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roosterforme · 1 year

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The Birthday Blues | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley loves celebrating your birthday. It's his favorite day of the year. But you're almost too upset to celebrate, and you don't seem to want to tell him why.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, swears, mentions of trying to get pregnant

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Roo?" you mumbled when you thought you felt your husband touching you. Was it morning? Or were you still asleep? You must be having a dream, because you felt good. No, you felt fucking great.

"Happy birthday, Baby Girl."

You cracked your eyes open, searching for the source of your pleasure, and then you saw that Bradley was nestled between your thighs, eating your pussy.

"Oh!" you gasped. That's why you felt like you were melting into a pool of pleasure. Because you actually were. You watched Bradley's head bob slightly as he licked long, languid stripes along your pussy. The early morning light was turning his messy bedhead hair a pretty copper color, and when you pushed your fingers through it, he kissed your thigh before returning to his task.

It was your birthday. You were thirty one. And you were pretty sure he wasn't going to stop until you came at least one time on his face. So you propped yourself up on one elbow to watch the show.

"Is this my birthday present?" you whispered as Bradley's mustache brushed against your clit.

"Just one of many," he rasped before kissing his way up and down your slit. When you were sufficiently moaning for him, he wrapped those pretty lips around your clit while you played with his hair.

Each little flick of his tongue had you gasping and asking for more. But he knew your body like the back of his hand, and he was drawing this out on purpose. Every time your voice got higher in pitch, he eased back the pressure until you calmed down. And then he started all over again.

"Roo!" you whined, practically riding his face as he held your hips down on the bed. "Let me cum! It's my birthday!"

The devilish look he gave you should have been enough warning, but a minute later, he was fucking you with two fingers and sucking your clit just right. When you felt the prickle of his mustache on your skin, your head tipped back against the pillow, and you felt yourself squeezing his thick fingers as you whined his name until you were laying in a limp, boneless pile.

Then you felt his warm body weight on your sensitive skin as he kissed your lips. His mustache was wet, and he let you lick his face clean.

"I need to be on base in thirty minutes," he rasped, making no move to leave you or the bed. "Fuck, why didn't we take today off? It's the most important day of the year."

"Because we burned through all of our vacation time for our honeymoon," you reminded him.

"It was worth it," he whispered next to your ear before he climbed out of bed. You watched Bradley step into his flight suit before he disappeared into the bathroom. You desperately wanted to coax him back to bed, but you also really wanted Bradley to leave for work.

He kissed your lips one more time and said, "Birthday dinner at seven. I'll let Tramp out before I leave. I love you, Baby Girl."

And once he was gone, you dashed out of bed and into the bathroom. You dug around in the closet for the pregnancy tests you bought yesterday after work.

"Come on," you whispered, pacing around the bathroom and bedroom after you peed on the sticks. This could potentially be the best birthday present of your life, even better than a birthday morning orgasm from Bradley.

When your timer went off and you checked the tests, tears of frustration filled your eyes. You tossed the tests into the trash and got dressed for work.

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It was actually unfair. Finding yourself on the verge of crying at work on your birthday shouldn't have been happening. And now as you sat in your office, swiping tears away, you realized you were just angry at yourself for taking the pregnancy tests in the first place.

But you had been trying for two months. And you'd spent the last decade trying your damnedest not to get pregnant. And if you knew there might have been something wrong, you'd have stopped taking birth control months ago. Because you and Bradley had been having very frequent sex for weeks now, and you felt like you were disappointing yourself and him, too.

You closed your computer and carried it down the hallway to your lab where your newest coworker Cat seemed to be having a great day. She was laughing with your other labmates just like you would normally be doing, but you weren't feeling like yourself. So you just kept your head down and got your work done.

You knew you shouldn't have done it, but you texted Bradley and told him you were simply too busy to make it down to the cafeteria for lunch today.

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw <3 <3 <3: really? everyone wanted to see you. i wanted to see you...

And then you started crying again. Because the negative pregnancy test was getting to you so much, you were letting Bradley down even more.

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"I think you should wear the dress you wore on our first date," Bradley crooned next to your ear as he wrapped his arms around you from behind. "You look so good in red."

You wiggled out of his grasp and finished unbuttoning your uniform shirt. As you removed your pins, you said, "Our first date was in the summer. It's too chilly out today."

Now he was looking at you like he was trying to figure out what he had done wrong. "I'll keep you warm. Or you can wear one of my sweatshirts over it if you want to. Or you can wear leggings and your oversized sweater. It's your birthday. And you're perfect. And you're going to look perfect."

But you really weren't perfect. You sighed and nodded at him. "I'll just throw on something casual. You said it doesn't matter what I wear."

You could tell he wanted you to wear that red dress. But you were feeling like punishing yourself for being in a bad mood on your own birthday. And you were bloated. Plus you'd gained a few pounds on the honeymoon and over the holidays. You'd look terrible in that dress right now. But Bradley just nodded his head once as you walked away from him. "Anything is fine, Baby Girl."

"Great," you muttered, pulling on the leggings and sweater. The car ride was painfully quiet, and as soon as he got on the highway, you knew where he was taking you. You bit your lip to keep the tears at bay.

"Did I piss you off today?" he asked as he parallel parked the Bronco in front of the hot sauce restaurant he'd taken you to on your first date.

"No," you whispered, closing your eyes against the tears you could once again feel. You were emotional because your period was starting, not because you were pregnant. And that thought was making more tears burn your eyes.

"Sweetheart, if you're not feeling it, we can go home," he assured you. "I won't be upset. I should have let you pick what you wanted to do today."

"No, it's fine, Roo. I love it here. You did good," you said, trying to infuse your voice with the excitement you usually felt when he surprised you with silly little things. Normally you would have been climbing across the seat to wrap your arms around him, excited that he brought you back here, but instead you climbed out your own door onto the sidewalk.

"Okay," he whispered a moment later, taking your hand in his larger one and kissing your fingers. "I'll let you order both meals and eat half of each one. I know you love doing that here." Bradley guided you inside as a smile found its way to your lips.

"I do love that," you told him. Soon you and he were sitting side by side in a booth, and he had his arm wrapped around your shoulders. You were pouring out little samples of various hot sauces onto your plate and tasting each one while Bradley sipped a beer. He helped you rank the bottles in order of deliciousness, and then you ate half of your meal and half of his.

"Let me buy you bottles of your top three draft picks," he joked, taking out his credit card to pay the bill and asking the waiter to add on a few bottles of the hot sauces you liked best.

"Thanks, Roo," you whispered, kissing his cheek. This wasn't so bad. You'd get over this sadness like you had last month. It would just take a few days, and you could blame it on your period.

Your husband took you by the hand, but instead of leading you back to the Bronco, he crossed the street with you. "Thought we could walk along the pier? For old time's sake?"

You looked up into his eager face in the dim glow of the streetlight. He just wanted to please you, just the same way you always wanted to please him. So you nodded and started out along the pier where you'd spent plenty of time getting to know him and making out with him so many months ago.

When you leaned against the railing and looked out at the dark water beyond, Bradley rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around you. "Promised I'd keep you warm," he murmured next to your ear.

You smiled. "You should have put that in your wedding vows."

His soft sigh as he rubbed his hands along the front of your body made you feel a lot better. "I hope you enjoyed your birthday dinner. I wasn't joking, this really is the most important day of the year. My very favorite day of the year. Besides our anniversary."

"I love you even more than I love hot sauce."

The promise fell from your lips as he chuckled and said, "I hope you don't lose your taste for spicy food when you're pregnant."

The chilly night air started to seep through the fabric of your sweater everywhere that he wasn't touching you. Your face fell into a frown. The dark water no longer looked peaceful. Tears filled your eyes quickly, as if they had been right there at the surface, just waiting for another excuse to drip down your cheeks.

You tried your best to keep it together, but Bradley knew right away that something was wrong. He spun you in his arms until you were facing him. "Please, Baby Girl. Please tell me what's going on. If I made you upset, you need to tell-"

But you just shook your head and pushed him gently away from you, and Bradley looked like you had slapped him across the face. "I'm not pregnant, okay? I'm not. I took a pregnancy test this morning, because my period should have started today."

"Sweetheart, that doesn't matter. We have time-"

"Just stop it, alright?" you asked, wiping away your tears as he reached for you. "Please, just stop talking. Let's go home."

Bradley rubbed his hand along his lips and mustache before he nodded. When he held his hand out for yours, you didn't take it. Rather you just strolled back up the pier toward the street a few steps in front of him, continuously wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands.

When you reached the Bronco and went to climb in, Bradley jogged up behind you and buckled the seatbelt for you. He didn't try to kiss you, but he did run his thumb along your knuckles as he whispered, "Love you."

But you pressed your lips together against the pain in your heart instead of responding to him. And then he took you home in silence, not even bothering to choose a playlist to listen to.

Now you'd upset your husband by telling him the truth about what was bothering you. He probably thought you were insane, losing yourself like this for the second month in a row. Blaming yourself for not being pregnant yet when you knew, deep inside your mind, that you hadn't actually done anything wrong. But you felt the uncontrollable, hateful desire to blame yourself anyway.

You were still dabbing at your eyes with your sleeves when Bradley pulled into the driveway. He killed the engine and turned to face you, but you were out the door and heading for the front porch before he could get a single word in. After wrestling with your key for a moment, you shoved the door open and nudged Tramp to keep him inside. But when you turned the lamp on, you froze in place.

Your entire house, literally every surface you could see, was filled with yellow flowers. Tulips, roses, daffodils and zinnias. Everywhere. Just like he had done for you last year. You squeezed your eyes shut, but you could feel Bradley's presence behind you.

After you sucked in a breath, you peeked into the kitchen and saw more flowers along with pink champagne in the ice bucket next to a beautiful confetti cake. Music was playing softly through the small speaker you kept next to the sink, and you recognized the songs as ones from a playlist Bradley made for you when he had been deployed. Your breathing was getting ragged as you sobbed into your hands.

"I'm sorry," Bradley murmured. "I had Nat and Bob bring everything over to surprise you. Give me a couple minutes and I'll get it cleaned up."

"No," you gasped, crying harder. "It's perfect."

You looked up at him through your tears, and just shook your head. He was hesitating to touch you now, and you hated that. And a second later, you were stumbling forward into his arms.

"Don't clean it up," you whispered. "I love it."

You could feel him slowly wrap his arms around you as you buried your face against his chest and sobbed until you couldn't cry any longer. He just held you there while your head throbbed, gently rubbing your back and shoulders until you were done.

As you sucked in a deep breath, he whispered, "You know, you're not alone here, right? You're literally never alone, because I'm here, too."

You swallowed down your guilt and looked up at him. When you nodded he kissed the tip of your nose.

"I don't want to have to keep telling you every month that you're not the only one trying for a baby. I don't want you to keep thinking that. This is 50/50 here, Baby Girl. You and me."

"I'm sorry."

He kissed you hard on the lips, effectively silencing you before whispering, "You're not allowed to apologize on your birthday."

You smiled up at him, half laughing and half sobbing. "Fine. I won't then."

He pulled you flush against his body and you took his face in your hands as he said, "We've got plenty of time, Sweetheart."

You ran your thumb along his scars. "I just don't want to disappoint you."

"Never," he promised, his voice growing deep and raspy. "You could never."

"But-"

He kissed you hard again. "All you ever do is make my life better. I wouldn't lie to you about that."

Instead of trying to argue with him, you just nodded and let him kiss you until you were smiling. He was right. You had plenty of time to do everything you wanted to do together.

With Bradley's lips gliding along your forehead, you whispered, "Should we have some cake?"

A few minutes later, you were sitting on the piano bench next to him with Tramp in your arms, and Bradley played and sang Happy Birthday. He kissed you about a million times as he poured two glasses of champagne and sliced into your birthday cake. Then you stood in your kitchen which smelled like all of the floral arrangements, and he wrapped his arms around you from behind once more. You laughed every time he kissed your cheek and opened his mouth for some cake.

"Thanks, Roo," you whispered before you fed him a bite. You'd make sure he had his favorites for his birthday, lemon cake and beer. And maybe with a little luck, in a few months when he turned thirty seven, you would be skipping the beer in favor of something non-alcoholic.

"I hope you enjoyed the best day of the year," he murmured. And you realized that all the best parts were when you were with your husband, living in the moment instead of worry about what you couldn't control.

Later, when you were ready for bed and snuggling up on his chest, you told him, "You could never disappoint me, either."

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Once again, this one hurts a little bit. Because this really happens. Don't beat yourself up, BG. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

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wardenparker · 8 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 1

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 14.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Not much for this chapter! Mostly fluff, a little flirting, and playful but on-point use of the term 'tramp stamp'. Summary: On a failed date at the local market, Marcus runs into an old friend and gets an invitation to visit. The beautiful inn and fantastic food were explicit in the invite -- but you are a complete surprise to him. Notes: Welcome, welcome, welcome my lovelies! As a girl who grew up on The West Wing and fosters an unapologetic love of all things romance, a story like this has been on my wish list to write for a very long time. I hope you're all ready for a cast of new characters and the grand appearance of Pedro's character from Graceland, because it's time for Marcus Pike to meet his soulmate! 🧡🧡🧡

There’s something about the hustle and bustle of D.C., that while it can invigorate someone and inspire them to live life as fast as possible, it can also drain them. At least, that’s what Marcus Pike has learned from the last three years of therapy. That and he’s prone to rushing into relationships, being in love with love, as Dr. Barnes would caution him.

It seems sometimes as if he’s unlucky in love, despite the universe providing a perfect match for him, he’s never found her. Always looking, but also being open to loving someone who doesn’t share marks or scars. Someone who just wants a stable and steady man to worship them and give them the world.

He hasn’t dated in almost three years. His therapist had advised him to focus on himself. To work through his emotions of a failed college marriage, a failed engagement. To make himself happy with who he is before introducing another person into the mix. He had thought that’s what he was doing, but apparently he had been wrong.

Finally feeling ready to date again, he had dipped his toes back in the water. Only to have it backfire tremendously. So much so, that he finds himself walking around the Eastern Market on his own. His idea of a farmer’s market casual date obviously not a good one, according to the woman who had tossed the drink he had bought her on the trash and stomped off, abandoning him to feel like a fool.

Smiling faces beam back at him from the covers of glossy gossip magazines, flashing headlines critiquing fashions worn to the recent inauguration ceremony and parties. The new president and her family wave from above the fold of newspapers — the happy family that Marcus himself doesn’t have. Ignoring the rude reminder, he wanders through the stalls and vendors of Eastern Market aimlessly until he reaches the family-owned sweet shop that he’s been coming to for years now. They know him, and like him, and his sweet tooth knows no bounds. There’s another man at the counter just before Marcus so he stands back, but Jenny waves hello from behind the counter. “Morning Marcus! Gimme one second and I’ll be right with you.” She says, turning back to the order marked Juan in her big, looping handwriting. “Six cannoli, right? Two pistachio, two double chocolate, and two cherry chocolate?”

“Right.” The man in a corduroy jacket with his short hair trimmed neatly nods. “Thanks, Jen. The girls are going to be over the moon.”

Another reminder of a life he craves. Marcus frowns slightly and tries to remember what his therapist has told him. Everyone moves at their own pace. Just because he’s not juggling two kids, a dog and a lovely wife with his workload doesn’t mean he’s failing. It just means he’s not met the right person, soulmate or not.

The other man pays for his order and turns to leave but stops dead in the middle of a cordial nod when he sees Marcus standing a few feet away. Sure he had heard Jenny say hi to someone…but he hadn’t looked. Now though? He huffs a laugh at the ghost of his past. “Pike?” They’d been mistaken as brothers — or for each other — so many times back at the Academy that it would be impossible not to recognize Marcus Pike.

“Badillo?” It’s amazing to see the other agent, although he had heard that he had left the Bureau after a friendly fire shooting. He looks good though, and Marcus cracks into the first real grin of the morning since being left high and dry. “What the hell? How are you doing, man?” He asks, coming in for a friendly hug while being mindful of the box in Juan’s hand.

“Good! Good. Errands.” Juan huffs, returning Marcus’s hug with equal surprise and affection. The men had been quite good friends at one time, more than a few years ago now. “Pregnant wife gets whatever pregnant wife wants, ya know?” He grins, bright and shining. “When did you get back to DC?”

“Pregnant wife, huh?” Despite the knife to his heart, Marcus paints on a grin, happy for his old friend. “Three years ago.” He shrugs slightly. “Heading up Art Crimes now. How about you? I heard you got out.” He lifts his eyebrows, allowing Juan to talk if he wants or brush it off if he doesn’t.

“I did.” Juan nods, knowing that various stories circulated after he left the Bureau. Most of them false. “Decided to take a little road trip vacation to clear my head and ended up meeting my soulmate in Yosemite on day two of the whole thing, and I followed her East.” He shrugs, ever the unapologetic romantic just like Marcus. They had had that in common. “How’s Lara?” He asks, remembering the woman that had been Mrs. Pike during their Academy days. Marcus had been over the moon for her. “Is she liking being back?”

Marcus grimaces a little and shrugs. “She’s, uh, we got divorced about ten years ago.” He tells him. “She found out she did have a soulmate.”

“Ah shit.” Blowing out a breath and shuffling his feet, Juan rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’m sorry, man. That’s—there’s just no easy way to get through something like that.”

