you wouldn’t-”

You lose your train of thought in the wind chimes that rattle over your head and the sound of Butcher’s laugh.

“Wouldn’t?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Lose control.”

Honestly, sometimes you were a little afraid of Ben. You’d never say that out loud or admit it, but he was stronger than Homelander.

You knew Ben's reputation around the office- heard the hushed whispers of the women in the break room who said he was the best fuck of their lives, heard the horror stories of what he did to his old team, and had seen first hand what his temper was like. You also knew about his powers and worried that Ben might have a little bit of a control problem or at the very least anger management issues.

“I’m not going to fucking hurt you if that’s what you think.” Ben growls, his eyes narrowing at your insinuation. “I’m not some fucking monster, doll.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster Ben.” You sigh. “I just- I don’t have powers and you’re kinda strong and I-.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice. “I don’t think that you’d hurt me on purpose. But-”

Ben’s hand comes out to touch your chin, tilting your gaze up to him and stopping the bicycle of babbling you were about to ride around the block. Your eyes widen slightly with the contact, you weren’t used to people touching you, certainly not like this.

Keep it together…

“I wouldn’t hurt you by accident either.” Ben’s green eyes are focused on yours, and you can see just a sliver of emotion behind them that you can’t identify. “But if we’re going to do this you gotta promise me one thing.”

“What?” Your voice comes out like a squeak.

“You’ve got to promise not to fall in love with me.” He sends you a saucy wink that makes you want to punch the strongest man on earth, instead you settle for pushing him back from you.

But you’re not prepared for the wave of disappointment you feel when he lets go of your chin.

“I’m not in any danger of that Benny. You’re not half as smooth as you think you are.” You start to lean back in your chair, but Ben reaches out to grab your wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle, the contact burning through your body, as he pulls you forward, so close you can smell his cologne. Somehow it's something that smells classic and modern at the same time, a hint of spice that tickles your nose and makes your throat tight.

His voice lowers into a purr that vibrates through his chest, his next words expelled on a warm breath that weaves through the air between the two of you.

“Sweetheart, you’re about to find out just how smooth I am.”

What have I gotten myself into?

A/N: Again, not what I was expecting, but I really love this one y'all and I probably laughed way too hard at bits when I was writing it.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my taglist please let me know!

Taglist

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @waynes-multiverse

@jollyhunter

#william butcher x reader #soldier boy x reader #the boys x you #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #billy butcher x you #billy butcher x reader #karl urban #karl urban characters #karl urban x reader #jensen ackles #jackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles characters #lovelyreaders!

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maretinelli · 1 day ago

Text

SPILLED COFFEE

Lewis Hamilton X Journalist!fem!reader

Summary: On her first day covering F1, Y/n meets Lewis Hamilton in an unexpected way—by spilling coffee on him before a press conference. What starts with laughter and meeting at the Paddock soon turns into a friendship that can go beyond feelings.

Words: 5.8K+

Warnings: Nothing(??) just cute and romantic.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story.

MASTERLIST

It was the Spanish Grand Prix. The paddock was buzzing with the typical morning activity of a race weekend. The sky was clear, and the heat was starting to intensify, even at that hour.

Team members hurried past, engineers chatted in groups analyzing data, and journalists strategically positioned themselves to capture the best moments of the day.

Y/n, however, didn't have time to appreciate the scenery.

She walked quickly across the paddock, slinging her bag over her shoulder, which held a microphone, question sheets, and other essential equipment. In her other hand, she held a large cup of iced coffee, still untouched.

She knew exactly why she was late. Talking too much. It was an innate talent—or maybe a flaw, depending on the situation.

The friendly waitress at the coffee shop had been a great listener, and between one conversation and another, Y/n had simply lost track of time. Now, she should be in the press room, getting everything ready and waiting for the pilots who could arrive at any moment.

"Microphone, chips, recorder... It's all here, isn't it? Oh, what the hell, Y/n, why do you do this every time?"

The problem was, she wasn't really looking in front of her. The impact was unexpected.

In her haste and distraction, Y/n felt her shoulder bump against something solid - or rather, someone. The impact caused her iced coffee to fly out of her hand and splash directly onto the person's chest, staining the white fabric. The liquid ran down her impeccable shirt, creating a large brownish stain.

She quickly stepped back, trying to keep her balance so she wouldn't fall to the ground. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had just done.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! I swear I didn't see you, I was looking at my bag and-"

The words came out in a rush, one excuse after another, as she finally looked up at the victim of her morning disaster.

Lewis Hamilton.

His sweet smile contrasted with the large coffee stain on his white Mercedes shirt. The fact that he had spilled coffee on someone was bad enough. But that someone was Lewis Hamilton, and that made it a thousand times worse.

And, as if that weren't enough, he was one of the drivers who should have been at the press conference, which was probably already starting.

"Oh no... I made you late too! I'm a mess!" She exclaimed, feeling even more guilty. "What do I do? How do I get this stain out? Is there anything in the Mercedes that can help? Or maybe-"

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Lewis laughed, interrupting her barrage of apologies. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down. "It's okay, really. It happens. I also wasn't looking where I was going because... well, I'm late too."

Relief washed over Y/n at hearing this, though the guilt was still there. She let out a small sigh and smiled, more at ease.

"Still, I'm sorry."

Lewis looked down at his shirt and shrugged, still smiling. "Don't worry, I've learned some techniques for removing stains from white shirts from my mom."

Y/n chuckled, shaking her head. "So you're a pilot and a laundry expert? Impressive."

"Something like that." He joked, laughing.

His gaze then slid to her arm, where a large, colorful tattoo stood out. He pointed curiously.

"That's very beautiful. Tribute?"

Surprised by the comment, Y/n stretched out her arm, allowing him to see better. Lewis smiled as he noticed the details of the drawing.

She nodded, a nostalgic glint in her eyes. "Yeah... my dad and I did it together for my birthday. He always said we'd do something special when I turned 18. That was our special thing and..." Lewis smiled, clearly enjoying the story, but before Y/n could say anything else, reality hit. "Oh, forget it...!" She shook her head, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I have to go, I'm really late for a meeting."

Lewis laughed at her sudden change of mood. "And I need to change clothes and go to the interview, so I guess we're even."

She took a few steps back, pointing at his shirt, grimacing guiltily. "Sorry again about that..."

Lewis just laughed, loud and genuine. "Okay, really."

They exchanged one last friendly smile before each of them went their separate ways. When Y/n turned around, she let out a sigh and smiled to herself.

She quickened her pace, now focused on finding the TV crew's photographer. The walk to him was quick, and when she arrived, she stopped in front of him, a little out of breath.

The teammate crossed his arms, his expression unimpressed. “You’re 20 minutes late.”

She smiled guiltyly, still catching her breath. "I know, I know..."

He sighed, pointing to his watch. "The interview should have started by now."

Y/n sighed, still trying to catch her breath, and quickly handed the bag to the photographer. "Sorry, really. But I'm here now, let's go."

Without wasting any more time, she began to help him prepare the camera, quickly adjusting the equipment. Once everything was ready, the two entered the large room where the press conference would take place.

Luckily for Y/n, the interview hadn’t started yet. The pilots were finishing adjusting their microphones, and the journalists were taking their places, reviewing notes and testing their equipment. She let out a long sigh of relief.

Moving quickly between other reporters and excusing herself here and there, Y/n positioned herself in the spot reserved for her team. Her name tag and company name marked her space.

Sitting down, she took her cards out of her bag and began to organize them, checking her questions. She adjusted her microphone and looked around, making sure she was ready.

The interview began with one of the journalists directing the first question to Verstappen.

"Max, you've performed well in free practice so far, but you mentioned that you were struggling a bit with the balance of the car. What have you adjusted for qualifying and how do you expect that to affect your race?"

Max leaned forward a little to answer. "Yeah, we worked really hard on it..." He began, but the buzz in the room suddenly increased.

Lewis had just arrived.

He weaved his way past the other pilots, moving with the natural confidence he always carried. "Sorry I'm late, guys," he said with a smile as he settled into his seat and adjusted his microphone.

Now he was wearing a clean, impeccable black Mercedes blouse.

As Max continued his response, Lewis looked around the room, observing the journalists who filled the first rows. It was then that his eyes found Y/n.

For a brief moment, he looked surprised. His eyes widened a little, but soon a smile formed on his face.

Y/n, who was already watching him, smiled back and discreetly pointed to her own blouse. A subtle gesture, saying: There was time to change, huh?

Lewis held back his laughter and nodded slightly, as if in confirmation.

Satisfied, Y/n looked down at her lap, where her chips were and the microphone was still turned off, waiting for the right moment to use it. She took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure, but a part of her couldn't help but find the coincidence of that morning meeting with Lewis amusing.

Once Max finished answering his questions, the moderator gave the floor to the next journalist. Y/n picked up her own microphone, turning it on with a soft click.

"Good morning Lewis, my question for you is about the progress of Mercedes this weekend. In free practice we saw you trying out different aerodynamic setups and, despite some balance issues, the race pace looked promising. Based on the data you gathered, what are your expectations for qualifying and the race? Do you feel you can challenge Red Bull and Ferrari here in Spain?"

Lewis listened attentively, tilting his head slightly as he processed the question. Then, he took the microphone and smiled before answering.

"Great question. I think this weekend has been interesting for us indeed. We are constantly trying to understand the car better and make improvements. Here in Spain, a traditionally technical circuit, we have been able to collect good data, especially on tyre wear and performance in long runs. We know that Red Bull and Ferrari still have an advantage, but we believe we can put ourselves in a strong position to fight on Sunday. The key will be a good qualifying, so we need to maximise every detail."

He ended his answer with a warm smile in Y/n's direction. She returned the smile and took the opportunity to ask her second question.

"Thinking about the race, the Spanish circuit has been challenging in recent years in terms of overtaking. Do you believe that the updates that Mercedes has brought can help in this aspect, giving you more confidence to attack if you start behind?"

Lewis nodded, appreciating the question.

"Yes, this has always been a tricky circuit for overtaking, so strategy and tyre management will be crucial. But yes, the updates we've brought in are very much focused on the stability of the car at high speeds and traction out of corners, so I believe that if we need to make up positions we'll have good pace to do so."

Y/n smiled, satisfied with the answers. "Thank you, Lewis." She turned off the microphone and sat in her designated chair, letting the other journalists take over the next questions.

However, without her noticing, Lewis kept his gaze on her for a few more seconds, until another question directed at him caught her attention.

The next journalist, excited, asked bluntly: "Lewis, everyone noticed you were a little late. What happened?"

He chuckled a little, lowering his head before answering. “Ah… well, there was a little mishap in the paddock on my way here.” He smiled and paused dramatically. “Apparently, coffee was spilled on my white blouse. But in the end, I was the one who apologized… because the woman who did it was definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The answer took everyone by surprise. Laughter echoed around the room, some drivers teased Lewis with humorous comments, and journalists murmured among themselves.