“It’s okay.” Marcus had loved Lara, but he wasn’t going to stand in the way of soulmates. It wouldn’t be right. “It was actually a very easy divorce; she hated hurting me. More than I can say for the last date, or last fiancée I’ve had.”

“Shit.” Juan huffs again, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s eleven in the morning but I feel like I ought to be buying you a drink, man.” Hearing that someone as genuinely good as Marcus Pike is has had his heart bashed so often is a fucking bummer, and Juan chews on his lip for a second before his head tilts in that Universal signal of natural curiosity. “I’ve got time today. If you want to hang out? Catch up?” He offers, knowing that drinks will most likely come later if the two old friends spend the day getting back on the same page.

Marcus chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do I look that dejected?” He asks, even though he’s not really looking for an answer. “I was supposed to be on a date, I figured a farmer’s market/brunch date would be easy enough and yet thoughtful, but I was ditched.” He snorts. “I have zero luck it seems.” He nods his head towards the cannoli. “But you can’t leave your pregnant wife waiting on those.”

“No, I can’t.” Sydney is waiting back at the restaurant with bated breath, he knows that, but he does offer Marcus a smile. “But she does run a restaurant, so you don’t have to be brunch-less unless you choose to be.”

“Yeah?” He perks up at the idea of trying out a new place, always loving brunch foods. “Where at? I might have to take a spin over there.”

“Her place is called Il Corvo.” It takes a second, but Juan digs a business card for the restaurant out of his jacket pocket and hands it over. “It’s the in-house restaurant at The Inn at Jones Point in Alexandria.” He reports proudly, always ready to brag about his soulmate’s amazing success. Running a restaurant is no small feat. “I know the card says the dining room opens at 4pm, but ignore that. She does brunch for guests at the inn and for special guests from time to time.”

“Are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing, trust me.” Knowing his wife as well as he does, Juan is more than certain she’ll be doting on Marcus in no time. “As long as you’re on board for Italian food, come by any time you want.”

“I’m out on the bike.” Marcus tells Juan, remembering how the other agent also loved to ride motorcycles. “I might swing by sometime. Normally go for rides on the weekend.”

"Anytime you want," Juan repeats, and he hopes Marcus understands how entirely he means it. "It's good to see you again, man."

“Good to see you too.” Marcus means that, smiling at the former agent. “Nice to see that you are okay.”

The two men part with a smile and a nod, and Juan hustles away to get his precious cargo back out to his soulmate. Maybe he'll pitch the idea of inviting Marcus to their next board game night if Sydney and her best friend don't mind the extra company. Not that they ever mind extra company.

Marcus doesn’t mean for it to be two weeks from the chance encounter with Juan before he steers his bike down the country, winding roads towards this inn that he had been told about. He had a case that required him to travel. Then it was reports and the never ending budget fiascos that new presidencies always bring, his boss wanting a new projections for the fiscal year for some reason.

Now though, he’s enjoying the scenery as the wind blows over his face and he leans into the curve, enjoying the small thrill that races up his spine from the inherent danger.

The winter has been mild so far and all the snow left behind by the storm the area had gotten while he was traveling has melted, making the ride an easy and calming one. He had intentionally driven a long route around Alexandria and the surrounding area, letting him arrive at his destination a little after noon on that cold, sunny Sunday. The inn is a large brick farmhouse, probably originally colonial but it looks like it was redone sometime during the Federalist architecture craze of the early 1800s. Now its clean white painted window frames and front porch are as welcoming as the pristinely kept front garden. The Inn at Jones Point proclaims a sign out front, which is accompanied by a smaller complimentary sign with an impressionist painted black bird that reads Il Corvo in an artistic script. There are cars in the lot with a plethora of states listed on their license plates, another motorcycle that he has to assume is Juan's, and a very government-issued-looking black car parked close to the building.

Marcus is enough of a romantic to fully appreciate the appeal of the property and more importantly, grounded enough to be able to appreciate it without having a partner here to enjoy it with. Since working with his therapist, he's spent a lot of the last three years 'dating himself'. Instead of waiting to make a date to try out a new restaurant, he goes by himself. Not limiting himself to new experiences with partners, he has found that he enjoys the hunt for the perfect spots to eat. The little Indian restaurant he had found is an absolute gem and he is looking forward to discovering a new little brunch spot. If this place is half as good as Juan says, he might make it a monthly habit while he can spend some time with his old friend.

Inside, the lobby of the inn is bustling. Guests sit in plush chairs with travel brochures or excitedly type on their phones. A family is gathered around a display of pamphlets for different travel experiences and tourist attraction. Another guest is hovering around the front desk, seemingly waiting for someone to return.

From the rooms off to the left, wave after wave of stunning smells wafts past Marcus as he looks around. A set of French doors stands open but the hostess stand for Il Corvo stands empty while a small number of diners sit inside, happily chattering over their meals. The scent of fresh coffee permeates everything else just a second before he can see why, as a woman in a blue silk shirt comes around the corner with two travel cups — presumably full of coffee — for the guest standing at the desk.

“Here we are, Mrs. Richards. Thank you for your patience, the pot was just finishing brewing. These will keep you nice and warm while you walk around Old Town.” Smiling as the woman walks away, your eyes survey the room and land on the new arrival with a touch of confusion. “Good afternoon,” you greet, in your typical sunshiny tone. This man isn’t a guest and you genuinely almost thought it was Juan for a second — even though you just saw Juan in the restaurant. “How can I help you today?”

“Hi— uh, I—” Marcus realizes he knows you. Your mother’s picture hangs on his office wall next to the current FBI director’s, and furthermore, it’s hard to not see the darling First Daughter in some news story – although it doesn’t seem like you enjoy the press. “Yeah, sorry, Juan said that brunch is served here?” He asks with an apologetic smile. “I’m Marcus, uh, Pike. We were in the Academy together and I ran into him a few weeks ago.”

You’re prettier than he ever imagined the pictures and news reels, your voice curling into his stomach pleasantly. In true, Marcus Pike fashion. He finds himself instantly intrigued by you.

“Oh, you’re Marcus!” As bright and cheery as you sound, something flips in your stomach and clenches at your chest and you swallow down the oh god he’s really hot impulse that you haven’t felt in…well, in years. This guy looks like someone took Juan and gave him broader shoulders and better hair, and put a little bit more James Dean in his style. “It’s really nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself, probably unnecessarily, but it’s good manners and keeps you from getting nervous or going off track. “Come on this way. Juan said you might be stopping by but he wasn’t sure when.”

“I’m sorry, should I have called first?” He asks, feeling guilty and slightly in the way. The last thing that he wants is to cause an imposition.

“Not at all.” You slip out from behind your desk and wave for him to follow you. “He’s been excited to introduce you to everybody.” The inn is a decent size, with the ground floor being public spaces and all the rooms upstairs being ready-made for guests except for the attic apartment, and you quickly lead the way through the rooms toward the restaurant kitchen.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve caught up.” Marcus admits. “We were close in the academy, most people through we were twins to be honest.” He chuckles slightly.

“I almost thought you were him when I saw you,” you admit, glad to know you aren’t alone in it. Juan had said they look alike but it really is extreme. “Here we are.” Humming as you push open the door to the restaurant’s bar, you huff a soft laugh when a woman slightly taller than you with masses of curls in a tight bun at the nape of her neck in a black suit sidesteps the pair of you and opens the kitchen door to look inside before letting you in. “Thank you, Agent Bailey.” As odd as it is to have constant supervision like this, you’re doing your best to be patient and understanding with it. “Come on into the kitchen,” you offer to Marcus. “Brunch is almost over and this is where Juan sits when he hangs out.”

“Really? The inner sanctum already?” The tone is joking, but Marcus knows that for a lot of chefs, the kitchen is their sacred place. He wouldn’t know, because his kitchen is used to make coffee, but he’s had a few relationships with amateur gourmet cooks.

“Marcus!” There’s no question that this is where he’s supposed to be, when Juan is waving from a corner of the kitchen and immediately zips over to say hello. “How are you, man? Good to see you!”

“Hey.” He grins when he sees the other man, obviously happier here than any time in the Bureau and he’s happy for him. He seems like a completely different man, just from the quick glance. Perhaps it’s the fact that he found his soulmate. “Sorry it’s been a few weeks. Got caught up on a case.”

“I completely get it,” he assures his friend. “It’s been kind of crazy around here anyway. Weddings booked every single weekend and the restaurant stuffed full with reservations.” He beams, proud as a peacock, and waves slightly as you disappear back out through the bar to return to your counter. The inn is full up with last night’s wedding party and you have your hands full. “I want you to meet my wife,” Juan says, clapping Marcus in the shoulder and pulling him further into the kitchen.

There are only two people cooking right now and they are both winding down. Enough that the petite woman with tied-up hair and a look of intense concentration on her face can look up and smile. “I hear you talking about me,” she warns with a laugh.

“Syd, this is Marcus Pike.” Juan introduces, bringing his friend out in front of him. “Marcus, this is Sydney. The gorgeous goddess the universe decided to grace me with.”

“Nice to meet you.” Again that pesky pang of longing lurches inside Marcus but he throws her a smile and takes her hand after she offers it immediately. “I’ve only heard angelic things about you, so rest assured, he’s not talking ill.”

“He’s does nothing but tell stories about you since you guys ran into each other at Eastern Market.” Sydney tells him honestly. “Can I make you something to eat?”

“I was hoping to experience the brunch option that Juan was bragging about.” Marcus admits as he glances around, admiring the state of the art kitchen. “Didn’t expect to see this from the historical facade.” He admits. “It’s charming though.” He adds, hoping that neither one of you take offense.

"Charming is her specialty." Sydney points her thumb in the direction of the door, indicating the main lobby of the inn. "We took over running this place about three years ago now. The previous owners weren't able to keep up anymore so they sold to her and we updated the restaurant. Modern Italian dinners and brunch for the inn's guests. It's a big step up from the B&B that this place used to be." Grinning proudly, Sydney moves over to the nearest counter and plops a paper menu down at the stool beside her husband. "What would you like?"

Marcus looks at the menu and lifts a brow, impressed by the sophisticated menu. This isn’t some little spaghetti shop that pretends to be Italian. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good Uova in Purgatorio.” He moans. “Since the last time I was in Naples.” He clicks his tongue. “But I want to try the ricotta pancakes too.”

"Then you will get both," Sydney insists, clicking her tongue and getting to work. "A G-man in Naples, huh?" She barely glances up from her work as she moves. "Art crimes must be the fancy branch of the Bureau."

“I work on international cases with Interpol and Scotland Yard.” He explains as he sits down and admires the fluidity of her movements in the kitchen. She’s completely at home in her space and it’s evident she’s in command. He’s slightly envious of her comfort in a kitchen, if he’s honest.

"Oh, so it definitely is the fancy branch." She laughs. Juan hops up from his seat to grab coffee for himself and Marcus, brushing a kiss on her cheek as he moves past, and the other woman who had been cooking moves away to the other end of the room to work on cleaning up from the brunch rush.

"Fancy branch of what?" The kitchen door swings open again and you come strolling back inside looking infinitely more tired than you had just a few minutes ago but still in a generally good mood. "The wedding party is finally gone. I am officially taking my break."

Marcus stares at you for a moment and then looks down at his hands, feeling like he might be bragging if he were to tell you what they’ve been talking about. There’s something about you that is knocking him off kilter, he’s normally a little more confident than this.

"Art crimes is swanky, apparently." Sydney tells you, never stopping or slowing as she moves around like a controlled whirlwind. "Eggs in purgatory and ricotta pancakes for your brunch? I'll make up a big batch." They're two of your favourite things anyway and it's easy enough to just make a double serving of each when she knows that your break time is always mealtime.

"That sounds incredible," you moan in agreement, making a beeline for the industrial refrigerator in the corner of the room to make yourself an iced latte that is far more espresso than milk. A generous swirl of flavored syrup joins your cup before you plop down on the edge of the counter and sip your drink with a happy sigh. Normally people exclaim over you when they realize they recognize you but Marcus Pike hasn't said a word — and you wonder if he doesn't recognize you from the papers or if you even care. It's nice to not have someone make a fuss for once. To just be nice and not suck up to you for being the President's oldest child.

“Weddings take it out of you, huh?” Marcus asks, smirking a little at the drink in your hand, although it looks delicious. “Or were they just demanding?”

"It was a big party. Very specific needs." Sipping your drink and finally sitting is immediately relaxing, and you're always ready to meet new people. Especially when they're someone that your best friend's husband speaks of so highly. "Nothing I can't handle, but weddings are always tricky. It's the most important day of at least one person's life, so you always want to try to make it as perfect for them as you can. Thankfully," you gesture around you. "I have an incredible team. Syd is the best Italian chef in the Chesapeake Bay and Juanito is an incredible event coordinator."

Marcus snorts and cuts his eyes over at Badillo. “He always did have an eye for details.” He admits, snickering at the nickname you’ve bestowed on the former federal agent. “Although it’s surprising that it’s manifested in wedding planning.” He teases playfully.

"Event planning," Juan clarifies, but he's grinning regardless. "We host a lot here. Weddings, anniversaries, holiday parties, all kinds of personal events. I get to put my organizational mind to work on it. It's actually pretty rewarding."

"Don't let him sell himself short. Juan plans a hell of a wedding." There is pride on your face, pride for your friend and in your work "We've gotten written up in a bunch of bridal magazines and on websites the last few years."

“Good job, Juanito.” If there’s anything that Marcus enjoyed more than the courses in the academy, it was busting his friend’s balls. All in good fun of course, he had taken his share of ribbing as well. It was par for the course. “That sounds like a hell of a job, making people happy and sharing in their special moments.”

"We do our best." Juan will never take the credit for himself, always attributing the effort to the team as a whole. This time, though, he flashes a knowing grin at you. "Although the next one we plan might be a hell of a lot bigger than what we do here."

“Oh?” Marcus asks, turning towards you. “Are you getting married soon?” His eyes drop discreetly to your hand and he tries to remember what he’s read about you but for some reason, he’s drawing a blank.

“No, Juan just likes to tease.” You shake it off with a roll of your eyes, knowing that — unfortunately — your friend is completely right. If or when it does happen, it will be a damn circus. “It’s this…guy that I met last year, and it’s been really good and he really took all the stress of the last year in stride, and these two love to tease.” In truth, you’ve been intentionally moving forward slowly with the junior Congressman from Maryland that you met at a campaign event you attended with your mother last year. Sam is a good guy and has big ideas for the future. It’s just that you normally dive into relationships so fast and so deep that your heart does all the talking before your mind can catch up. And now that you’re a public figure, you can’t afford to have that happen again. “I’m perfectly content to watch other people have their big days for now.”

“I can imagine that it’s hard to have a relationship right now.” He sympathizes. “The press either treats you like a darling celebrity or some kind of public spectacle, right?” He asks, curious as to your view on the entire thing. Personally, he hated the idea of politics taking on a celebrity flare and you aren’t on politics, your mother is.

“I’m honestly lucky that my younger siblings take some of the focus,” you admit. So he did recognize you. It’s nice that he didn’t fuss. You’re grateful for that. “My brother is in law school and my sister is in undergrad and they’re both living in the White House while they study but…yeah. We all agreed to give up our privacy for a while so Mom can do some good work. That means relationships aren’t easy right now.”

“It’s good you had a choice.” Marcus admits. “Sometimes I watch the campaigns for some of the politicians and it’s obvious the family would rather be anywhere else and are putting on a facade.” He shrugs, not wanting to delve too deep into a subject you probably are uncomfortable with. “Nice that you don’t have too much interference here, except for the Secret Service agent.”

"Agent Bailey's okay." In fact, she's sitting outside the kitchen door right now, giving you a bit of space and privacy to try to pretend you still have a halfway normal life. "We're still getting used to each other. I had somebody else during the campaign, but she's been assigned to my sister now. It all works out in the end." Smiling, you take another sip of your coffee and wonder why your stomach is fluttering over this very kind man who has been introduced into your lives very much by chance. It's...unsettling. To say the very least. "But that's plenty about me. How about you, Special Agent Marcus Pike? Where're you from? How are you liking Art Crimes?" You grin, throwing him a mischievous expression. "Who'd you vote for, for president?"

Marcus laughs, a real laugh that comes from his belly and he relaxes. “Let’s see…I’m from the great state of Texas - Go Rangers.” He ticks off. “I love Art Crimes, especially when we can recover sentimental pieces and keep “collectors”,” he uses air quotes, “from locking away art from being enjoyed by all.” He grins at your last question. “And my momma told me never to discuss politics or religion in social settings….but….my candidate is currently hanging on my office wall.”

"Rangers, huh?" Glossing over the not insignificant tidbit that he did, in fact, vote for your mother, you find yourself thoroughly enjoying getting to know this friend of your friend. It's usually not this easy to click with a new acquaintance, although you've become an expert at seeming interested just to be polite. That doesn't seem to be necessary at all with this man. "When we get our Phillies/Rangers series this year we'll have to come up with a bet of some kind."

“It’s gonna be a losing bet on your end.” Marcus predicts. “We’ve got Darío Álvarez and then Elvis Andrus is going to continue stealing bases.”

"Oh thank god," Sydney huffs, flipping ricotta pancakes on her griddle top and grinning as she throws you a wink. "She's finally got someone else to drag to baseball games. I'm free!"