Y/n, in turn, raised her eyebrows slightly, surprised by the statement. But soon her expression was replaced by a surprised smile and then by an amused giggle. She shook her head slightly, trying to disguise the way her face heated up at the unexpected joke.

Lewis, on the other hand, just smirked and cast a discreet glance in her direction, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

The press conference continued with a dynamic flow of questions and answers. In addition to Max and Lewis, the other two drivers present were Lando Norris and Carlos Sainz.

Y/n did a good job of directing questions to both of them, showing that she had done a thorough research job. For Lando, she asked about the improvements that McLaren had brought for that weekend and how he saw the team's evolution in the midfield battle. For Carlos, she focused on the pressure of racing at home and how that influenced his mental performance during the weekend.

They both responded sympathetically, and she managed to keep the interview going at a good pace, which was essential for someone who was running the job alone that weekend.

When the press conference finally ended, Y/n took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility lift off her shoulders.

"You did really well today," his fellow photographer said as he dismantled his equipment and put his camera back in his bag.

Y/n laughed, thanking me. "Thank you. But if you knew what I did before I found you, you'd definitely be on edge."

He arched an eyebrow, curious. "What did you do?"

She held back a laugh before replying. "I spilled coffee on Lewis Hamilton."

"SO IT WAS YOU?" The photographer paused for a second before letting out a loud laugh. "You're kidding!"

"I wish." Y/n replied, laughing along. "I literally bumped into him in the paddock, spilled my entire coffee on his white shirt, kept apologizing like crazy, and he... well, he was incredibly cool about it."

Her colleague was still laughing at the scene he imagined in his head. "And he even got a compliment on the world wide web, because apparently you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen in his life."

Y/n shook her head, feeling her face heat up slightly. "It was just a joke, he doesn't even know me."

The photographer crossed his arms, laughing. "Joke or not, you became the highlight of the press conference."

She shrugged, still amused by it all. Then, as if speaking more to herself than to him, she commented, "But he really is very handsome... especially up close."

The colleague laughed and agreed. "Oh, that's true. The guy has an absurd presence."

With that, they finished organizing everything and moved on to other tasks for the day.

The afternoon settled in the paddock, and the characteristic buzz of the environment continued. Y/n was now sitting in the same coffee shop where, earlier, she had bought the coffee that ended up causing all the confusion.

This time, however, her attention was fully focused on her work. Her laptop was open on her desk, and sheets of notes were scattered around her. Her gaze flicked between the papers and the screen, typing quickly as she organized the press conference material and adjusted the main points for the story she needed to submit.

Even while concentrating, every now and then a small smile appeared on her lips as she remembered the scene from that morning. It was definitely not every day that someone spilled coffee on Lewis Hamilton and, on the same day, heard such praise from him.

Y/n was so focused on the computer screen, trying to organize the information and write what she would need for the article, that she didn't notice when someone approached her desk.

She was so startled that she nearly dropped everything when a large glass of iced coffee was placed next to her. She frowned in confusion, because she hadn't ordered anything since she sat down there.

She looked down at the glass, then quickly looked up, and that was when her eyes met Lewis's. He had an easy smile on his face, clearly enjoying the scare she had gotten.

"I think you need some coffee to calm down." He commented, chuckling softly.

Y/n sighed in relief and laughed. "You scared me."

Lewis shrugged, as if it wasn’t his fault. “I’m a pretty good scarer, apparently.” He pointed to the cup. “I brought you a coffee, as an apology. After all, I ended up making you lose your coffee, so I figured you deserved one on me.”

Y/n smiled, a little shyly, before shaking her head. "I'm the one who got into a fight with you. If anyone should apologize, it's me. I was late and ended up making a mess."

Lewis laughed softly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter who was at fault.” He chuckled and leaned forward a little. “What matters is that I wanted to bring you some coffee and see you one more time.”

Those words, spoken so casually, made Y/n's cheeks flush. She looked away for a moment, trying to compose herself, before looking at him again.

Lewis then looked at the empty chair in front of him and asked with a smile, "Can I sit here?"

She smiled, feeling her heart race a little. "Sure, you can sit down."

Lewis settled into his chair, and Y/n began to gather the papers on the table, organizing them into a folder as he watched closely. He noticed that she was clearly busy with something important, so he hesitated for a moment.

"Sorry, I didn't see you were working. If you want, I can come back later." He said, his tone softer and more respectful.

Y/n shook her head, smiling softly. "It's okay. I needed a break anyway, and now is a perfect time."

Lewis smiled, watching as she closed the laptop, gathered the remaining sheets, and carefully placed them inside the folder before setting it aside.

After that, she placed the coffee cup in the center of the table, as if that was the official sign that she was, in fact, taking a break from work.

"It's brave of you to want to spend time talking to a journalist."

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. "I guess I've been through enough interviews that I don't get scared that easily."

Y/n smiled as she took a sip of her coffee.

A small silence settled between them. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it carried with it that slight tension of two people who didn't yet know each other very well.

Lewis shifted his gaze to her arm, where the colorful tattoo caught his attention once again. He pointed discreetly with his finger.

"Are you a Senna fan too?"

Y/n automatically followed his gaze to her arm and smiled, almost instinctively. "Yes, very much. My father is Brazilian, so I grew up watching races with him. Senna has always been our idol. On my 18th birthday, I decided to get this tattoo in honor of him. My father was so touched that he wanted to get one too, so we ended up going together. It was one of the most special moments of my life." She smiled. "And well, that was a loooooong time ago."

As she spoke, her eyes shone with genuine affection, and her smile had a hint of nostalgia.

Lewis felt something electrifying in his chest. Talking about Ayrton Senna always brought out something intense in him, but knowing that Y/n also admired him deeply created an instant connection between them.

"He was my childhood hero," Lewis said, his eyes taking on a special light. "I always say he was the reason I started racing. I would watch his races and be fascinated by the way he drove, the passion he put into everything... Senna was different."

Y/n nodded, smiling. "Yes... my father always said that Senna was more than a driver, he was a symbol."

"And he was right." Lewis agreed, relaxing further in his chair.

From then on, the conversation flowed naturally. They began to exchange stories about their memories related to the Brazilian idol, about iconic moments from his races and even about how Ayrton had inspired so many generations on and off the track.

The awkward atmosphere that existed before gradually dissipated, giving way to an unexpected lightness.

As they talked, Y/n raised her coffee cup to her lips from time to time, slowly sipping Lewis's unexpected gift. And for the first time that day, she didn't feel rushed at all.

••••••••••••••••••••••

It was qualifying day, and the tension in the air was palpable. The roar of engines echoed in the background as engineers ran back and forth in the pits, ensuring everything was perfect for the drivers. Fans crowded into the stands, eager to see who would secure pole position for the next day's race.

Y/n was positioned in an area near the track where journalists gathered to interview the drivers right after qualifying. Next to her, her colleague held the camera, while she adjusted the microphone. They were live for the TV crew they worked for, and she had already interviewed two drivers.

She was finishing interviewing the third, a driver who was still slightly out of breath from the effort on the track.

"Thank you for your participation, Piastri!" Y/n smiled, holding the microphone as the pilot nodded.

"Thank you." Oscar replied with a smile before quickly placing a hand on her shoulder in a brief gesture of thanks and leaving the press area.

Y/n then turned to interview the last pilot assigned to her team. As soon as she looked up, she found Lewis standing behind her, with his usual easy smile.

Before she could say anything, he placed both hands on her shoulders and gave her a brief, relaxed massage, as if he were playing to ease the tension.

"Working hard, huh?" He teased, an amused glint in his eye.

Y/n smiled, feeling her shoulders relax for a moment before shaking her head and straightening her posture. Because they were still live. "Someone has to do the hard work."

He replied, laughing before adjusting the microphone and looking at him more seriously. "Congratulations on qualifying today, Lewis. You've put yourself in a great position for the race. How did the car perform on track today?"

"Thanks! The car handled really well, I think we managed to find a good balance over the weekend. There are still a few details to fine-tune, but overall I'm pretty happy with the lap we did today."

Y/n nodded and continued: "Considering the performance of your opponents and the position you will start in tomorrow, what will be the main challenge for the race?"

Lewis smiled, clearly enjoying the interview. "I think the start will be crucial, as always. It's important to hold the position and, if possible, gain some. Tyre management will also be essential, as wear seems high at this circuit. But we are prepared to fight for the best possible result."

Y/n smiled, satisfied with the answer. "It looks like it's going to be an exciting race! Thanks for the interview, Hamilton."

He held her gaze for a moment before smiling warmly. "The pleasure was all mine. Always great to be interviewed by you."

Y/n tried to hide it, but an involuntary smile escaped her lips. Lewis noticed and his own smile widened a little more. Before walking away, he patted her affectionately on the shoulder, as if to say 'Good job.'

She watched him walk away for a moment before turning her attention back to her teammate, who was filming the whole thing with a mischievous grin on his face.

Y/n smiled at the camera, returning to her professional tone. "And that concludes our coverage of today's qualifying! Tomorrow, the drivers will be back on track for what promises to be an exciting race. Stay tuned to follow everything with us. See you then!"

Her teammate gave her a discreet nod, indicating that he had stopped recording. Once the camera was turned off, Y/n sighed in relief and let out a nervous giggle.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this alone," she confessed, turning off the microphone.

His friend just smiled. "You studied hard for this, Y/n. Now's your chance to enjoy the view from this side." He made a wide gesture with his hand, as if showing the entire paddock in front of them.

She laughed, shaking her head, but she knew he was right. She was here, covering an event by herself, and she was doing well.

Together they began to pack up their equipment and walked around the paddock, chatting casually. That's when Y/n felt a hand land lightly on her shoulder. Turning around, she found Lewis smiling at her.

"Hey," he said, relaxed.

"Hey," she replied with an automatic smile.

His colleague looked from Lewis to Y/n, arching his eyebrows with a mischievous smile before taking a step back.

"Well, I'm going. I need to get back to the hotel and prepare myself emotionally for a date later."

Y/n laughed. "It'll be okay. See you tomorrow morning here at the paddock."

He winked at her and left, leaving Y/n and Lewis alone.

When she turned back to the pilot, she noticed that he looked a little nervous. His smile didn't have the same confidence it usually had.

"Can I play journalist now and ask you a question?"

Y/n laughed at the comment. "Sure."

Lewis hesitated for a second before asking, "Do you... have a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband?"

Y/n frowned for a moment, holding back a laugh at the direct way he asked.

Lewis noticed and laughed a little too, shaking his head. "I mean... do you have someone? Any plans?"

"No, I don't have anyone." She tilted her head, crossing her arms. "Why?"

Lewis smiled, running his hand over the back of his neck, looking a little less confident than usual. "Because I wanted to ask you out to dinner sometime."

She blinked in surprise, and then a smile grew on her face. Her heart raced a little, but in a good way.

"Ah..." She chuckled softly, feeling a wave of heat rise in her chest. "Yes, I would love to."

Lewis smiled broadly and with relief. "Great! Great..."

Y/n laughed when she noticed his slight hesitation. It was funny to see the seven (eight) times world champion like that.