"My alleged best friend," you smirk and decide to tease her back. "And her husband are both hockey people. So I'm generally either stuck watching the game on my own or dragging Syd along with promises of beer and ballpark dogs."

“Nationals aren’t my favorite team. Since they are National League.” Marcus smirks. “But I have season tickets since it’s too expensive to fly back to Texas for every game.”

It would be bragging to admit that you've been asked to throw the first ball out at the Nationals opening game this season as the most vocally baseball-loving member of the new First Family, so you just smile. You know it can feel like a big sacrifice to leave something about home behind. "Maybe I'll see you there," you offer instead. "The Nationals aren't my team either, but the game are pretty fun."

“Oh they always are.” He admits wholeheartedly. “Plus the Navy Yard is close so it’s always interesting.”

"Heeeeere we go." Onto the counter in front of you, Sydney heaps four plates of food – making each of you identical breakfasts. "The fruit compote for the pancakes right now is cranberry lemon. And I threw a little extra chili into the sauce for the eggs." She grins. "Some folks who stay at the inn say it's too spicy but it's how we like it," she tells Marcus.

Marcus chuckles and Juan snorts, hooking his fingers towards the agent. “This man ate his way through a five alarm chili contest and didn’t even touch his beer.” He boasts to the two of you. “If it’s not spicy, I don’t want it.” Marcus confirms with a grin. “Thank you. It smells amazing.”

"Then next time you're getting Calabrian chili instead of just the wimpy flakes." Sydney promises with glee. "That's how our girl likes it, but that's too much even for me most of the time. I have to be in the mood for it."

“You like spicy?” He asks, smirking towards you. “How do you feel about the Indian food around here?”

"There's a place in DuPont Circle that is probably the best Indian food I've ever had in my entire life." Even as you're getting ready to dig into your best friend's comfort Italian fare, your mouth starts watering thinking of curries and dal. "The kind of place where they don't make it really spicy until you've been there a couple of times and they know you can handle it. I swear I've eaten there more than I've cooked my own food since moving out here."

“Rasika’s?” Marcus groans, nodding. “I love that place. They make the best curry I’ve ever eaten in my life. I’m sweating, but I never tell them to bring me the yogurt sauce.”

"If you don't sweat while you're eating there, you're doing it wrong." It's a slight point of contention with Sam, who generally considers mustard to be too spicy most of the time, but you ignore the side eye you're getting from Sydney and dig in to your brunch. Having come in early today, this is halfway through your shift and you're going to be excited to head upstairs to your little attic caretaker's apartment when the time comes this afternoon. "Mmmmm," you groan happily and do a little wiggle in your seat unconsciously. "Syd, I swear. If you hadn't already married Juan, I'd marry you for your brunch."

Marcus takes that as the best kind of advertisement and cuts into his own meal to fork up a bite of the eggs. “Christ.” He groans as soon as the flavors hit his mouth. “That’s amazing.”

"I told you," Juan boasts, sitting up in his seat a little taller with pride for his soulmate. "She's amazing."

“You weren’t kidding.” Marcus huffs, taking another bite. “If this got out, you could run on brunch alone.”

"We're considering offering an incentive package for events." Starting to clean up, Syd watches the two of you eat while she wraps the kitchen up from brunch to get everything prepared for dinner service. "Wedding brunches are coming back in fashion, but a lot of people are wanting to do morning after brunches for their families before everyone goes their separate ways."

“I can see that.” Marcus nods. “Lara and I had a lunch thing before we all said goodbye, but that was casual.”

"Your wife?" You guess, struggling to remember if Juan had mentioned that his friend was married. He's not wearing a ring, but some men don't — a habit that generally rubs you the wrong way because those men are always the ones who basically want their wives to walk around wearing a giant 'I'm married' sign but will never show any outward signs of commitment themselves.

Marcus gives a small shrug and smiles self-consciously. “Ex-wife.” He admits, knowing that soon enough the pitying looks will start. “We divorced a while ago.”

Sydney clicks her tongue, having remembered that fact, and says nothing more. You, though? For some reason you can't help yourself. Something about Marcus Pike compels you to offer comfort in whatever way you can. "If you ever find another Mrs. Pike, you let us know. We've got you covered."

Marcus chuckles. “So far, that search has been in vain.” He admits. “Apparently it’s not in the cards for me.”

"She's out there." Juan offers with confidence. "If I remember correctly, you've even got a couple of tattoos to prove it."

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I do.” He snorts. “If I ever find her, I want to know why there is a hummingbird tramp stamp on my lower back.” He laughs. “I get why, but why???? Why a hummingbird?”

A glare of questioning moves soundlessly between you and your best friend — the perpetually meddling woman who sat next to you when you were eighteen and challenged you to answer trivia questions while you had your own hummingbird tramp stamp inked onto your skin in celebration of your high school graduation. "Oh yeah?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you while you furious try to communicate with nothing more than wide eyes that you do not want her to ask what she's about to ask. "What kind of hummingbird? How trashy are we talking?"

“It’s not exactly trashy.” Marcus defends. “It’s actually a pretty blue and green.“

"Interesting." Sydney hums, practically giggling with glee as she cleans up the kitchen and you bury your face in your meal like it will help you escape the entire conversation. "Maybe hummingbirds are her favourite bird?"

I'm going to kill you in your sleep says the glare you send your best friend's way.

“Totally trashed my punk rock image.” He laughs. “Although I didn’t think of that at the time. Thinking I’m this hardcore next Kurt Cobain rocker and I’ve got a hummingbird tattoo on my lower back.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “But it’s always been a question I’ve wanted to ask. What made her choose that? What’s special about it to her?”

"Hummingbirds symbolize love and devotion," you murmur next to him, not quite looking up and wondering if the world is really turning on its ear right now or if it's just that you've been thrown off kilter by the possibilities. It's not like you're the only girl in the world with a hummingbird tattoo, after all. Far from it. "And they're supposed to be good luck."

“I like that.” Marcus hums softly. “It’s wistful, hopeful.” There could be a thousand different reasons why his soulmate chose that symbol to etch on her body and in turn, his, but he would rather it be a loving sign. You aren’t looking at him, and miss the small smile he throws you. “Poetic.”

"So she's gotta be out there somewhere." Sydney needles the point a little bit, sounding breezy as hell but just about ready to pounce on any clues Marcus offers up. "Maybe a hopeless romantic with a stubborn streak and an encyclopedic knowledge of Lost Generation authors and impressionist painters?" She shrugs like she's just pulled the example out of thin air. "Who knows?"

Throwing Juan a look, Marcus smirks. “Sounds like your husband has been talking about favorite kind of woman.” He jokes, although he’s pretty sure that he would love it if his soulmate turned out to be just that. “I just want to have someone that wants to be build a lift together. A partner.” He shrugs. “Most people think that it’s crazy, but I think that your significant other should be your best friend and your lover.”

"Absolutely crazy." With as clearly sarcastic a tone as she can possibly muster, Sydney practically deadpans in Marcus's direction. "So weird. How dare you want to spend your life with someone you loves you as much as you love them?" Every single thing she's described has been about you, and while neither of the guys are picking up on that for even a single second, the fact that you have your head down over your plate means you're reading her loud and clear. "I bet your dream girl will even have a thing for your old rockstar days," she goes on, as if she's stringing out a hypothetical and not explicitly describing your opinion that musicians are sexy as hell. "Don't tell me. You were a bassist, right?"

“And vocals.” He admits, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s alright if she doesn’t like that. God, it’s been years since I’ve picked up my bass.” He realizes. “I should do that. Between the bass or the motorcycle, I just spent more time on the bike.”

Bass. Vocals. And motorcycle? You practically groan out loud but barely manage to swallow the sound and instead hop up from your seat immediately to hopefully combine the noise you just made with all manner of other commotion. "Just grabbing another drink," you explain, when all three of their heads turn toward you at once. "You, uh...you should do what makes you happy, Marcus. If that's not overstepping things for me to say. We just met today. But I've always heard that the best things in life tend to fall into your lap when you're not looking for them. So maybe just...enjoy yourself? And who knows what can happen."

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Marcus admits. “My therapist agrees with you. That we need to enjoy ourselves and not just search.”

"Our therapists agree with each other, then," you admit with a chuckle. "I started seeing someone when Mom decided to run for president. I figured it would be good to have someone to check in with and make sure I was handling my stressors in a healthy way." The conversations you had had with them about whether or not to factor your soulmate into future plans when you had never met them were slightly less straightforward.

“That’s always a good thing.” He nods quickly. “I’ve never been one to think that therapists are a waste of time.” He shrugs. “My mom was a therapist all my childhood.”

"It's an incredibly important profession. And an incredibly important resource to have." Seeing as Marcus's mug was empty as well, you bring back two glasses of water to the counter and sit down again, hoping that Sydney won't keep pushing. Or at least that she won't reveal things if she does. "My little sister is a psychology major. She's thinking about medical school next, and talking about different paths she might taken with her studies. Therapist being one of them."

“It’s a good profession.” Marcus admits easily. “Just- let her know, most therapists have their own therapists they see. It’s draining to take on everyone’s secrets and burdens, trying to do the best you can to give them the tools to help themselves. So tell her that there’s no shame in that.”

"I will." It isn't worth negating the kindness of Marcus's thoughts and advice by telling him that all three of the First Kids started therapy at the start of the campaign. It's the care he has for other people — people he has never met and may never meet ever in his life, that touches you so very deeply. "Thank you, Marcus. That's very kind of you."

He nods and picks up the glass of water, needing to wash down the remnants of the eggs before starting on the pancakes. “So, Juan, how did you and your lovely wife discover you were soulmates?” He asks curiously.

"Uhm..." Juan chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and looking to Sydney for her permission to tell the story.

"Go ahead," she laughs. "I've go to start dinner prep. Tell him as much as you want."

"It's not exactly PG," he admits, still laughing softly to himself. "The polite version is that we compared tattoos."

Marcus isn’t the head of his department because he’s dimwitted. “One night stand?” He asks, lifting his brows in surprise. It wasn’t like he had never had them himself, but both men had preferred to be in relationships rather than sleep around. Not that he’s judging.

“I was willing to take whatever that goddess was willing to give me,” Juan admits without shame. “One night would have been a memory to cherish. But the universe said it should be a lifetime, instead.”

“I’m happy for you.” Marcus promises with a slap on the back for his old friend. “You deserve it. Glad you found her.”

“You say that now.” His friend smiles happily though, beaming at the commendation. “But now it’s going to be my mission to find you that girl with the hummingbird tattoo.”

Marcus smiles, a little sadly, but he just shrugs. “I’ll find her when I’m supposed to.” He reasons. “Knowing my luck, she’s happily married.”

“Not as happily as she would be with you.” He’s confident in that, and Juan looks to you to bolster his encouragements. “How could anybody not be ecstatic to have a guy this good, right?”

It feels rude. Like a trick from the universe that you do not like one bit. Like the powers that be are rubbing your nose in your defiance of their plans. “They’d have to be blind.” You offer, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Sam is a good guy. He’s been a good boyfriend and has made you happy. Why are you suddenly thinking about someone else after an hour of knowing them? That’s utterly ridiculous. “You…never really know how the universe is going to have things work out.”

She’s just being polite. Marcus realizes that when he sees your smile, his stomach churning unhappily. It doesn’t matter, you’re seeing someone. A woman in a relationship has always been off limits to him. He doesn’t like, nor respect cheaters and yet he’s upset that you don’t seem that attracted to him. Or, you’re reluctantly attracted to him. He stares down at his pancakes and sighs. “All that matters to me if that my soulmate is happy.” He decides.

Juan and Marcus talk about this and that for the next few minutes, but you quickly finish your pancakes and excuse yourself. It was very nice to meet Marcus, and you tell him so, but you’re a little rattled by the possibility that was just laid out in front of you and you need a few deep breaths of fresh air before your break is over and you have to go back to solving guest’s dilemmas.

Juan doesn’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes follow you out of the room and he smirks. “Thinkin’ about it?” He asks, knowing you are the other man’s type.

“No.” He shakes his head quickly. “I mean, I would if she were single, but she’s not.” Deciding to change the subject, he leans in. “Did they heighten security here, or just the one agent?”

“Updated cameras and increased security personnel. We turned the spare office into a surveillance room but her Secret Service detail doesn’t butt in on anything they don’t need to.” Juan shrugs, knowing that things always change over time. “So far.”

That’s good and Marcus nods. “Sounds like you might have had some input.” He knows that Juan is very analytical, he would know what the weakness were in a place like this.

Juan snorts, taking a sip of his drink and shrugging vaguely. "My wife's childhood best friend is the First Daughter of the United States. If I can help her be safe, I'm going to."

“I can certainly understand that.” Marcus admits.

"It's a good system." Juan acknowledges. "She always has a detail agent nearby and the place needs the security because we've gotten a hell of a lot busier since the campaign last year."

“I’m sure.” Marcus snorts. “Everyone wants to claim they have some insider pull.” He says, a little cynical, but he looks around. “And I’m sure a lot of it is the fact that this place is a little gem.”

"272-year-old farmhouse with restored gardens and a barn and a gazebo from 1823. The place has had so many owners and been used for so many things." It's clear that Juan has nothing but affection for the place, and that he really has leaned into a fully civilian life. "I'm glad you came out to say hi," he tells Marcus honestly. "Hopefully we'll see more of you around here."

“With food like this?” Marcus groans, throwing his buddy a grin. “Those are the best damn pancakes that I’ve eaten in forever.”

"And considering you're a certified pancake expert, that says something." Juan chuckles. When Marcus hadn't shown up for a few weeks he was afraid that maybe he had said something wrong or that his old friend had moved on from the comradery they used to have, Apparently, neither was the case.

“Still love pancakes. It’s finding the time to eat them, that’s the problem.” He snorts. “It’s getting better now that I run the department, but after I ran into you? I was flying out two days later.”

"Sounds like you earned a day to relax." Sounds like he earned a lot more than just one day, but Juan knows how the Bureau works. A single day can sometimes be a miracle to come by. "There's books and board games in the library if you want to stay and spend some time relaxing."

“What do you have going on?” Marcus asks, tilting his head curiously.

“It’s…board game night.” As silly and domestic as it sounds, it’s a nice tradition that they’ve managed to keep going among friends. “Every month we have a group of friends over and we do a potluck for dinner. Just to unwind and be social. Just catch up, eat some good food, and play board games. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Marcus shakes his head, wondering if he’s so desperate that it sounds like great evening or if it just really was.

“It’s not imposing,” Juan assured him. “We bring new friends all the time. There’s about six of us usually, so it fluctuates depending on how many other people we bring or if someone can’t make it.”

“Well, is there a store or something?” He asks. “I can pick up some wine or something to contribute.”

“Old Town has some good liquor stores.” The historic district of Alexandria has become increasingly popular in the last several years, and the revitalization of the neighborhood has helped the inn as well.

“Anything else you could possibly want?” Marcus asks seriously. He’s willing to go get anything that could be thought of, the prospect of not spending the night alone incredibly cheering.

“Get whatever you want,” Juan encourages. “Every once in a while someone will show up with something they’ve never tried just try to it together. So really — anything you want.”

“Okay.” Marcus grins, excited about this and reaches out to slap Juan on the back. “Do you still ride bikes or have you given that up?”

"Hell no." Juan tuts, glad to see the smile back on Marcus's face. "My Indian is back at our house. We take rides when we've got time off together."

“That’s good. Although the rides have taken a pause since the pregnancy, right?” Marcus asks. “I can’t imagine a doctor signing off on a pregnant woman on the back of a bike.”

“Yeah…these days we take rides in the station wagon.” He chuckles at that, and Juan knows how ridiculously domestic it sounds but he really doesn’t care. He’s in love with his life in a very unexpected way, and that’s okay. “It’ll be nice to have someone to ride with again.”

“I can imagine.” Marcus is missing that, but on the bright side, he rides when and where he wants. “Do you guys know what you’re having yet?” He asks.

“Not yet.” Juan is excited, though, as evidenced by the way he lights up when asked about it. “It’s still too early to find out. Obviously we don’t care, as long as they’re healthy and happy.”

“Congrats, man, you’re living the dream, you know that?” As envious as he can admit to being, he’s also incredibly happy for Juan. “You deserve it. Especially after, you know…”

“Life is totally different now.” Leaving the Bureau is what was best for Juan. He knows that now, even if it was a painful decision to make back then. “I’m not going to ever downplay the things in my past, but the future is looking pretty fucking good, man.”

Completely understanding the fact that Juan doesn’t want to talk, he nods. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”

“I appreciate that, man.” Juan grins and pats Marcus on the shoulder. “Enjoy some time in town and come on back here around seven tonight. Syd isn’t working the dinner rush tonight so we’ll all be able to relax.”

“That sounds good.” The comfortable jeans and a sweater will still look sharp enough for game night and he sends his friend a smile before he walks out of the kitchen.

Things have calmed down in the lobby when you return to the front desk to pick up a few papers and check in on your concierge before retreating into your office for the rest of your shift. The inn may have calmed down but you're still spinning wildly on the idea that your soulmate might have walked through the door of the inn this morning with absolutely no fanfare and a nervous smile on his incredibly handsome face.