"But I know you're busy right now." He continued, lightly gesturing to the notepad in her hand. "And I also need to get back to the garage to talk to the engineers. We'll talk then!"

"Yeah, I have some stuff to finish." She agreed, still smiling.

They shared one last look before Y/n took a step back, walking away. But before she could get too far, she heard Lewis call her name.

“Y/n!”

She turned, seeing him take a few quick steps towards her.

"Your phone number!"

"You almost forgot the most important part." She laughed.

"Yeah, I almost let it go." He joked, taking his cell phone out of his pocket.

Y/n started to say the numbers while Lewis typed them into his phone, saving the contact with a satisfied smile.

"I'll send you a message. And then we'll arrange a day."

"Ok."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

They exchanged one last smile before saying goodbye for good. Y/n continued on her way through the paddock, but this time she couldn't keep the smile off her face. They acted like two silly teenagers in love in high school.

The weeks passed in the blink of an eye, and the relationship between Y/n and Lewis became something natural, part of their routine. If they didn't see each other in person, they were exchanging messages, sending funny photos or calling to tell each other the news of the day. Even the silliest things became a reason for long conversations.

Y/n🩷: Lewis, I need a serious opinion.

Lew❤️: Send it.

Y/n🩷: If I buy these pants, do you think I'll look like an 80-year-old lady going to buy bread?

The message Y/n sent was accompanied by a photo of her in the mirror, trying on the item of clothing.

Lew❤️: It depends. Are you going to buy bread?

Y/n🩷: LEWIS!

What about connections? They became frequent. If Lewis was in a different time zone, he would still find a way to at least send an audio message or wait for Y/n to wake up to call.

"What do you think of this cookie? Is it good?" Y/n was at the market, shopping while Lewis was on a break from one of his workouts and on the phone with her.

"I don't like it very much. But my mom and nephews love it!! Take it and try it." He smiles from the other side of the phone screen. Y/n smiles and puts the food package in the shopping cart.

And for weeks, with messages, phone calls and random photos exchanged, they still tried to find a free day so they could both go out to the pilot's promised dinner. Their schedules never managed to synchronize with each other, but for now they were content with the friend zone they were in.

But not for long.

Another race weekend had begun and, before everyone went about their business, Lewis arranged to meet Y/n at a café inside the paddock.

Sitting at a table on the porch, he wore sunglasses and looked at his cell phone, seemingly focused. The atmosphere was pleasant, and he was enjoying the moment of calm before the chaos of the day began.

And then he was caught off guard when a loud crash echoed across the table.

He almost dropped his cell phone in shock, and when he looked at the table he saw a pile of papers spread across the top, accompanied by a glass full of milky tea.

He pushed up his glasses, frowning. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed, blinking at the panting figure in front of him.

Y/n threw herself into the chair, letting out a long sigh before blurting out, "I'm going to be a teacher!"

"What exactly does that mean?" Lewis frowned, puzzled.

Y/n rested both elbows on the table, looking directly at him. "Apparently, a professor from the University of London is going on maternity leave. She teaches journalism..." She began, picking up one of the papers and rolling it between her fingers. "And so, the director of the course asked me to replace her for at least a year."

"Really?" Lewis's eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"Yes. I studied at the same university and, according to him, I have a great resume, both as a student and now as a professional." She laughed a little, shaking her head. "Little does he know that I slept through every sociology class."

"You? Sleeping in class?" Lewis chuckled.

"I would always sit in the back and pretend to write something down." He admitted with a shrug.

"And you accepted the offer?"

"I accept!!" He replied with a small smile. "I like a challenge. I love my job here, especially now as the station's main journalist. But I think it will be fun to teach a bunch of annoying teenagers."

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. "They won't be THAT boring. And honestly, you're going to be an amazing teacher."

Y/n smiled at his words, but soon saw Lewis's curious expression as he looked at the glass next to her.

"Wait a... What's wrong today?" He narrowed his eyes. "You're drinking tea, not coffee."

She laughed, picking up the cup and taking another sip. "I'm nervous about this whole teaching thing. Coffee would just make me more anxious, so I ordered tea." Y/n paused, wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "But it's horrible. Milk tea is the worst thing ever invented."

Lewis rolled his eyes, laughing, before taking the cup of tea from Y/n. "Just because I'm a gentleman, we can trade." He said, handing her the cappuccino that was sitting next to him.

Y/n smiled and accepted the cup, taking a sip before sighing contentedly. "Now that's life. For a moment there, I thought I was going to have to sue this coffee shop for emotional damages."

"You're very dramatic." Lewis laughed, shaking his head.

Silence hung between the two for a moment. Y/n turned her head, looking at the track in the distance, the wind subtly messing up her hair. Lewis, without realizing it, began to admire her, his eyes focused on her serene expression.

Without taking his eyes off her, he rested his face in his hands.

"Well... since you're leaving and we won't see each other around here for a few months... do you want to go out with me today?"

Y/n turned to face him, an amused expression appearing on her face. "Um, I don't know, I have to check my schedule..." She said, pretending to be thoughtful. "But maybe I have a little space for you."

Lewis let out a laugh.

"Look, I'm honored to have been considered," he replied, joining in the fun.

She laughed, shaking her head, before finally saying, "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

Lewis smiled broadly, and then began talking about his plans for the evening. Y/n just listened to him, smiling, watching the excitement with which he described everything.

The previous weeks of texts, phone calls and quick meetings in the paddocks had brought them closer than they could have imagined. It was in the small details that they realized they were in love.

The way Lewis smiled when he saw Y/n's name appear on his phone screen. The way she laughed at his jokes, even the bad ones. The comfort they found in each other, without needing much effort.

And that night, everything seemed to fall into place.

Night fell, and Lewis picked her up from her hotel. He took her to a private restaurant tucked away among the charming streets of the Austrian city. The atmosphere was sophisticated yet welcoming.

They ate, talked, laughed. Every detail seemed perfect, and neither of them wanted the night to end.

Lewis walked her back to the hotel, walking beside her through the hallways. When they stopped in front of Y/n's room door, for a moment, they just looked at each other the connection between the two was palpable, something that already existed before that meeting, but which now seemed even more intense.

The pilot approached slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, waiting for any sign of hesitation. But Y/n just smiled softly, her heart racing.

It was then that he kissed her.

The touch was soft at first, a delicate brush of lips, as if testing something they already knew would be right. But soon the kiss deepened, hot and enveloping, loaded with all the weeks of pent-up feelings. Lewis's hands slid to Y/n's waist, while she grabbed the collar of his coat, pulling him closer. And when they separated, they both smiled, as if they understood that this was just the beginning.

And the days passed, and the meetings between them became frequent.

When Y/n started teaching, her routine became even busier, but she always found time to call Lewis, telling him about every detail of her day.

"My students called me 'Miss Y/n' today. I'm feeling old."

"Welcome to the club."

She laughed out loud, throwing her head back a little. "And how was training?"

Lewis smiled as he heard her voice on the other end of the line, leaning against the headboard of the bed. "Not bad. But now I can only think of your voice calling me 'Mr. Hamilton' to see what it's like."

"It won't happen."

The two laughed, and the conversation went on until late.

Whenever he could, Lewis would go to London to spend a few days with her. They would explore the city together, go out for dinner, stay home and watch movies, and simply enjoy each other's company.

Until, one night, something unexpected happened.

Y/n was in the kitchen, preparing dinner while talking non-stop about some student who had asked a completely absurd question in class. Lewis listened to her with a smile on his face, leaning against the counter.

In the middle of a sentence, she noticed he was unusually quiet.

"You're not even listening, are you?" He teased, turning to face him.

And then she saw it. Lewis was standing there, holding a small velvet box open, and inside it, an engagement ring glinted in the kitchen light. And in that moment, she knew the answer without even having to think. Yes.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #one shot #lovers #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #lewis hamilton x fem!reader #lewis hamilton x y/n #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton

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specialgumsock · 2 days ago

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//Random romantic things you guys do/he does! with the stardew valley bachelors// :-)

(Apologies again for bad writing, not proof read… T-T also FYI my asks are open)

Characters: all of the bachelors from stardew valley

Tw: mentions of Shane being hungover and drunk. Mentions of being freaky idk

Alex would buy you flowers a lot.

He misses you? Flowers. You’re mad at him? Flowers. He would go and get you flowers for no occasion, just to bring you flowers. Probably something his grandfather told him to do when he was younger, since his grandma likes flowers as well.

The first time you got flowers from him you remember like it was yesterday-

"What are these for?" You say, grabbing the bouquet from the out of breath, and almost disheveled looking man on your door step. He only smiled up at you and answered. "No reason, I just love you…"

Yeah, you were giddy the entire day while tending to your crops.

You and Sam are in a constant competitive flirting competition.

You two try to out-flirt each other with over the top, and bad pick up lines… Even in serious situations.

It was another rowdy Friday night at the saloon, on the couch you sat on Sam’s lap while Abigail and Sebastian played darts.

"You know-" Sam begins, putting his joja cola down for a moment before continuing. "If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber." You nearly choke on your drink and wince at the awful line.

"Oh, wow. That’s terrible. But not as terrible as how much you’re gonna blush when I say-" You lean in close, your voice going into a whisper. "Are you French? Because Eiffel for you…"

Sam groaned, then a smirk grew onto his lips. "Weak."

"You want strong? Alright, watch this." You say, noticing poor Emily walk over to grab some of the empty glasses left behind by previous patrons. "Excuse me! Can I get a to go cup? Because my boyfriend is too intoxicating to leave behind." You say, the VERY awful line making even you cringe.

Emily just sighed, looking done with life, and walked away. Sebastian and Abigail already having tuned you two out.

Sam shook his head. "Truce.. only because I don’t want to be banned from the saloon for a month again."

Sebastian let’s you win when it comes to games- any game.

You’re a sore loser who sometimes storms off in frustration, and he couldn’t care less. To him, it’s about seeing you happy, not about the victory. Growing up with a little sister, he’s pretty used to letting someone else win, especially if it means keeping the peace or just seeing that excited grin on your face.

He’ll always pretend to be super serious when you win, giving a defeated- "You’ve beat me, my mighty opponent!" and might even offer an overly dramatic bow, but deep down, it’s a running joke between the two of you. He’s fine with it. It’s not about pride, and honestly, he likes seeing your excitement when you win, even if it’s clear that he’s playing the long game and letting you win.

If you throw a little fit after losing-huffing, pouting, and trying to find an excuse, he’ll just laugh and say something like "Don’t worry, I’m sure the next one will be your win…" all while giving you a teasing smile. He just loves the playful energy and the way you light up when you finally get a win under your belt. And after all, he’s just happy to be there with you.

Shane has this thing he does called "hear me out" meals.

He spends a lot of his time drunk or hungover, so he’s definitely made a lot of… interesting meals.

These meals come from him when he’s in one of those moods from being hungover or tipsy and he gets a burst of "inspiration"

Like the time he made you try "pasta surprise" which consisted of spaghetti noodles and random ingredients he found in the pantry… A bad day for peanut butter and gravy.