Nope. Stop it. Sam is coming for board game night tonight and you really fucking like him. Don't give up your whole stance on freedom of happiness just because some absolutely dishy FBI agent has your tattoo.

"Everything going okay, Malachi?" You will be professional, and not a blithering mass of nervous energy. Even if it takes all the energy you have to force it.

“Everything’s fantastic, we had another couple call to book a room for next weekend. So we officially will have no vacancies.” He reports proudly, like he had recruited the couple himself.

"Good. That's actually excellent. That means we have no vacancies at any point for two week on either side of Valentine's Day unless someone cancels." It's always possible. After all, break up happen around that particular holiday. But with the way they've been booking rooms lately, they should be able to fill a hole more easily than not. "I'm going to go to my office and work on the schedule. If you need me, just call."

“Of course.” Malachi cranes his neck as that handsome guy walks out to a beautiful motorcycle. “But before you go.” He hums. “Who is that?”

You can't help but chuckle, your concierge's obvious interest making you recognize the ridiculousness of the whole situation all over again. "That's Juan's friend," you tell him, gathering up your paperwork. "He'll be around more, and he's allowed into the kitchen. So you know he's special."

“And does Juan’s friend have a name?” He asks, smirking slightly.

"Special Agent Marcus Pike." You smirk right back at him, giving Marcus's title along with his name. By now Agent Bailey has probably done an entire workup on the agent. Why wouldn't she?

“Special Agent.” Because it’s the two of you and there’s no guest around, Malachi watches out the window with unabashed interest. “He can mount me like he mounts that bike any time.”

"Mal!" There's no reason for you to be taken aback by that comment considering how well you know Malachi Debose, but you still find yourself stifling a laugh with wide eyes. You tell yourself to joke, ignoring the twist in your chest at the idea of Marcus with anyone else. It's not up to you. He's his own person. And he might not even be your soulmate to begin with! "I'm pretty sure he's straight, honey, but you never know. It would not be the first guy you've swept out of the closet who didn't even realize they were in there in the first place."

He sighs dramatically, even though he’s smirking proudly. “You’re right.” He admits. “We’ll see how mister Special Agent Marcus Pike acts and then I’ll decide.”

"Behave yourself." Is the playful warning you give him before turning and nodding to Agent Bailey. "Time to sit in the office while I swear at my computer," you tell her. As the Secret Service agent who is with you most of the time, Kendra Bailey has learned your past, your friends, your job, and your habits like a book. She appreciates that you're not throwing yourself into politics because it means her days are a little calmer than they could be, but the coming and going of all sorts of people through the inn on a daily basis presents its own challenges.

She nods, already curious about the FBI agent that she’s encountered here. It’s not unusual to run background checks on people who continuously hang around the inn, and it sounds like he will become a fixture for the foreseeable future. “Of course, Hummingbird.”

You groan softly, realizing that that is going to get said around Marcus Pike at some point or other, and just try to shake it off for now. "You can call me by my name around here, you know." She won't. You've had this conversation more than once, but sometimes you think you'll never get used to being ma'am or Hummingbird at all times to your Secret Service detail.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods, both of you aware that she’s not going to break protocol like that. Instead, she’s turning to the chair that has been placed outside your office, tucked into a discreet corner so it’s not completely obvious that you are being guarded. Giving you the illusion of privacy.

"Someday I'm going to get you to at least come into the office." There are rules. A hell of a lot of them, in fact, and you know that they exist for a reason. But Agent Bailey is allowed to be in your office with you, and you hope it won't take your mother's entire first term in office for her to get comfortable enough with you to do that.

“I understand that, but if I’m in your office, you won’t concentrate.” She reminds you with a small, unseen smile. The first time you had insisted, you hadn’t gotten anything done.

"Too social for my own good, I guess." With a small smile exchanged between the two of you, you nod in agreement before heading down the hall to your office. She's right, and you both know it.

Outside, a snazzy sports car pulls up. Not too flashy, because a junior congressman from Maryland can’t be seen throwing money away frivolously, but sporty enough to make him grin as he changes gears. The door pops open, sunglasses tossed on the dash and Sam hustles out of his car, eager to see you.

"Hey Sam." Malachi looks up from the desk when the door opens and offers up a smile. Professional, but friendly. So far, Congressman Chase hasn't done anything to warrant the cold shoulder. "Is she expecting you?"

“Not until later, but I was hoping to surprise her.” He admits, sending the concierge a wink. “She in her office?”

"Just went in to work on the schedule." Malachi reports, but his smile morphs from professional to earnest in half a second. "The new software is giving her a headache and a half. I bet coming in with a cup of coffee with also be a welcome surprise."

“You are a good man, Malachi.” Sam slaps the antique reception stand and grins. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He lifts his brows and points at him as he changes directions to the kitchen to beg a cup of coffee from Sydney.

A knock on the kitchen door is odd but not unheard of, and Sydney glances back over her shoulder when the swinging door pushes open to admit the six-foot Congressman she now affectionately calls, "Sam Sam! As happy as I am to see you, your lady friend is not in the kitchen."

“I know.” Sam tosses the chef an easy grin. “A little birdie told me that she might appreciate a cup of coffee, so I’m here to be her runner.”

Sydney smirks, never ceasing in her work but nodding to the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen. “Go right ahead. I’m sure she’ll be grateful.”

“Thank you.” He immediately beelines for the coffee maker, intent on also making himself a cup. Though he would prefer a cocktail. “It smells great in here, like always.” He tosses over his shoulder.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She hums happily in return. “I made a lasagna for game night. Are you staying?”

“Unless an emergency session is call.” Sam snorts. “And you know half those crusty old bastards don’t want to work.” He adds some creamer and sweetener to his, doctors yours and turns back. “Is this the lasagna with the pancetta?” He asks, giving her a pleading look.

“It is, and I did a little something different with the ricotta layer this time, so you’ll have to tell me what you think.” One hand shoos him playfully away, but she does laugh. “I’ll feed you later. Go see your lady.”

“Thank you!” He laughs as well, zipping out the door to head in to see you. Hopefully you aren’t working on anything too important that you can’t steal away some time for him.

Two short knocks on your door could be anyone, but you save your progress in working on next week’s schedule and call for them to come in. It’s probably Malachi with a guest accommodation question, which is no problem. You can hit pause on scheduling the housekeeping staff around their various class schedules to answer just about anything.

After getting the okay to enter, Sam juggles the cups and pokes his head in the door. “Can you spare a few minutes, beautiful?” He asks.

The grin that spreads on your face is surprise and relief, and you hop up from your dream to open the door fully. “If that’s coffee in your hands, I can spare more than just a few.”

“Of course it is, fixed just the way you like it.” While he doesn’t drink it nearly as sweet as you do, he also doesn’t make fun of you for it.

“To what do I owe the early visit?” The door clicks shut behind him and you sit back in your chair with a happy sigh.

“We let out early.” Sam explains. “Figured we could spend some time together .”

“I’m always glad to see you.” It’s true. It genuinely is. Which is why you hate the nagging guilt of the fact that you had just been telling yourself to stop speculating about your possible soulmate and focus on work.

“That’s a good thing.” Despite the idea that dating the First Daughter was good for his career, Sam genuinely cares for you. It might not be the passionate love he had imagined years ago, but he’s mature enough to understand that a solid connection was a good thing.

“So your meeting went alright?” The committee that he’s on had an unofficial lunch meeting today, which must have gone well if he’s already here saying hello. “I was afraid they’d have you all day and you’d miss out in lasagna and the new Clue game that Sydney’s sister picked up.”

“No.” Sam snorts. “They wanted it done as quickly as possible.” He tells you. “I’ve got to admit that I’ve never seen people that hate to work more than politicians.”

“Well that’s hardly encouraging,” you snort, and shake your head before taking a sip of hot coffee. “I guess you’ll just have to whip them into shape, Congressman. No two ways about it.”

“I’m trying.” He laughs and shrugs. “Right now I equate it to herding cats.” He jokes, sitting down on the other side of your desk and watching you for a moment while you savor your coffee.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever called a member of the House of Representatives.” The two of you share a laugh, and you shift in your seat a little with an awkward expression before talking again. “I…got an email this morning. From Mom’s office. Informing me of my first few expected photo ops as First Daughter.” It’s a big part of the job, for you at least, to look the part and play the part and help the country to see your mother as not just the president, but a family-oriented professional as well. Being the first female President has its challenges and your mother is plowing into them head on. Which, honestly? You give her a lot of credit for. “They asked if I would be willing to release some social media photos from our Valentine’s date…” The fact that you hadn’t planned one yet is slightly beyond the point. Now you pretty much have to.

“Well, what kind of pictures would you like?” Sam asks easily, aware that you don’t relish the attention, but it’s part of the job. “We can do a dinner at home, appeal to the base of Americans.” He suggests.

“I don’t love the idea of someone recognizing an aspect of your house or neighborhood and you getting doxed for it,” you admit ruefully. It would have to be Sam’s house, since you don’t actually have one. You can’t exactly put out photos of your attic apartment and expect the White House press core not to make noises. “I was thinking we could put the spotlight on a minority-owned small business or go to some low-key arts event? If they’re going to ask me to be in the spotlight then I want to use it for good.”

“Do you want to decide?” He asks, aware that you can be quite choosy at times. He doesn’t really mind. “Or do you want me to come up with something?”

“It’s probably easier if I figure it out.” You admit. It’s not your favorite option, all things considered, but since it’s dumb for you to be even vaguely upset that your boyfriend didn’t announce he had secret plans already in the works — which your stupid romantic comedy loving brain had hoped for but knew was a longshot — it’s better to just be practical. “So the Secret Service can tell me if wherever I pick is insecure or something like that. Even though I can’t imagine that anybody is out to get me. That’s absurd.”

“You’d be surprised what humans are capable of.” Sam reminds you, having read some of the most horrific reports imaginable. He likes that you are practical, even if you are a bit naive.

“Not a super fun thing to hear from your boyfriend, but okay.” It’s nothing you can’t brush off, and you do so with a wave of your hand. “There is also a state dinner coming up in a few weeks that I definitely do not want to go to without you.”

“I’m available.” He promises. “I’ve got a couple of events in my district coming up. But I’ll mark that on my calendar.”

“Thank you.” Though you aren’t blind to the ways that attending these things helps him, you appreciate the company. You aren’t effortlessly charismatic like your brother or a star student with enigmatic insights like your sister. You’re the least comfortable in the public eye out of your whole family, and that is what it is. At some point in the night when he inevitably veers off to shake hands and schmooze politically, you’ll sit quietly at your table and smile politely while you wait for Sam to come back, and that’s okay. “I really really appreciate it.”

Sam huffs, sending you a small smirk. “A night where you are wearing a beautiful dress, we eat an elegant dinner, what’s not to love?” He leaves the part about making connections unspoken, both of you know how this game is worked. “And maybe you can come spend the night at my place after.”

"What an absolutely scandalous suggestion." One hand clutches your nonexistent pearls, pretending to be aghast, but you throw him a wink. Intimacy in your relationship unfortunately does have to be scheduled at a certain point...just on the basis that you have a Secret Service agent you can't simply ditch, and he has a personal assistant that might be even more invasive than the Secret Service. "I love it."

“Good.” Sam smirks back at you and sends you his own wink. “I’ve missed a cute little snore, and I need to get some cuddling in.”

"I do not snore." Despite pouting at him – and knowing that you do, in fact, snore – you end up grinning. "But we have been low on cuddle time lately, I agree."

“Yeah, I know my job is hectic and yours isn’t a walk in the park.” He acknowledges wholeheartedly. “But I want this to work. Maybe we just need to move in together.” He hadn’t meant to just blurt that out, but he’s been thinking about it.

“I—what?” You nearly spit out the sip of coffee you had just taken and sit up arrow straight in your chair, staring at him without the ability to stop yourself. “You—you want me to—to move in with you?” It’s never been discussed. Not really. At least not with a timeline, and that’s probably your fault. You’re so prone to jumping into relationships head first that you had told yourself you would move slow with Sam. That…seems to not be the case now.

“It doesn’t have to be now.” He promises. “Just something to consider. That’s all. We would get more time together.”

"I can honestly say I was not expecting that today." It's shaken you up a little, if you're honest, but you reach over your desk and squeeze his hand before leaning out of your chair to kiss him.

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” It’s not quite the reaction he was expecting, if he is honest with himself.

"No, not at all!" You're quick to reassure him, realizing that Sam's expression is a little more guarded than usual. You've disappointed him. That's not a feeling you like at all. Not even a little. "I'd say the fact that my boyfriend wants to spend more time with me is a very good thing." If it's such a good thing, why is your mouth dry and why are you all tense with nerves? "And I want that, too. You just surprised me, that's all."

“Of course we need to talk about it more in depth.” He relaxes slightly, happy that you are at least open to the idea.

"Is that...something you want to talk about soon?" There are ideas rolling over in your head with varying levels of comfort, but the fact is that you hadn't realized that Sam was already there. Sure you had said your I love yous already, but you really had been trying to go slower this time, and that pace had seemed to suit Sam just fine. And why is it suddenly now that your mind is stuck on the idea that he isn't your soulmate? Is it just because you met a man who could be? You had always told yourself it didn't matter before now...

“We are coming up on our one-year anniversary of dating.” He reminds you, wondering why all of a sudden you look like you’ve seen a ghost. He’s been patient, letting you move slowly since you were afraid of diving in too much too soon, but this is the natural next step. Otherwise, it will be random sleepovers whenever you can manage it for the rest of your lives and Sam doesn’t want that. “I figured we could discuss what our next steps were.” He smiles softly. “I want the next steps, whenever you’re ready.”

"You're right." He is right. The logic is there, and the sweetness, and you do genuinely like him. In fact, loving him came easily and naturally. It's just that today has you a little shaken up and you don't want to admit it to yourself. Any other day and you would have been ecstatically throwing yourself into his arms. "You're absolutely right. This is definitely next." Composing yourself into a smile and reminding yourself to goddamn relax, you pick up your now cold coffee and finish the cup. "Why don't we pick a night this week to cook dinner together and talk through what we want our future to look like?"

“That works.” He flashes you the boyish grin you claim to love and nods. “Little food. Little wine, little….cuddling while we talk. It’s exactly what we need. You’ve been peddle to the mettle lately, and so have I. It will be good to decompress and hash out our concerns.”

"Perfect." And you will, you tell yourself sternly, get your shit together by then.

“But tonight…” he winks at you. “I’m going to whoop your ass at Clue.”

Because it's your turn to host, your small apartment has been cleaned top to bottom in preparation for the night. Sydney took care of making dinner, you have dessert in the refrigerator, and you have it on the authority of the group chat that garlic bread and salad are both coming as well. Juan said he and Marcus were supplying drinks, so everything is set up with plenty of time for everyone to arrive.

Agent Bailey is sitting on the couch waiting for her evening relief so she can go home to her own family and Sam is setting a stack of mismatched plates on the dining room table when Juan, Marcus, Sydney, and her sister Anna Leigh all show up very promptly on the turn of the hour.

Marcus is a little nervous aware that he has a tenuous tie to the game night, but he is quickly at ease when everyone starts greeting people like old friends. He hadn’t quite known what to get, so he had bought several bottle of whiskey and wine, figuring someone would appreciate it. The bottle of ‘76 Statesman Reserve a personal favorite of his and the little store he had stopped at had one last bottle.

"Hey, we didn't scare Marcus off!" Maybe you're a little happy to see him, but you excuse that as being glad that Juan has his friend back and ardently ignore the way your chest clenches when he walks into your little apartment.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers instantly, holding back from flirting like he wants to. You are seeing someone. “But I brought gifts.” He holds up the bottle, the others in his bag.

“Statesman.” You practically groan with delight at the sight of the bottle. “When we were campaigning in Kentucky, my little brother and I toured their distillery, I love this stuff.” Fighting the instinct to offer him a hug — and it really is an instinct — you grin and wander toward the kitchen to complete introductions. “You already know Syd and Juan, of course. The beautiful agent of chaos currently throwing garlic bread in the oven is Syd’s sister Anna Leigh, and the intimidating lady on the sofa with the New York Times crossword in her lap is Agent Bailey. I don’t know if you two officially met earlier or not. Looking around, Sam is not in sight, but you chew your lip for a second and smile. “My other half seems to have disappeared, but I’m sure he’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay.” He shouldn’t be disappointed that your boyfriend is here. That’s what he keeps telling himself. “Congressman from Maryland, right?” Okay, he might have read up on you.

“Right.” There’s a note of something off in Marcus’s voice but you can’t figure out what, so you just smile. “I promise we don’t use official titles over board games.”

“Good.” He cracks a lighthearted grin. “I hate when I’m made in charge of the jail in Monopoly.” He jokes. He hands you the bottle and looks around the little apartment. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I think we’re just waiting for Issy and then everyone will be here. So for now if you want to maybe pour drinks while we all get settled?” This is always an informal setting and you want everyone to feel relaxed as much as possible. “Let me give you the grand tour first?” What a stupid thing to say in your little, tiny space. But now you’ve said it, so you just have to pretend it was something charming to say instead of awkward.

“That sounds good.” Marcus quickly agrees, although it’s obvious that there’s not much to the small space. “The private sanctum.”