But there are more bearable ones like "Breakfast Pizza" Eggs, sausage, bacon and whatever leftovers he has in the fridge.

"Breakfast of the future…" Shane said under his breath, placing the "pizza" down at the table in front of you. You rub your tired eyes, and look at the meal. "Wow… this was certainly a choice."

Elliot leaves you notes, like little love letters.

You find them everywhere, your pockets, on the fridge and even on your pillow. He can’t help it, he just wants to let you know how much you cross his mind.

One day you remember you needed to grab something from Pierre’s shop, pulling on your coat for the chilly fall weather. A little note falls you and you pick up, confusion written all across your face.

"To my Dearest, Lover- Thinking of you, as always. I hope your day is as lovely as the sea breeze, Yours truly, Elliot<3"

You feel your face heat up, and your heart starts beating faster. "Man I’m so lucky" you think as you can’t help but smile. It’s crazy how little things like this get you flustered, but, MAN, do you love him.

Harvey loves to play doctor, and not in a freaky way. (He would if you REALLY wanted though.. wink wink.)

Whenever you get the smallest scratch or feel even slightly under the weather, he goes full doctor mode. He insists on checking your pulse, listening to your heartbeat and even wrapping your finger in an unnecessary amount of bandages.

"Just… to be safe" He says, just as he put a second bandaid onto your finger that you cut while chopping your garden fresh vegetables. You can’t help but to giggle and tease him, thinking about his face stone cold serious, brows furrowed like he was preforming life saving surgery, when in reality he was just doing something as simple as putting a bandage on your finger. "Okay, Doctor Harvey~" Your words playful as he blushed and stammered a bit.

"J- *Ahem* Just making sure you’re okay… now get some rest, Doctors orders." You laugh, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Of course."

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zombiec4ke · 7 hours ago

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Before I knew you

soap x reader

CW: canon-typical violence, blood, probably ooc, summary: word goes after a mission goes south that a mole is among the base...when tensions rise fingers are pointed part 1-

The mission was shit, to say the least. Gaz caught a bullet in his side – nothing too major, thankfully. Soap barely moved out of the way just in time to avoid having his head blown off by a sniper. Ghost and you were the only two who came out of it completely unharmed... well, also Price, but he'd stayed back for most of the mission, saying orders from afar.

The worst part of a failed mission wasn't the pain nor the scars, It was the silence that filled the heli on the way back to base..usually soap was chirping random pick-up lines and jokes as Ghost groaned and rolled his eyes under his balaclava. But now Soap was quiet and Gaz was pale, clutching his side, his breaths shallow and uneven.

"Situation report" the sound of the Capt's voice tumbles through the silence and everyone's head turns to him as he spoke. Ghost sat up even straighter if that was even possible, the man sits like he has a metal plate in his back. "Mission failed, Gaz sustained a gunshot wound, but is now stable" he pauses to look over at Gaz who gave a shaky hand wave before looking back forward and continuing, "We extracted, but the enemy was expecting us, Too much intel on their side..none on ours" you silently nodded as Ghost spoke, the stoic Lt was the most mature of the Task force, somehow beating Price in the contest. but even the least mature knows how to read a room when it's needed...the sound of the heli's descent made you breathe a sigh through your nose. Price however held a hand up causing you to sit back down and he clears his throat. "After action reviews will go along as always, Gaz hit the medbay and everyone report to the briefing room, I want to know what the hell went wrong. You may go now" Price finishes and you stand back up and the hatch of the heli opens hitting you with the fresh (not full of death) air

you move to help Gaz up from the seat but it seems as if a medic was informed earlier because a petite woman was waiting by the hatch with a med kit. "One of our not-so-pretty mission eh Soap" you shoulder bump the scot who lets out a deep sigh as he brings a hand to ruffle your hair "Hey! I already have my own sweat in my hair 'dont need yours too" you swat soaps hand away with a playful glare before shutting up as Ghost actually glares at the two of you "Oi, stop your quarrel and get to the briefing room...now" ~ magic scene change ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The briefing room was silent, except for the low hum of the pipes. You found a seat near the back, next to Ghost, who was surprise surprise, montone as always... Soap, on the other hand, was fidgeting, his leg bouncing, his eyes scanning the room.

Price stood at the front, his once calm ocean eyes were now a raging tempest and you all were the boats stuck in the middle of it.

Price began to pace, his boots thudding against the tiled floor. "This was a disaster. A complete and utter failure. We walked into a trap. They knew our every move, every plan. Someone..." he paused, his eyes going to each teammate "someone betrayed us." "Y'mean there's a mole?" Soap stops his foot tapping looking up at the room and Price nods causing Soap to mutter a scottish curse word.

"Precisely, we'll run checks, cross-reference intel," Price continued, his voice low "Until then we are issuing a lockdown, no leaving base at all." as soon as the words left Price's lips the air in the briefing room thickened with suspicion. Every glance felt like an accusation, every silence a loaded question.

You shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling the weight of the room pressing down on you...everyone's gaze wasn't friendly..wasn't familiar...it was full of disgust and anger. "Everyone will go to their barracks, curfew is now added..no going out after 21:00" Price doesn't add anymore and just gets up and leaves.

The crowd started to get smaller as soldiers leave, and you took a moment to gather yourself. As you were about to make your way to the door Ghost’s presence loomed beside you.

He didn’t say anything, but you felt the familiar weight of his gaze on you. It was unsettling, the way he could make everyone seem so small with so little effort.