“Eat it kitchen.” Is the space you’re standing in, with a too-big dining room table that is also your prep counter because there is basically no counter space — just enough to put a few grocery bags on and nothing more. “I have an unholy love of dinner parties, hence the big table. Over here is the living room. Mandatory bar cart with the tv, and as many throw pillows as the couch can hold.” Agent Bailey currently has her arm resting on the head of a pillow shaped like a horse that you brought back from a campaign trip out West. “Bathroom is down the hall, just here.” The door is closed, so that must be where Sam is. “And just turn the corner and you’re in the bedroom-slash-library.” You have to call it that — you really have to, because the entire room is covered in wall to wall bookcases that are pretty much entirely full. The only exceptions are where your sleigh bed and writing desk sit on opposite ends of the tight room. “It’s more library than anything else.”

“Obviously like to read.” He nods. “What genre? Or is it too embarrassing to mention in company?”

“I’m not embarrassed at all to read romance novels.” A whole section of the shelf by your bed is dedicated to them, in fact. Healthy sexuality and healthy explorations of that sexuality are vital, but you won’t get that far into the topic. “I have a lot of various things here, but the majority are probably mystery, thrillers, and classics from all over the world.” The shelf you’re standing by has your collection of writing by both F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and you smile. “Of course, some of the classics are romances. That’s to be expected.”

“They are. I find that if you limit yourself in what you read, you are missing out.” He looks over your shelf with interest. “It looks like a wonderful collection.”

“Thank you. A compliment for my books is the highest compliment possible.” There’s a warm smile on your lips when the bathroom door pulls open a few feet away and you feel like you’ve been caught although there isn’t a single thing wrong about showing a new friend around your apartment. There’s no reason to jump out of your skin, but here you are with burning cheeks feeling embarrassed.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Sam doesn’t frown, but he wonders who this man is and why he is in your bedroom.

"Hey." Your smile does widen of its own accord, and you motion between the men in a sort of vaguely formal way that is definitely odd for you. "Sam, this is Marcus. One of Juan's old friends. He came by the inn earlier today and we thought it would be nice to introduce him to the group." It's awful, and very unnecessary, how heavy your tongue feels when you go to make the introduction the opposite way. "Marcus, this is Sam. My boyfriend."

It’s a little awkward, Marcus can admit that but he extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” He offers, smiling in a friendly, first meeting kind of way. “My connection to the group is through Juan.” He explains. “We were at the academy together.”

"Ah, a government man." That seems to win Sam's approval, though his handshake might be just a hair tighter than it would otherwise be based on the tension in the air. "Well, welc—"

"Babe!" Sydney's voice comes loud and clear from the other room as the door opens and the sound of chaotic friends can be heard. "Issy's here! Let's gooo!"

The introductions are interrupted and it’s probably not a bad thing. Marcus lets go of Sam’s hand and immediately makes for the door. “Guess that’s our queue.”

“Coming!” You call back, eager to be standing anywhere but your doorway between these two men. “Issy is a friend from college.” That’s the easy explanation you give Marcus as Sam steers you back to the kitchen with his hand on your back. “Syd, Anna Leigh, and Issy and I were suite mates at Mount Holyoke.”

Marcus nods, committing everyone to memory. “Nice to meet all of you. Thank you for letting me join you tonight.”

Getting everything set up doesn’t take much longer, and a buffet of cheesy garlic bread, a huge salad, Sydney’s pancetta lasagna, and the lemon tiramisu you made for dessert is all laid out on the counter. Everyone digs in and says a loud chorus of rowdy good nights when your Secret Service detail has its changing of the guard in the middle of it all. It’s a lot, and it’s chaos, but it’s so comforting because these are all people you love to spend time with. Even Marcus, as new as he is, fits right into the group effortlessly.

“Oh! Sydney.” Marcus dives back into the bag and pulls out a bottle of sparkling white grape juice and some sodas and grenadine. “I figured you might like my family’s version of Shirley Temple’s?” He offers. “So you can have a mocktail with the ladies?”

“Absolutely!” Syd’s eyes light up at the offer, and she brings her overstuffed plate over to the table to sit beside her husband. In her favorite baggy sweatshirt, no one could ever tell she’s pregnant, but one of her hands rests on the side of her belly anyway. “That sounds fantastic.”

“So my grandmother used to make these for all the kids, so we could feel special too.” Marcus explains as he grabs a wine glass and starts to mix together the non-alcoholic drink. “It had to be sparkling grape juice because of the bottle shape.” He chuckles now, but back then? He had felt grown up. “When she died, we served these at her wake.”

“That’s so sweet.” Sydney awes softly as Marcus carefully pours out the drink. “These are Birdie’s favorite, actually,” she points her thumb back at you while she chats at him. “We usually spike them with rum, of course. To be a Shirley Temple Black. I can’t remember the last time I just had a regular old Shirley Temple.”

“A dirty Shirley?” Marcus gasps in faux horror. “The best way to spike that is with Statesman.”

“On it!” You hop up from the table immediately to grab a glass and line up next to Sydney at the counter. “I’ve heard of people doing them with rum and vodka, but never with whiskey. I have to know.”

He chuckles and nods. “You won’t regret it. The grape juice plays off the smoky, oaky flavors very nicely.” He tells you. “It’s almost better than a robust bouquet on a red.”

“I can’t claim to know anything about wine, but I’m trying to learn.” Sam prefers wine, and you’ve been trying to not feel foolish when people discuss wine pairings at official dinners. It’s been a fairly deep learning curve. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

“More of a whiskey girl?” Marcus asks, filing away the information even though it’s not like he’s going to use it. One of those odd little quirks of his time in the Bureau, he tries to read people.

“Always have been.” As evidenced by the Whiskey Makes Me Frisky sweater still stuff in your closet from college, which won’t see the light of day again until your mother is out of office. “You too?” Your eyes widen immediately and you stumble over correcting yourself. “Guy, I mean? Whiskey guy?”

Marcus laughs and gives you a guilty grin. “I learned to enjoy wine. My ex was a wino to the point where we honeymooned in Napa Valley.” He snorts. “But my first love was a Jack and Coke.”

“The next time you’re sick, have a whiskey and ginger beer.” The advice comes as he hands you your glass but he looks skeptical. “I mean, it’s a good drink no matter what, but I swear it knocks out my colds faster than anything else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Marcus hums and decides that he will make one for himself. “Tell me what you think.”

One sip has you groaning, and you bring the glass back to the table like you’ve found the Holy Grail. “Sammy, try this. I know you’re not usually big in whiskey, but this is fantastic.”

Sam wrinkles his nose, really uninterested in trying it, but he politely takes a sip. Pleasantly surprised, he makes a face. “Huh. That’s not as horrible as I imagined.”

“And that,” you look back at Marcus and laugh. “Is the highest compliment he’s ever given a whiskey drink.”

Marcus chuckles politely and motions towards the table. “There’s a nice Cabernet that he might like better.” He offers.

“That sounds perfect.” You move back to the counter to collect a wine glass, corkscrew, and the bottle to bring back, knowing that Sam will open it far more neatly than you can.

“So how has everybody been?” Prompting conversation once everyone is at the table gets the ball rolling nicely, and conversation starts as everyone starts to eat their dinner.

“Well, everyone knows that Sydney is expecting.” Juan boasts proudly, obviously loving the prospect of becoming a father. “But she started experiencing her first cravings.”

“Oooo, what are they?” Issy sits up in her chair immediately. “Please tell me it’s something non-gourmet. If this baby is a food snob I’m not going to have anything to tease you about.”

“Right now….” Juan grins and sends his wife an utterly besotted look. “Ranch flavored bugles.”

“Oh my god!” Both Issy and Anna Leigh practically scream with laughter immediately and your jaw hits the table with maniacal giggle.

“I know,” Syd moans in embarrassment. “I know! The baby likes ranch!”

“There must be a joke there somewhere.” Marcus laughs, enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere of the group and how they are all so easy with each other.

"Syd's current greatest fear is having a kid who doesn't care about food." You explain, picking up a forkful of lasagna. "If they turned out to not like food or hockey, she'll be doomed."

“I see.” He chuckles, although he himself had a less refined pallet when he was younger. Now he enjoys trying new things.

"They're exaggerating." Sydney promises, not wanting her husband's old friend to think she's that much of a snob. "Obviously no kid comes out loving caviar and oxtail."

“No, I can see why you would expect your child to give you cravings for something like this.” He praises, lifting a forkful of the lasagna. “I gave my mom cravings for salami and bologna. Which she couldn’t eat.”

"My mom had a lot of cheese cravings." Not expecting baby-oriented conversation was probably an oversight on your part, but it's fun and your best friend just absolutely glows whenever it's brought up. "With me it was gruyere, with my brother it was cheddar, and with my little sister it was asiago." The memory makes you grin, and you laugh a little, mostly to yourself. "She ate so many asiago bagels when she was pregnant with June."

“Ohhhhh I could see how that could be an easy craving.” Issy snorts. “I have cravings for those all the time and I’m not pregnant.”

"Right?" You're nodding in agreement instantly. "I'm honored that my pregnancy craving was gruyere. That's quality cheese."

“Maybe the craving will change to truffle cheddar fries.” Marcus suggests with a grin. “With ranch.”

“See, this is the kind of encouragement we should be thinking about. Positive thinking all the way.” Sydney grins, beaming across the table to her husband’s friend. Even if her hunch about the true nature of Marcus’s soulmate marks isn’t true, he’s still a good addition to the group. “What’s everybody else been up to.”

Everyone starts talking and Marcus leans back. Watching the dynamic of the group and it’s obvious that everyone is comfortable with each other. Talking over one another and laughing, poking fun in a gentle way. It seems as if Juan - and you - have a solid friends group.

The tempo of the night is unchanged from any other — there is as much laughter and fun as any game night you’ve had in years. The joy of having your friends nearby is never tempered, but tonight it is…just a little bit different. As for first time ever — with your boyfriend sitting next to you — you have to wonder if maybe your soulmate is actually sitting there at the table. And what will you do when it isn’t the man with his arm around you?

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #love triangle

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syluscore · 3 months

Text

I'm a Loser, Baby

~loser, creep, disgusting, vile! König x fem! Reader~

Word count: 1103

Content warnings: harassment, cyber-bullying (digs at reader's personality, appearance, dead loved ones, and telling her to kill herself), stalking, nonconsensual touching(while sleeping), gross stuff (involving a toothbrush, silverware, and menstrual blood), male masturbation, fantasies about period sex, defiling corpse mention

!!!!!!STRICTLY 18+ BLOG! MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!

He’s obsessed with you and you never really pay attention to him. At first, you were intrigued by the giant masked man, but he’s so awkward and says the most unsettling things that you’re completely put off. And it irritates the shit out of him.

It’s his personal mission to knock you down a few pegs. He starts anonymously bullying and harassing you. So many mean messages from random numbers and throwaway emails. You block every single one, but he always has more at the ready and makes more as needed. Apps such as TextNow have made this so much easier for him.

Fucking stupid. Useless woman. No one wants you around.

Ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.

No wonder you have no friends. Bet your family hates you too.

Your laugh makes me gag and your teeth are disgusting. Cover your mouth, tramp.

I hope you hate yourself everyday, and if you ever forget, I’ll always be here to remind you.

Ever thought of just killing yourself? Doing the world a fucking favor.

Your body is the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen. Seen whales built better than you.

If you blew your face off, you’d be a lot more attractive.

If you hung yourself in front of everyone, they’d just watch. Wouldn’t even try to save you. Worthless.

Personality is about as good as unseasoned chicken. Waste of space.

You ever stared at your side profile? Obviously not since you haven’t killed yourself yet.

He finds people online to send you messages and even call you too. All he has to do is send a little money their way and your contact info, they do all the rest.

He watches the light slowly fade from your eyes as the messages get more and more elaborate. People online can get really creative. When you change your number and make a second email, he chuckles to himself and immediately forwards them along.

You’re in your head a lot more now. Not paying attention much to everyone around you, fucking up in training which only makes you feel worse. Gives him extra time to go through your things and watch you in your oblivious state.

You don’t notice the little chew marks on your toothbrush. Him sneaking into your bathroom at least twice a week to suck on the object while he jerks himself off into your skin. You set your dirty spoon in the sink and the second you’re gone, he’s sucking and licking on that too. Groaning knowing your saliva is inside of him.

It continues to escalate until he finds himself going through your things. All of your things. He rummages through your trash casually. Your bathroom trash isn’t safe from his dirty hands either.

Your monthly cycle is his favorite. He’s always enjoyed the sight of blood and yours makes him fucking feral. He keeps himself from outright touching or tasting the blood, but when he finds a pair of blood stained panties that you couldn’t be bothered with trying to clean or keeping for another cycle, he loses his mind.

It’s probably one of his favorite keepsakes of all time. Using the piece of fabric as a fidget toy of sorts. Whenever he’s alone in his room, he has them in his hands just rubbing them between his large fingers. Jerking himself off with the blood stained fabric numerous times. Always wondering what it’d feel like to fuck you while you’re bleeding–how much blood would coat your thighs and his cock.

In a locked drawer in his own room, he has almost a shrine dedicated to you. Little things he’s stolen from you and so many pictures of you. All taken when you’re unaware of them. An obscene amount of them from when you’re sleeping. Of him touching you when you’re sleeping. Of his cock touching your face and hands when you’re sleeping.

One day he’s leaned back in a kitchen chair, arms crossed over his chest while he thinks of what to do to torment you next, when you walk in eyes bloodshot. Like you’d just been crying. Which you had been thanks to a really nice message getting under your skin. One about defiling your dead relative’s corpse because it’d be more desirable than you.

König stares at you, not moving a muscle or making a sound. You avoid eye contact as you aimlessly stare in the fridge.

He finally speaks up. “Okay. What’s wrong?” You try to brush it off, telling him it’s nothing, but he keeps pressing. And soon tears are falling from your eyes again and it has his cock hardening in his pants.

You spill your guts. The harassment. The constant texts and emails. The bullying. The threats. The thing about your loved ones corpse. And König silently listens until your sobs finally stop.

“You know, I know some people who can deal with this sort of thing. Could make a couple calls and make this disappear.” He fails to mention it’s because he’d call off his specialized force of internet dickheads.

“Oh,” you speak quietly. “You don’t have to do that. Just feeling sensitive today. I’m sure I’ll feel fine again tomorrow.” Right. Your period should be here within a couple of days. PMS will do that to you–it always does. Best time to pay his people a little extra to be extra mean and consistent.

“No. I insist. You’re being harassed and that is unacceptable.”

Your eyes soften, your lip continuing to tremble as you finally meet his eyes. “You’d–why would you do that for me? You’re willing to do that for me?”

König just barely nods his head. “Of course.”

You let out a sigh and wipe your tears, smiling widely at him. It has him completely rethinking his motives. You’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen when smiling up at him like that.

Before he can process it, you’re wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and nuzzling your face against his chest. “Thank you, König!” You say happily, having full faith in him that he’ll accomplish this for you.

That’s when you feel it. His fully hard cock. Pressing into you. Not a weapon, not a phone. His erection. You slowly take a few steps back from him, a look of disgust on your face. You stare at him for a fat minute before turning on your heels, storming out of the room. But not before yelling, “Pig!”

König does a full 180. Goes from smirking under his mask, to rage filled eyes. Have it your way. His efforts will now double in fucking with you. Self-righteous little bitch.

~masterlist~

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#könig #ghostkennedy #könig cod #könig x reader #könig call of duty #konig x reader #konig x you #call of duty #cod #konig cod #konig call of duty #cod konig #konig #creep!konig #creep!könig #loser!könig #loser!konig #cod x reader

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bouncybongfairy · 25 days

Text

Is Water Wet?

👇🏻(im not sure but i know who is)👇🏻

Butch Wolverine x Butch Deadpool Smut

Summary: After Wade and Logan win and underground boxing match they go out for drinks to celebrate. Wade gets a little too friendly with the bartender. Things get heated while washing the tramps scent off Wade.

Word Count: 1.0k+

(THIS IS A W|W FANFIC)

TW: Fingering, Shower Sex, Scent Kink, Jealousy

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

“What’s up your ass, we literally won,” Wade said, shoving the bundle of bills into her pocket.

“Maybe we won because you bribed a bottle girl,” she scoffed, slouching back in her seat and ashing her cigar out the window.

“Oh my god are you fucking kidding me? What do- you honestly think that low of me?” She said, adjusting how she was sitting to face the driver's side.

“No, but I do think about other people’s intentions when they fuck with you. It was obvious that she was coming on to you and I expect you not to entertain shit like that!” Logan said, roughly switching gears.

“You’re acting like I was flirting with her or some shit, I was just being friendly. She was severing me, was I supposed to treat her like trash? If I didn’t interact with every person who found me attractive my vocal cords would atrophy!” She said, grabbing her bag and storming out of the car after Logan parked.

Logan followed, slamming the door while getting out. Wade was a few feet in front of her and once again she caught that fucking scent again. Cheap perfume and Marlboro cigarettes; fuck, it was choaking her out. Maybe it was because she was intoxicated herself but it was really starting to get to her. Watching her mad little walk, swaying her hips and walking faster than usual. Logan had to fight back the primal urge of chasing her.

Like her brain was becoming foggier by the second. Her heart was racing and her chest wasn’t the only place she could feel it. Claws slowly starting to inch out, having to shake her hands to get them retracted. Wade came into the apartment first and set her bag on the carpet. Logan came in behind and grabbed her by the waist. Walking both of them into the bathroom; ignoring her confused protests and complaints.

Cutting on the hot water and practically ripping the shower curtain off the pole. Treating Wade’s clothes with the same disposable mindset and cutting through them; making everything easier to pull off. Logan hated that she was so insecure about her skin being scared. Especially when her skin is so soft and silky. She lifted Wade into the shower, not bothering to take her own clothes off before stepping in herself.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Wade screamed, tired of being ignored.

“I can’t stand that cunt’s smell on you,” Logan finally admitted.

This left Wade feeling speechless, looking into her wild eyes as she ran her hands over her body. Still fully clothed and letting the water soak down herself. At first her hands were frantically rubbing the smell off her arms. It saddened Wade to see how upset and jealous she’d actually made her. Brought a guilty feeling into her heart for egging her on in the car. She slowly started taking off Logan's clothes. Stripping down to nothing and embracing her; pushing all her wet hair from her face.

“You’re so cute I love you and I’m sorry,” Wade said, pressing kisses into her cheek.

“I didn’t like it…” she said, looking down at her.

Logan connected their lips together, pulling her as close as possible against her body. The water rushed down from the facet making the kiss sloppy. Their lips sliding together while their tongues fought for dominance. Logan grabbed the back of her knee and used her body to back her up against the wall. Wade arched her back and hissed feeling the cold wet tile against her bare skin. Logan was pressing her weight against Wade, her free leg was on its tippy toes.

Giving her little to no stability or control. Without wasting any time, she began to trace her finger along her slit. Letting out a grunt when feeling how wet she was. Her sex completely swollen and exposed; just fucking begging to be played with. Dipping her middle finger inside, loving how her silky walls immediately tightened around them. Instead of beginning to pump her fingers in and out, she starts curling and spreading. Burying her digits knuckle deep into her leaking pussy.

Wade was whining and groaning from pleasure, pressing her open mouth against Logan’s shoulder. Trying to buck her hips up against her fingers. Her own sex was throbbing, she couldn’t get enough of teasing Wade. Getting her at the limit of hot and bothered but not enough to fully ignite. Pushing her to the point of incoherently rambling about how bad she needed her. She was now fully pounding into her entrance, kissing her neck while she fell apart.

“Please let me finger you all night,” Logan growled in her ear.

She couldn’t stop her hips from involuntarily bucking up. Rutting pointlessly into the side of her body, watching her facial expressions twist from pleasure. She was feeling so overwhelmed and intoxicated by Wade she wanted to cry in frustration. Like she had so much love and attraction for her that it could spill over in so many different emotions; lust, jealousy, protectiveness, euphoria, vulnerability. Even though she could barely focus on anything while being finger fucked, Wade was running her hands all over Logan. Brushing the hair and water out of her face, raking her nails down her back.

She runs her index finger over Logan’s bottom lip before pushing it inside. The water was running down her face, keeping her eyes shut but she eagerly started sucking and biting at her finger. This sent Wade over the edge; making her hips start to frantically thrust against her hand. Repeating ‘im gonna cum’ over and over again in between gasps and moans.

Shivering as she came from a mixture of the now cold water on her and the pure ecstasy she was feeling; pussy convulsing and pulsating around her fingers. Practically mewling while digging her nails into her back. Riding out her climax, letting her body fall against Logan’s after she was done. She let her knee go allowing her to stand; her legs immediately buckled which did nothing but flatter Logan. Wrapping her in a towel before making their way to the bedroom for the night.

🌸 A|N 🌸

(I know I used the same pronouns for both of them a lot. I tried to use their names as much as I could to distinguish who was doing what action. Sorry, i'll work on that moving forward; thanks for reading!)

#deadpool x wolverine smut #deadpool x wolverine fan-fiction #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool smut #wade x logan #wade x logan smut #w|w smut #wade wilson smut #wolverine smut #butch deadpool #butch wolverine #butch4butch #deadpool fanfiction #wolverine fanfiction #deadpool x wolverine #butch wolverine smut #butch wolverine fanart #butch Deadpool fanart

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animereaderinsertwriter · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Cloud Strife x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: frenemies to lovers, Cloud's memory problems, reader is an assassin, smut, porn WITH plot

Final Word Count: 9k

Plot summary: A mercenary and an assassin walk into a bar. They bicker, have sex, then go home and freak out about it. The whole thing feels like it should be a joke, but it isn't— and no matter how bad it hurts, they keep coming back for more.

ao3 link

“Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table…”

The entrance to Hell's Maw yawned lazily open, with the wooden door leaning crookedly off of its hinges. The door— made of sturdy oak— had held up well against bar fights between mercenaries, master thieves, and assassins for over a decade; it was riddled with holes from unsuccessful knifings and stray bullets, and sported faint airbrushings of blood from more successful endeavors of the same sort. Really, the agency ought to have replaced it by now as a favor to the bar for letting its employees regularly trash the place— but those stingy bastards couldn't be bothered with anything outside of making money off the hard labor of people bigger, meaner, and certainly more deadly than themselves, and so the door remained as it was.

Fondly, you patted the door as you passed it; the little creak it gave felt like a 'thank you,' and you smiled as you slipped inside the building, largely unnoticed by the Friday night crowd.

Despite its name, Hell's Maw was a cozy, comfortable establishment. There were large, comfortable booths lining the walls, the fabric of their green seats cracked and slightly worn in the middle; a few pool tables with green felt were nestled comfortably in the middle of the room. There was always something soft and smooth playing from the jukebox in the corner, and the lighting was dim enough to feel gentle and ambient, but bright enough that a girl didn't feel the need to squint at her plate for deformed food.

Tonight, a few familiar faces were gathered around the pool tables, holding cues that had been haphazardly duct taped back together a few times. The quiet buzz of conversation was a comforting lull, and there was a pleasant smell drifting out from the kitchen that had you sighing at the thought of a warm meal.

Home sweet home, you thought, smiling as you took in the scene.

"Evening, Kitty," you greeted one of the servers as she passed by. "What's the special tonight?"

Kitty was a short, pleasantly plump woman with a freckled face and flaming hair. To look at her, you'd never know that she spent her evenings catering to smugglers, tramps, thieves, and worse— but she was as strong as she was beautiful, so generally speaking, she got whatever she wanted out of Hell's Maw's regular patrons.

"Shepherd's pie," said the waitress, grinning back as she bussed a table, "but your friend over there is putting everyone off their dinner with that sour look on his face. It's a wonder anyone can keep their drinks down, what with his mean-mugging."

You followed Kitty's gaze to the bar, where a familiar shock of blond hair glowed honey-golden in the incandescent lighting.

To your credit, you tried hard to stifle your laugh.

Sitting on what you had come to think of as your barstool, Cloud Strife looked even more brooding and mysterious than usual. A glass of his choice poison— lemon water with a pinch of mint— was sitting untouched on the mahogany wood in front of him. As he sat there, glaring at his glass, he seemed so miserable that you couldn't even be mad at him for stealing her seat.

Alas, despite your efforts, the sight earned a giggle.

"He looks to be in a fine temper," you noted slyly, wagging your eyes at Kitty.

Kitty huffed.

"He looks like he's swallowed a hornet's nest."

You laughed again.

"I'd best go see what he wants, then," you said. "If it's any comfort to you, I can't imagine he'll stay very long."

"Oh, he's no trouble," said Kitty mischievously. "As for myself, don't care what face he makes when he's got a face like that."

You giggled. He really was handsome, that bastard.

"I'll be sure to tell him you said that. Later, Kitty."

"Later," said Kitty with her signature wink.

As you approached the bar, you wondered at Cloud's presence there. It was a rare day that he arrived at the bar before you, and even rarer that he should be waiting for you and not sitting in a booth with a friend— an actual friend— or chatting up some girl at the pool tables. You couldn't recall a time when he'd been this forward with his presence at your little meeting place, and you'd be lying if you said the newness of it all didn't set you on edge.

Cloud Strife in general set you on edge.

"Hello, first class," you greeted him, smiling.

As he turned to acknowledge you, you slid gracefully into the seat next to him, signaling to the bartender for a little something sweet and strong.

"Cutthroat," he returned without malice.

You turned your best pout on him.

"Now, now, you're being uncharitable. You're in my seat, and I haven't even considered cutting your throat." You thought for a moment. "Well, until now at least "

He raised a brow, in a moment both teasing and deadly.

"If it's any consolation, though, it's more of a scientific interest than anything," you added as an afterthought. "It's not often that I get contracts for anyone like a SOLDIER, you know."

Blue-ringed green peered at you with familiar, friendly distaste.

"I'm not stupid enough to be one of your marks," he said, taking a sip of his drink. "I think with my upstairs head, which is more than I can say for the guys you get paid to kill."

It was a bit naive of him to assume such a thing. No man was above being one of your marks.

"Then praise be that the world isn't full of good, right-honorable ex-SOLDIERs like you," you shot sweetly back at him. "Poor little me would be out of a job."

Cloud let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, then sobered and stared moodily into his glass of water. He looked like a petulant child who'd been sent to his room as punishment.

"Come on, why so sour?" you prodded, trying to keep your tone teasing. "Did you get turned down this evening before I got here? If so, I'm sure the pretty brunette in the corner would go home with you— she's been staring at you since I walked in."

He scowled.

"Why does it always have to be about sex with you?" he snapped as the bartender handed you your glass of fruity bliss. "Are the men you seduce to kill not doing it for you anymore?"

You took the insult in stride.

"Why?" you challenged, leaning forward, eyes flicking up to meet his. "Curious?"

Cloud was the first to look away.

Somehow, it was always this. He would come to you in moments of woundedness or weakness and pick a fight that he couldn’t finish. Fights about work, fights about drinks, fights about the sex that neither of you were having, and fights about fighting just for fighting's sake— too often, you found yourselves here, in this endless cycle of strange and hateful amicability. Why, you didn't know— but it wasn't like that was going to stop you from playing your little game.

"Why are you in my seat?" You began again, changing tactics. "You know that's my seat. I'm fairly certain the groove of my ass cheeks are worn into the shape of it by now."

"Wanted to be," he replied with a little shrug of powerful shoulders. "It's a nice seat. Got a problem with it?"

You hummed, sipping from your drink.

"Not at all. Just curious as to what's wrong with you today."

Cloud cut his eyes at you.

"Who says there's something wrong with me?"

"Oh, there's something wrong with everyone here. The fact that you're picking a fight with me today is especially telling, though."

"Not picking a fight," he grumbled.

"Of course not," you replied, placating. "Now— would you like to tell me what's on your mind, or should I try and guess?"

Cloud stayed silent, but took another drink from his minty lemon water.

Guessing it was, then.

"Don't know which girl to pick again?" you scanned the bar. There were plenty of Cloud's type there— sweet innocents that looked like they needed protecting. "I can help like last time. Blondie by the pool table has got great tits and a sweet smile, but she'll want to do it missionary the whole time. The brunette I was talking about earlier is probably a bit kinkier, if that's what you're i—"

Cloud moved to get up, disgusted.

Wrong guess, then.

"I'm teasing," you told him, tugging his arm. "Sit down, drama queen."

Cloud eyed you warily, but reluctantly sat back down.

"You know," you said gently, "this would be easier if you could just tell me what's going on."

Cloud's expression shuttered closed. It was as if a mask had dropped into place over his features, locking them into a single blank expression.

"Nothing's going on. I told you, I'm fine."

You were beginning to feel frustrated. Hell's Maw was a haven for damaged colleagues of a hellacious profession. Most of them came for one of two reasons: to have sex, or to play house in a place where the job didn't matter. Cloud was the former, you were the latter. You fulfilled his need to banter and blow off steam, and he fulfilled your need to care and watch out for someone. It wasn't like you were friends. Currently, he wasn’t fulfilling your needs, and you weren't fulfilling his— so why were either of you even there?

"You're a shit liar, Cloud Strife," you huffed. "If all you're going to do is act like an ass, then you can get out of my seat and find someone else to abuse with your presence."

He shook his head.

"I doubt someone like you could understand."

You leaned back in your seat. An odd hurt pierced your chest.

You knew your lives were different. You knew he disapproved of yours. That was an old fight that had already scabbed over into little more than scars on your psyche; but if he wanted to pick it until it bled once more, you would indulge him with scratches of your own.

"Someone like me," you repeated, the words bitter as lye soap in your mouth. “Tell me, Cloud— what, exactly, do you think I am?”

You stared deeply into his eyes, challenging him. As you did so, you noted the mako-greenish tinge in the center of his iris, and not for the first time, the weight of your secret pulsed within you, threatening to fizzle out from you in white-hot sparks.

“I think you’re a murderer,” he told you, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re a contract killer, and what’s worse, you use your body to lure men to their deaths like some kind of demented, two-bit—”

You had heard these words before. Refusing to hear them again, you drew back your hand and made to strike him; you didn’t get far, though, before Cloud’s SOLDIER reflexes proved their worth and caught your hand before the slap could land. Even through his glove, you could feel the mako beneath his skin, and you shivered.

“I told you before,” you said, speaking carefully, willing control to return to you. “Don’t call me a whore ever again. If you do, it will be the last word you say.”

Gently, you nudged the blade in your other hand against his ribs, and he flinched backwards, apparently not having seen or anticipated the movement despite the obvious distraction of the slap.

“I don’t have to say it,” he replied calmly, tightening his grip on your wrist. “You put the words in my mouth, so if the shoe fits, then fucking wear it.”

The flow of mako within him was strong, pulling at you physically like the opposite side of a magnet. A breath, then two, and it was under control— but those words cut deep. Hearing them from someone like Cloud cut even deeper.

"You know what, I don't have to take this from you," you said, trying to take your arm back. He didn’t let you, instead holding you fast against your will. Feeling vengeful, you added, "Especially not when you're such a hypocrite."

Cloud's expression was impassive, marble-esque, but the hardening of his eyes told you that you'd hit the mark.

"Excuse me?"

You smirked.

"What, you think I don't know what you get up to around here? How you fuck around with these girls and that pretty barmaid at Seventh Heaven? And yet you think I’m the whore? Get a grip, man."

"What?"

There it was— hurt and indignation that mirrored your own flashed in his eyes, and you knew you had him.

"Oh, you heard me," you said, tilting your head like another girl might for a kiss. "I'd bet top dollar that your big-titty Tifa would give her right arm to play housewife for you, and you play right along with her, the poor thing. Does she know you come here every week for an easy lay?"

Cloud snarled, enraged, and roughly threw your wrist away from himself as though disgusted.

"I've never touched Tifa!"

You grinned wryly, massaging your wrist, and said,

"And don't you know it kills her?"

It occurred to you then that you might have gone a bit too far. Cloud's hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, and he looked as if he might hit you. A moment of tense silence swept over the both of you, a tug of war of will-he-won't-he between you— and then as he always did when it came to matters of the heart, Cloud Strife took the easy way out.

He turned away.

"Coming here was a fucking mistake," he growled, fitting that giant, way-too-Freudian sword to his lean, muscled back. "I don't know why I fucking bothered— of course you wouldn’t take this conversation seriously."

"What conversation?" you shot back. "If you think shit-talking me to my face is a conversation, you've got bigger problems than leading some girl on."

He rounded on you.

"I'm not leading anyone on. I don't feel for Tifa like that and she knows it."

You arched a brow. "Oh, so you've told her?"

Cloud faltered.

"Well— no."

"Then is she just supposed to guess?"

Cloud scowled, no doubt ready to double down on his point— but you, suddenly conscious of the setting and the kind of hurt it would cause if talk like that got back to Seventh Heaven, moved closer and said seriously,

"That girl loves you. Everyone from here to topside knows except you. You break her heart, and I feel for her. Every woman has cried the tears she cries for you— most are just smart enough to cut thoughtless, careless bastards like you off."

Cloud shook his head, expression closed.

"No way. Tifa's smarter than that."

You smiled, though it ached.

"No woman is," you told him gently. "Love is our gift, and our curse."

"You're full of shit."

Ah, that was it, then. Once he began to resort to blind insults, you knew you'd won.

"No, I'm right, and it bothers you— and you know what else I think?"

Cloud folded his arms.

"Can I pay you not to tell me?"

You ignored him.

"I think that you think I should be as tortured and as guilty as you feel, and it bothers you even more that I'm not. I understand this world, live in it, accept it, and so you believe that I am just as bad as everyone else in this stupid bar. And that, Cloud, is why you’re here right now, so let me give you this piece of wisdom."

You caught his arm again as he tried to turn away, feeling the warmth of him beneath your hand.

"I have no guilt, and I have no shame. It is the world who should be ashamed for having need of me. Of having need of us."

In that moment, you found yourself nose-to-nose with Cloud, sharing his breath. His eyes— his beautiful eyes— were trained on yours, calculating, analytical. His breath smelled of lemon. You wanted to taste the sourness of it from his lips, feel the burn of its acid in your split lip.

"Don't be ashamed," you murmured, forcing your eyes to return to meet his gaze. "You are what they made you, but you survived. Never, ever be ashamed."

The place where the skin of your palm met the skin of his forearm burned with electric warmth. You found that touching this prickly, untouchable man felt like holding a live wire. From the very beginning, you had known that Cloud Strife was a powerhouse, a living weapon; somehow, though, you had neglected to realize what kind of power he had over you before this skin-to-skin contact.