"Right then, I'm off" Soap’s voice cut through the silence. He forced a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He clapped a hand on your shoulder, "See you later lass?" he asks and you return the smile before walking out bumping into the same nurse in the process "Op- sorry miss, hows Gaz?" you didn't wanna keep her away from her duties but you just felt that you needed to know "You can call me Ann, not miss," she replied, looking up from the chart she was holding. "Gaz is stable, but he's going to need some time to recover..I'm going to have to keep an eye on him for a bit, make sure he doesn't strain himself too much." you nodded and Ann just walked away...

the walk to the barracks was short due to it being fairly close to the briefing room and you open your door flopping on the bed not bothering to take off your blood soaked uniform. The bullet proof vest you were wearing wasn't the comfiest but you didn't have the energy to change before drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the time was about 01:00 when you heard a pound on your door, expecting someone like Johnny to be at your door asking random shower thoughts or just sleepwalking but to your surprise you open the door to see Ghost. "What's up, LT? Did you get a bad dream or somethin'?" you ask yawning as you lean against the door frame what you failed to notice in your sleepy dazed state was the glare of disgust Ghost gave you as he spoke up deadpanly "we can do this the hard way or the easy way" he says and you tilt your head in a confused matter...what was he talking about?? Your lack of silence though seemed to anger the lieutenant as he snapped out your actual name causing you to raise your hand in surrender "woah, touchy touchy, did you get a stick up your-" you were cut off by the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your temple and you could barely hear Ghost over the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ear "we have evidence proving you're the mole" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: Whoohoo!!! Part 1!! I am surprised so many ppl liked the idea I had in my head :3 I suck at writing long fics so I'm trying my best...:') see you in part 2!

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

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Awww, I'm so glad these headcanons inspired you! I love reading everyone's takes on Jackles characters. We should make it a PhD thesis at this point 😂💕

I really loved that for Dean you made it a thing that he "doesn't know how to be romantic." or that he believes that he "isn't romantic." Because it kinda fits that Dean doesn't understand that romance doesn't always have to be super big gestures but can be just giving someone your last bite of pie (HA) or just remembering the kind of coffee your significant other likes or lending a gentle ear when your significant other needs that.

Absolutely! And Dean's just so sweet and kind and caring naturally that he surely wouldn't realize that these simple gestures and small acts of service he does more or less subconsciously are actually the things that make him such a wonderful partner 🥰

And I love that you highlight that the reader knows this, but Dean doesn't. That the reader can see those wonderful little things that Dean does for her and no other man ever has. Also so jealous because I want Dean to make me a mixtape 📼

Hahaha yes! Guess she's been living in the bunker with that man for a while 😂 (And if he ever gave me a mixtape like this, I'd legit cry 😭💚)

But I love Dean's take on romance in his section: the chick flick, the fairy lights, the snacks, and the box of chocolates. It is very him and oh so perfect 😍

Aww, happy you could see that for him! I legit always have him prepare a romantic date night surprise in the Cave, but it just seems so him lol (And of course he had to make a joke toward the end to hide his vulnerability there 😝)

Everything you wrote for him is so perfect- "Of course" the lingerie and a dress that is his signature color, and the fancy resturant, the horse drawn carriage, the roses- All so on brand for him.

Oh, he went all out for this, didn't he? 🤣 But I could so see him doing all of this, mostly to brag and receive his reward. He saw Feb 14 on his calendar and knew it would be his big day lmao

Because we all know that man would one million percent be possessive of his woman and fall into that traditional view of a woman being a trophy, but oh my sweet baby corn sometimes the feminist inside of me kinda goes just a tad on hiatus 😂 And then when she comes back, she usually thinks that she can fix him lol

Omfg same, girl! Can't even spell the word feminism when I think of this man 😂 (But can we really fix him or will he just bend us to his will? 👀) Let's hope we're more successful in that endeavor than Taylor Swift lol

I still have not gotten to see Big Sky yet, but each time I see something for this beautiful "cowboy sheriff" I remind myself that I need to lol.

Aww, kinda jealous you haven't seen it yet. You get to experience it all freshly 🥰

This is exactly how I'd feel. I love the romance but at the same time I would literally feel like I've done absolutely nothing to deserve that and how can I make it up to him?

Oh so true! His dedication would freak me tf out and give me panic attacks lol. But reader found the perfect way to show her love too, I think 🫶

I'm crying. I just thought you should know 😭

Oh, I'm sorry, love! The hopeless romantic in me fully kidnapped Beau into the sunset here 😂🩵

Out of all of these, I think that Russell's was my absolute favorite. (Ben I still love you, please don't take this the wrong way 😂)

Oh, we both know SB will take this the wrong way lmao

And love that Russell is your favorite! I based his on personal experience. My husband surprised me like this when he was still in the military. But you bet your ass I sulked all day when I only got a short text message before he showed up at my door at night 🤣💕 (Also probably why that reader came across so realistic. I was sharing past trauma lmfao)

Thank you so much for reading & reblogging, Lee!!! So happy you enjoyed these and even better if they inspired more of your amazing fics! I already told my husband he's on toddler duty this weekend, so I can finally catch up with my tbr 😂🩵

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

(Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition)

Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader // Soldier Boy x reader // Beau Arlen x reader // Russell Shaw x reader

Warnings: +18 for some language and spice, tons of fluff, a smidge of angst

A/N: Something sweet to sweep you off your feet for the most romantic day of the year 😉 Happy early Valentine's from me, my loves 💖 (And big thanks to the lovely, amazing @zepskies 💜 for starting this trend in the first place. It's addicting 😂🫶)

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can’t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

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