After a moment, something dawned on you, and you were horrified. Just like Tifa, just like every woman watching them and seething with jealousy, you wanted him.

"I hate you," he said, but moved closer. "I hate how easily you justify this life."

"I accept your hate," you said, "but you can't deny what I've said is true."

"I hate that too." He moved his arm away from your hand, bringing his hand up to touch your neck, his thumb resting in the hollow of your throat. He could easily kill you, even with your knife still at his ribs. You fought against the urge to close your eyes and let the sensation of it consume you.

"I do wonder why you came here then," you mused softly, "why you're bothering with talking to me when you could take one of these little fawns home with you."

"I don't want them," he said almost distractedly, his eyes dark and intense on yours. "At best, they're a means to an end."

This was news to you. You'd watched him take them home night after night like clockwork.

"Then what do you want?"

He never once broke his gaze with you. You never even saw him blink.

"Would that I knew."

Cloud tilted his head. You thought you had imagined it, until his nose bumped yours.

Was this what he had come here for?

You weren't sure. Either way, he lingered back, unwilling to close the distance. If you wanted to kiss him, you would have to choose it for yourself; if you wanted him, you had to make the active, conscious choice to cut yourself on his edge, and take the pain that would come with it.

You weighed the costs, found them worthy. You leaned forward, closing the gap, and let him kiss you.

Oh, what a kiss.

The act itself was simple. It was only the touching of flesh, soft and surprisingly gentle. The mako-power under his skin pulsed against the places where you touched— your lips, his hand at your throat, your palm against his bicep— and a powerful twinge of want jerked the nerves between your legs, wanting, needing more.

Distantly, it occurred to you that if any of the kisses you'd shared with your marks had been like this, you would have been the one lying dead at the end of it all.

"Do you want to leave?" you asked once your lips had parted from his.

"Depends on where you want to go," he said, nose still brushing yours. "I'm not interested in going back to mine."

Of course not, you thought bitterly. Tifa might see.

Ego bruised, you decided to play the game.

"Who said we were going to anyone's place?" You hummed, your lashes lowered. "An alleyway might work just as well for what you have in mind."

Cloud's eyes darkened further at that.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Filthy sex in a back alley where anyone could see." He scoffed, pupils dilated. "Disgusting."

He went in for another kiss, and you stepped back.

"Who said anything about sex, either?" you teased, eyeing him up and down. "Just 'cause your usual crowd lets you take what you want doesn't mean I will. Not everyone wants Shinra’s sloppy seconds."

Cloud frowned.

"Don't fuck with me," he said, deadly serious. "I don't take that shit well."

At that, you softened. Perhaps that had been a bit too far. There was clearly some amount of bad blood between this particular SOLDIER and Shinra, and you had poked that bruise knowingly.

"I'm sorry," you said, sincere. "It was wrong of me to tease you."

You extended your hand.

"Come on. We'll go to my place."

For a moment, you didn't think he'd take it— but eventually, he placed his hand in your own and let you lead him away from Hell's Maw.

On your way out, you passed a few booths of familiar faces that turned their heads at the sight of the two of you leaving together— but just as you were starting to wonder if you'd made the right decision, Kitty caught your eye. The waitress gave you an all-knowing smile and winked.

It was the closest thing to a blessing that you were going to get.

Outside of a job or a hookup, Cloud was not often outside at night under the plate.

Now, in the awkward silence between himself and (Y/N), he had time to look and reflect. The combination of maintenance lights and the soft glow of energy throughout the plate itself was a poor imitation of a sky full of stars, but it was good enough in the absence of another alternative. It dimly lit the dusty, barren streets, casting everything in the greenish-gray of mako energy-fuelled lights; when he wasn't peering into suspicious shadows, Cloud caught glimpses of (Y/N) out of the corner of his eye, noting the way the unnatural light made her skin appear strange and foreign beneath it. Before now, he had not thought her skin to be so familiar that he would notice a difference.

Tonight was a remarkably bad idea.

"We're almost there," (Y/N) said to him, slowing her walk until she stopped to face him. She peered up at him with piercing eyes, and Cloud suddenly got the feeling that he was being tested.

"Something bothering you?" he ventured, resisting the urge to check over his shoulder for some unseen enemy.

"You could say that."

(Y/N) did not drop her gaze; Cloud refused to give her any ground by being the first to look away for the second time in the evening.

"Why are we here?" she asked him, her eyes throwing the light of the plate back to him in little glowing pinprick reflections. "I wasn't thinking earlier, not really— I let my baser instincts lead me this far. Before we go any further, I have to know what you're in this for."

An excellent question, that— it was one Cloud had asked himself a thousand times before he made the decision to show up at Hell's Maw.

I'm here ecause you drive me to distraction, he wanted to say. Because you're so beautiful, and so deadly, and I have wanted a taste of you since I first laid eyes on you. Because after meeting with you every week for months, moments with you feel like the only thing that's really mine in all the world.

Instead, he did not speak, not for a long time. Patiently, she watched him, staunch in her decision to remain where she was until he gave her an answer.

Because I want you is the answer he should have given, mostly because it was the truest one. The answer he gave was stupid and cowardly, and only true in the vaguest sense.

"To scratch an itch," he said. When she raised a brow, he added, "A deeper one than usual."

He hoped distantly that she could understand his reticence. He could not tell her what he felt without feeling foolish; he could not even acknowledge it to himself without feeling a traitor to the feelings he was expected to bear for others. Tonight, he could have chosen from dozens of women, and at least two of them were as dear to his heart as his very own flesh— but none of them were her. (Y/N) was beauty and grace and nightshade; she was the honey in every trap, the woman he wasn't supposed to want, but wanted carnally. She had no history with him, only the present, and yet he felt that she understood him like no one else ever had.

Don't be ashamed, she'd told him earlier, her gaze steady and strong like steel, her voice soft and gentle as silk. You are what they made you, but you survived. Never, ever be ashamed.

Cloud had spent so much of his time ashamed of everything. Ashamed of his roots, of his failures, of all the things he remembered, of all the things he didn't— and it was as if she had felt the badness in him, sensed it without him saying, and accepted it as a part of him. In her, there was no blind hero-worship, no transference of feelings from a risky rescue. No, she was simply the other side of his coin. She knew him because she was him.

"An itch," she repeated, and he felt as though she were flaying him open with her eyes.

"An itch," he replied, unable to say anything else.

She took a moment, considering. She must have found something within him worthy, because she gave a nod and walked on as though the conversation had never happened.

If someone had asked Cloud that night what her house had looked like, he could not have said. He would not have known the color if it had been neon orange with fireworks shooting out of the front of it; by the time he should have taken notice of it, he'd been thoroughly distracted with (Y/N)'s mouth on his own.

How that happened was a mystery also. One moment, he was walking along with her, slightly behind— the next, he was grabbing her arm, overcome with the desire to see her face once more, his heart somehow damaged by her uncharacteristic silence, and then he was kissing her because he could, because she let him, and because he was swiftly becoming utterly obsessed with the taste of her. It was filthy, deviant stuff, sucking on the length of her tongue, holding her to him by the very hair of her head; eventually, he decided that he wanted her closer still and simply lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist.

From there, he'd been operating mostly blind. She gave him directions, intimately familiar with her route home, and guided him even to the very last detail of how high he should lift his foot to make it up the front porch steps. If either of them had not been who they were, such a thing would likely have been impossible— but with an assassin's precision and a SOLDIER's grace and ability, they'd navigated the journey just fine.

At first, it seemed a shame and a nuisance that, even after they'd done so well getting there, (Y/N) insisted on opening the lock to her front door— but then Cloud got a magnificent view of her backside, and remembered that, as an ass man, it was practically his duty to come behind her and press himself against her with hungry neck-kisses as she fiddled with the lock. His cock, already half-hard, was infinitely pleased with the rocking motion he'd taken up, grinding against her ass; she, apparently, was also pleased as she pressed back against him, encouraging the friction with her own body as his teeth scraped over the lobe of her ear.

“Fuck,” she swore, her hands shaking as she finally managed to slide the key home, using it to turn the lock. “That feels good.”

Never one to let a compliment lead to complacently, Cloud licked a line up her neck, tasting her sweat and the bitter tang of her perfume; his tongue found the lobe of her ear once more, then delved into the cavity of it. (Y/N) shivered at the motion as the door fell away, and Cloud guided the both of them inside, kicking the door shut with a heavy boot.

Her home was smaller than he had expected. For some reason, Cloud had imagined her to live in a palace, or something close to it— certainly, the amount of money her jobs paid could keep her more than comfortably in one, if there was one to be found below the plate— but instead of great columns and outrageous interior decorating, Cloud found soft carpet, flourishing plants, and rows of bookshelves filled with knick-knacks and photographs. All in all, (Y/N)'s place just seemed sort of… normal.

"Bedroom's this way," she called out over her shoulder, smirking— but Cloud caught her arm, stopping her.

The idea of knowing the way she kept her room— the intimacy and implications of that knowledge—was too much to bear.

"Here's fine," he said, touching his nose to hers, then tilting his head. "Kiss me."

And boy, did she ever. Her hands threaded through his hair, pulled him to her; her tongue slid past his lips and he groaned into her mouth, cock jumping at her passion. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her pelvis to meet his own, grinding against her; to his surprise, he found his hands knocked away, replaced by her own on him, which began the process of unbuttoning and unzipping. Soon, his cock was free in her soft, graceful hands, and he couldn't even bring himself to be ashamed of the moan he gave as she spat into her hand and stroked him.

"I wanna suck you," she said breathlessly against his lips. "S'that okay with you?"

There was really only one answer to that.

"Fuck yeah," he replied.

He'd meant the words to be confident, even commanding— instead, they came out like a plea. Not that (Y/N) seemed to notice as she dropped to her knees before him, now eye-level with his gently-curving sex. No, he thought as she placed her hands on the crease of his thighs, playing teasingly in the fine dusting of hair there. She didn't seem to be bothered at all.

"You're a big boy," she said with a mischievous grin, her lips only a breath away from his cockhead. "I thought the sword might be over-compensation, but now I'm starting to rethink things a bit."

Cloud would be lying if he said that didn't stroke his ego just a little.

"Just shut up and get on with it," he said, heat rushing to his face. "You can't talk and suck dick too."

She began slowly, so slowly Cloud thought he might die. She kissed his thighs, his belly, leaving his cock untouched; then came teasing kitten licks to his tip, teasing him, delving into his slit to lap at precome. He bucked his hips at her, impatient, and (Y/N) looked up at him with a smirk and said,

"If you don't like how I do it, do it yourself."

So saying, she grabbed a large, gloved hand and placed it on the back of her head, giving him his cue as her mouth returned to his cock. Cloud, shocked, didn't know what to do with himself for a moment— but it didn't take long for him to figure it out. He held her head— so small in comparison to his hands— and fucked her face, shoving his cock into her mouth over and over again as she tried to keep up with her hands and her tongue. She was hot and wet around him, her throat smoothly textured as he fucked deeper and deeper. It felt good to take that kind of control, he noticed, to take his pleasure from her by force.

(Y/N) gagged a little as he thrust roughly, and he thought he might come on the spot.

Perhaps it felt a little too good.

Rougher than he meant to be, he pulled her back by the hair at the base of her skull, gripping the strands close to the scalp. She looked up at him then, teary, breathless, and smiling, and Cloud was struck at once by how ravaged she looked. Gone was the kitten that had teased him at the bar; gone was the confidante who had confronted him about his intentions. In her place was a woman of pleasures, a woman of fleshly desires. This (Y/N), he hardly knew.

"Open your mouth," he said, wiping saliva from the corner of her lips. She did so, sticking out her tongue— and without quite knowing why, he spat into her mouth. A thick glob of spit dropped from his mouth to hers, landing on her outstretched pink tongue; Cloud, feeling dizzy with want at the sight, leaned to seal it with a kiss. As he did so, she moaned against him, lacing her fingers in her hair, and he found himself pulled to the floor with her, his cock in her hand and her tongue in his mouth.

Piece by piece, he undressed her. First to go was her shirt, followed by her bra; ever greedy, Cloud moved to take off his gloves so that he could feel the soft skin of her breasts in his hands, but she stopped him, her eyes gleaming dangerously.

"Leave them on," she told him, placing his gloved hands on her body, just over her pretty, perfect, and probably sensitive nipples. "I like the texture."

And fuck if that wasn't the hottest thing Cloud had ever heard.

Next to go was her shorts. Made of tough black denim, they were hard to slide over the swell of her hips; thankfully, though, her painties came off with them in the struggle, leaving her sex bare and wet in the chilled air of her apartment. With that, she was finally, gloriously naked.

Except, of course, the gun that was strapped to her torso.

It was a mid-size blaster, whose thin holster and belt were nestled snugly against her skin. The gun and all that held it were a sexy matte black, and Cloud quirked a brow at (Y/N) in question.

"What, don't you know I'm always packing?" she teased him, leaning backward to unbuckle the belt that held the holster to her belly. To do so, she stretched her arms behind her back, arching so her tits were in his face, and Cloud was suddenly distracted.

With SOLDIER strength, he pulled (Y/N) to him by the hips. Sneaking one hand up her back, he leaned down to kiss between her breasts, then more to the right, until his mouth enclosed her nipple. Her moan was heady; without thinking about it, he moved the hand at her back to play with the other nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers, and she threw her head back, pressing into him.

"Yes," she pleaded, her hands tight in his hair, "Fuck, that feels good."

For good measure, he licked and sucked at her skin, leaving love-bites in his wake. Even though he knew he'd not see them, there would be some pride in knowing that they were there, a pleasant, aching reminder of this moment.

Cloud could have spent forever in the pillow of her breasts— but his cock was so hard that it was getting difficult to ignore the throbbing between his legs.

"Turn around," he said, unbuckling his shoulder guard. "I want to fuck you on your hands and knees."

It was a partial truth at best. While fucking (Y/N) from begind was a regular fantasy of his, there was an ulterior motive behind it. He wanted both of them to be naked, but he didn't want her to have to see his scars. They were many and jagged all across his body, from training, from fighting, from losing; up close, he sort of looked like a patchwork quilt. Not exactly pleasant to look at, in his opinion.

"Bossy," she fussed, but did as she was told. Soon, her knees were spread, her back arched to expose the wetness between her legs, and Cloud had never felt the need to undress so quickly before in all his life. It was fast, messy, and careless, but he was naked enough in under ten seconds to call it a win as he lined himself up with her entrance.

"Ready?" he asked her, pushing his self control to the limit.

Irritated, she slung her head over her shoulder and said, "Cloud Strife, it you don't put your dick inside me right now I swear to—"

She didn't get to finish her threat. She was choked off the moment his cock slid home, her entire body moving with the force of it. Enveloped in warm, wet heat, Cloud pulled fully out before pressing back in again, biting back a moan as he watched himself disappear inside her folds.

After another slow, lazy thrust, he leaned over so that his chest was touching her back and began fucking her in earnest; he never pulled out very far before he was pounding in and in and in—

"Cat got your tongue?" he murmured into her ear, wrapping one arm around her to gently lock her head next to his as he fucked her. "Usually you have so much to say."

All she said in response was a single, strangled moan.

After that, Cloud lost himself. For him, nothing existed except the act itself; the world extended only to the places their bodies touched, slick and sweaty and obscene. His lips and tongue were busy, kissing and sucking at her neck and licking the salt from her flesh. It took a while for him to realize that the low, growling sound he was hearing came from deep within his own chest, and even then he couldn't manage to muster any shame.

"M'close," he murmured in her ear, tasting the shell of it once more.

"Inside," was all she said, and that in itself was enough to send Cloud hurling over the edge.

He fucked her through his orgasm, only pulling away once he could bear the sensitivity no longer. Still half-mad with wanting, he moved (Y/N) bodily, intending to finish what he'd started with his mouth and fingers— but when he did, he found her shaking, with tears welling in her eyes.

Horrified, Cloud drew away. He hadn't realized he'd been so rough. He hadn't realized that she'd been reacting this way. He hadn't—

"Hey, don't get squeamish now," (Y/N) told him with a weak little smile that made him feel sick. "Calm down, drama queen— I just have a m-mako sensitivity."

"Mako sensitivity?" he parroted, his own voice sounding strangled even to himself.

She nodded and sat up, though it seemed an effort.

"You— You're a walking b-ball of mako energy," she explained. "With you inside me, and with— well, with—"

She faltered, but Cloud nodded. He could imagine perfectly well what she meant.

"You should have told me," he accused her, suddenly angry and very, very hurt. "I wouldn't have— you shouldn't have—"

All he could think of was mako poisoning, somehow his, somehow another's, how sick he'd been, how very close to death he'd come. He'd put her at risk of such a thing. He was a freak, and worse, a fool, for ever thinking he could have—

With slow, pained movements, she placed a hand on his arm.

"It's not like that," she said. "I— I didn't know. I could feel it, but I didn't think—"

She pitched forward suddenly, and Cloud moved to catch her.

"Easy," he told her, and she looked up at him with a small, weak smile.

"Gimme a second," she said as he steadied her. "I'll be right as rain after this."

She withdrew her hand and held it out for him to inspect. Sparks crackled between her fingers, and Cloud flinched backwards, instinctively defensive.

"You're not holding materia," he realized, dumbfounded. "What the hell is this?"

"Dunno," she replied, shrugging as though she'd just shown him a neat party trick and not a literal physical impossibility. "I've always been able to feel mako, and when I get overexposed, this happens."

"That's— that's impossible," he said, because it was.

(Y/N) merely shrugged looking at him with soft eyes.

"I didn't think it would happen with you. It's just sort of my secret. I get close to mako, get a little sick, and then I have to expel it like this or else it just doesn't get any better. It's… a gift and a curse."

Cloud just stared at her, amazed.

"With your permission, though," she continued, mischief glinting in her eyes, "I'd like to try something. Y'know, since we have this issue and all anyway."

Without really thinking, Cloud nodded, and then her hands were on him. The hair on his neck and arms raised as she dragged the pads of her fingers from the base of his neck to the end of his torso, the sensation of her touch unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The air tasted metallic, like ozone; when she stuck her fingers in his mouth, it was like licking a battery. Already, his cock was jumping, excited by her touch, and then she was kissing him, threading her electric hands through his hair. Overcome, Cloud wrapped his arms around her, feeling stupid and lust-drunk and so, so good.

"Touch me more," she told him, electricity popping in the spaces between her fingers. As he did, the popping increased, and he could feel the discharge of her power in the increasingly coppery taste of the air. Each breath was like a mouthful of blood; Cloud was willing to drown in it if it meant her hands would never leave his body.

"Lemme eat you out," he said, kissing the curve of her breast. "I owe you an orgasm."

She pulled back and raised a brow.

"After you made a mess down there?"

"S'the best part," he grumbled, a bit wounded— but before he could complain too much, he found himself pulled forward as (Y/N) leaned back. She hit the floor with a gentle thud, and Cloud seized the opportunity for what it was.

With careful and precise tongue, he tasted her. First, he lapped at her clit, relishing in the sounds she made, then made it a point to gather the semen that had mixed with her wetness, slurping obscenely as he cleaned her folds. Above him, (Y/N) groaned.

"Why is that so hot?" he heard her gasp as she leaned onto her elbows to watch him. "It should not be that— oh, fuck."

Cloud smirked against her sex and licked a long stripe upwards. With his mouth on her clit, he took a freshly un-gloved hand and began to finger her, curling the digits to reach the place that would make her arch her back and cry—

"Fuck!"

Hearing her swear had never been so erotic before now— but Cloud would be damned if that wasn't a sound he'd love to hear on loop forever.

Before long, she was close. He could feel it in the quivering of her thighs, the pulsing of her sex. He kept a steady rhythm, and then she was at her climax, falling hard with the rush of sensation and friendly, feel-good chemicals that left her limp and boneless beneath him.

Perfect for him to continue fucking, now that his cock was hard and leaking again.

"Round two?" he asked, scarcely daring to hope she'd be ready— but then she sat up with a smile and said,

"Hell yeah."

And so it was, over and over, until they were both spent, and Cloud passed the fuck out on her living room floor, satisfied.

When you woke, it was to an empty floor and no note. You were alone in the place where you'd had the most fantastic fuck of your life.

Some part of you had known it would be this way. You had only known him for a handful of months, but in that time, you'd learned that Cloud was an avoidant man by nature— and you were doubtless not the first of his hookups to end this way. Still, the idea that he could just leave after such intimacy was… distressing, for some reason.

Surprisingly, though, that feeling was easy to shake off once you left the dubious comfort of your floor and started planning your work for the week. Blond assholes who happen to give fantastic head amount to very little to a woman on a mission; you thought of him often, but the thoughts were small and benign, always curious and never of hurt or longing, as you had thought they might be. What had happened had simply happened, no more.

Then Mako Reactor 5 fell to terrorist attacks, and the week went to shit so fast that you got whiplash.

Before the reactor fell, you had considered not going to the bar that weekend. You didn't need an end-of-the week drink that badly; Cloud could take the hint and take a week off from the bar the next week and you'd never have to see each other again. After the reactor and your subsequent compromised mission, though? The devil himself could be in attendance that day and you'd sit in his lap and sell your soul for a drink.

So, on Friday, you headed to Hell's Maw as usual. There was a possibility, you knew, of some awkwardness if Cloud was there, but frankly, it wouldn't be the first time you'd avoided an ill-advised hookup in a bar before— surely you could survive this as well. It would just be some weird eye contact and then a little ignoring, and everything would be as good as new.

What you weren't expecting was for Cloud to be perched on your fucking seat again, early and apparently waiting for you.

"Oh boy," you said to no one in particular— and, as if SOLDIER had given him superior hearing as well as inhuman strength and durability, the bastard immediately looked over his shoulder and met your eyes over the Friday night crowd. On the other side of him, you noticed at least five empty glasses and a half-drunk sixth. They weren't water glasses, either. No, they were short, fat whiskey glasses, and, leaning halfway off of his stool, Cloud looked properly sloshed.

Really, there was only one respectable thing to do in a situation like this.

You turned on your heel and left, walking as fast as you could in the opposite direction.

Would that you could have been faster. You had barely gotten two sidewalk cracks away from the bar when a large, warm hand curled around your arm, stopping you.

"Cloud, get off me," you huffed, pulling your arm against his unbreakable grip.

"No," he said simply, and bodily turned you to face him. When he did, he used a bit too much of his strength, and you ended up nose-to-nose, sharing breath.

"If this is about the other night—"

Cloud didn't let you finish. He surged forward, sealing those words with a drunken, sloppy kiss that was somehow still as electric as your first. One of his gloved hands rested at the base of your skull, cradling your head, and the other wandered to your hip, pulling you close enough to feel the growing tent in his pants.

Heaven help you, but you weren't sure if you wanted to stop him.

"M'sorry," he said against your lips, pulling away only far enough to speak. "Didn't really mean to do that."

Then what did you mean? you wondered, but before you could ask, Cloud peeled himself away from you until the only thing connecting you was his hand resting on the junction of your neck and shoulder. The new distance, though slight, was jarring.

"M'sorry," he repeated. "I— we made a mistake."

Oh boy.

"Spare me the dramatics," you said, tired already. "You don't have to explain anything to me, Cloud. I wasn't expecting anything from you other than what I got."

"S'not that." Cloud averted his eyes, shameful, swaying. "I, uh. Shouldn't have put you in that position."

What, does he think I have carpet burn? You wondered, but then Cloud was looking at you with such raw vulnerability that you couldn't even crack a joke at his expense.

"I don't regret what we did last week," you told him gently. "I'm sorry if you do, but if this is out of some kind of misplaced honor—"

"I'm involved in things," he told you in a tight voice that felt as if he'd said them before. "Dangerous things."

If there was any relevance of that claim to their current situation, you certainly couldn't find it.

"You're a dangerous man," you shrugged. "It's one of your better qualities. I'm a dangerous woman myself, so I think that tracks, don't you?"

Cloud shook his head.

“It’s—” he sighed. “It’s complicated.”

If you had learned anything about Cloud, it was that ‘complicated’ was generally code for ‘Shinra’. From there, it didn’t take much to imagine exactly what he meant.

“The reactor,” you hazarded, heart filling with dread. “That was the job Tifa lined up for you. Holy shit, your girlfriend is a fucking eco-terrorist, what the hell—”

“— she is not my girlfriend—”

“Look, pal, that’s definitely not the part of that sentence we need to be focusing on right now.”

You reached out a hand, meaning to reach out and draw Cloud closer. Instead, as you moved forward, you were met with cold steel raised against your neck. Cloud’s eyes were wild with distress and distrust, but the set of his mouth was frozen with coldness that meant he would do what he felt necessary if you pushed him.

“Hey,” you said to him softly. “I’m not your enemy here.”

Slowly, you lifted her hands in surrender. Still uneasy, Cloud lowered his sword. As soon as it was clear of you, you stepped forward into his space, close enough that he could not bring the length of the sword between you. Cloud shifted, trying to move back to where he could use his sword if he needed to, but you stopped him with a hand to his forearm.

“Come home with me,” you said, brushing your thumb over the flesh of his arm. “You’re too drunk to be swinging that thing around, and if you want to talk, it’s best we do that in private. Okay?”

“M’not drunk,” he complained, but the look behind he gave you behind lowered lashes said he didn’t mind going home with you anyway. With swaying movement, he hefted the sword onto his back; once it was secure, he gestured for you to lead the way.

The trip to yours was short and uneventful. Once the door to your home was shut safely behind you, Cloud grabbed you once more, his hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. His touch was warm and so, so tempting— but you gently pried yourself away. He was a wreck, and you weren't about to take advantage of that even if it was what you both wanted.

"Sit on the couch with me," you requested, grabbing his hand. "Let's talk."

As always, Cloud was resistant to the whole talking thing. Instead of poking and prodding, though, you took a different approach this time; you allowed the silence to creep and crawl between the two of you, swishing its tail like some irritated feline, letting it fester until Cloud was ready to bat it away and say what he had come to say. In the meantime, your hands stayed busy, touching, feeling, grounding the man before you. He relaxed into you, muscles loosening; he leaned until his head rested comfortably on your chest. The steady hum of mako buzzed in your head, lulling you almost to sleep— but then, just when you weren't expecting it, Cloud began to speak.

"I made an oath to someone, a long time ago. "

You pulled away enough to see his face, your mouth agape.

"You're married?"

"What? No!" Cloud made a face of horror and distress. "I— There's a lot of things I don't remember, okay?"

Your brows knit.

"So… you could be married."

"Oh, leave off of that, will you? I'm not married! I'd remember that if I was."

There was a note of hesitation in his voice that you didn't like.

"So, this oath," you said, touching the skin of his cheek. "What was it for?"

Cloud shrugged.

"I only have the vaguest notion. I don't remember the words. It's like— it's like the only way to keep it is to continue fighting, to be in this constant state of war— and yet, that feels wrong, too. It consumes me." He looked down at his hands. "It's like that oath is binding me to something bigger than myself… and as a result, I've gotten mixed up with some pretty dangerous stuff."

"Like?"

Cloud looked at you then, his eyes as heavy as they were beautiful.

"Like saving the world."

You did your damnedest not to laugh. It was a near thing, but you succeeded— if only by inches.

"So, let me get this straight… you're now an eco-terrorist because in a time you don't remember, you've taken an oath to save the planet?"

Cloud's jaw locked.

"It's bigger than that. Much bigger than that. Shinra is corrupt, they kill innocent people— and Shinra's not the only thing." He looked away. "I can't talk about it. It's dangerous. You could get hurt, and the more you know makes you a bigger target."

There it was again, that concern. It had been a long time since someone cared if you were hurt. You tried not to let it take away your objectivity.

"I assume Tifa knows?"

So maybe your objectivity was a little screwy. Sue about it.

Cloud grimaced.

"I don't like that any more than you do, but she chose this path a long time ago."

"And Aerith?"

Cloud shook his head.

"She's… insistent."

"So what am I, chopped liver?"

Cloud shook his head.

"This isn't your fight. You aren't involved like they are."

"And I don't have to be for you to tell me—"

"For fuck's sake, just let me keep you safe!" At close range, with his body pressed against yours, you could feel the vibration of his shouting as though it were your own. "Tifa and Aerith, they belong to this world, to this fight— but you belong to me!"

"I don't belong to anyone, hotshot—"

"Exactly!"

You blinked.

"I— I'm not sure I'm following."

A heavy, gloved hand rested on your cheek. You leaned into it, relishing in its warmth.

"Your soul is your own," Cloud said quietly. "You are the master, the possessor of your own self. You won't die for some cause, won't sacrifice yourself for the greater good. You'll survive. It's all you know how to do."

He tested his forehead against yours.

"I need that. I need you at Hell's Maw every Friday night, sitting in the same seat, drinking the same drink. I need you to talk to me like I'm nothing special, to show me your kindness and your sharpness."

He paused. You waited, teetering on the edge of anticipation, unable to know or even to guess what he would say next.

"And now— now that we've gone this far…" His hand drifted from your cheek to your neck, resting just above the curve of your breast. "I'm afraid of needing that too. I don't want you pulled into my world, and I don't want to need you so badly that—"

I don't want to need you so badly that I'm trapped.

You understood. It was possible that you understood better than anyone else ever could have.

"I get it."

He pulled away, but you didn't allow it. You caught him by the arm, bade him stay with gentle insistence. He allowed it, and you pulled him back to rest beside you, nose-to-nose.

"I know you, Cloud Strife," you said, summoning the words that had lodged themselves in your chest for so long. "You're like a wild animal. I cannot seek to own you… but if you come and eat from my hand, let me dress your wounds, and rest your head on my lap in times of trouble, I will count myself lucky to have someone so dear to me."

Hot pinpricks burned your eyes. How long have you waited to say something so true, so real? Why did it feel like a confession?

Cloud didn't seem to notice your distress— or, perhaps it was because he noticed your distress that he leaned forward, slowly, gently, and kissed you chastely on the mouth. You could taste the liquor on his lips; hungering for more, you deepened it, but Cloud kept a steady rhythm, holding you tenderly.

"Thank you," he said, pulling away.

"For what?" you laughed.

"For being here, for taking care of me. For not letting me wander home by myself, drunk and stupid."

"Of course." A smile stretched your face. "Any time."

The two of you stayed there for a long time, sharing breath, exchanging tender touches. Tomorrow, things might change— another reactor might blow, the plate might drop, or Cloud might use up the last of his nine lives— but tonight, nothing existed outside of your too-small couch. Tonight, he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

#cloud strife #cloud strife x reader #cloud x reader #cloud strife smut #FFVII #ffvii fanfiction #smut #fem!reader #assassin!reader

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thebettybook · 9 months

Text

Slices of Leona’s Life, Christmas edition 🎄✨

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆

Characters: Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader. Leona and gn!reader are in an established romantic relationship.

Warning: None, an all-fluff story, enjoy!

Border credits: Kaomoji borders from “Emoji Combos” website

Special note: Merry Xmas to those who celebrate :D 🎄✨ I also used Lady and the Tramp (1955) references in this fic

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆

🎄 With plans to celebrate Christmas with Leona’s brother Farena, sister-in-law Safiya, and nephew Cheka, you and Leona decided to have your Christmas celebration early on Christmas Eve.

🎄 Last year, the two of you celebrated Christmas together at Ramshackle with a cozy dinner. This year, you wanted to go out to the Sage Island village square and soak up all the Christmas fun.

🎄 The first thing you and Leona did was watch a new movie that was all the rage on social media; a movie about a guy and a chocolate factory.

🎄 After buying your tickets and a bucket of piping-hot buttery popcorn, you and Leona walked all the way up to the back of the theater (you both agreed the back had the best seats). The movie theater was pretty packed with a lot of families sitting in the front. Leona was glad he didn’t have to sit next to any kids that were screaming or crying at the front.

🎄 The movie itself wasn’t too bad, and Leona couldn’t help but snort out loud at the thought of Cheka running around in a chocolate factory. Leona nuzzled his cheek against the side of your head as he watched the movie with you.

🎄 He’d occasionally bring his hand into the popcorn bucket, either to get popcorn for himself or to give some to you.

🎄 After the movie ended, you and Leona threw away the now-empty bucket of popcorn as the two of you walked out of the theater. The two of you talked about the characters, the plot, and your individual thoughts on the movie. The frosty air greeted you both, and your and Leona’s eyes adjusted to the bright gold, red, and green string lights around the village square after spending about two hours in a dark movie theater.

🎄 “Come with me, and you’ll be,” you put your hands behind your back as you cheekily sang at Leona. “In a world of pure imagination.”

🎄 You offered your mittened hand to his mittened hand (the two of you wore matching green mittens), and despite him letting out a “pfft,” Leona took your mittened hand and raised it to his lips so he could press a kiss on it.

🎄 “You sang it better than the guy in the movie,” Leona joked, to which you responded with a cackle.

🎄 To no one’s surprise, all the restaurants and cafes in the Sage Island village square were packed for Christmas Eve. With barely-there Internet service on both of your phones due to the chilly weather and the fact that so many people were using the village square’s public WiFi all at once, you both couldn’t check MagiGoogle for any nearby restaurants.

🎄 Before the two of you were about to give up and leave the village square to find a restaurant somewhere else (Leona said the Mostro Lounge was the absolute last resort), the scent of tomatoes and ground beef caught Leona’s attention. “Oi, I smell something good,” Leona nodded his head to the direction of a nearby alleyway. “Wanna check it out?”

🎄 You nodded, letting him lead you. With Leona’s hand in yours, the two of you briskly walked past the dim alleyway (which thankfully only had stray cats and dogs scrounging through trash cans for dinner).

🎄 The two of you were greeted by an Italian restaurant at the back of the village square. The restaurant looked as if it had been there for generations, with its vintage red-and-ivory awning and a worn sign that read “Tony’s Restaurant.”

🎄 With the large window in the front of the restaurant, the two of you could see a couple of tables and booths occupied by families, couples, and those who wanted to celebrate the holidays on their own. The inside of the restaurant casted a cozy and warm golden glow out into where you and Leona stood.

🎄 The brass bell under the sign rang as you and Leona stepped into the restaurant and were greeted by the warmth of the restaurant and the idle chatter of the customers. Leona adjusted the scarf around his neck as a waiter, a portly middle-aged man with a black mustache and a friendly smile, greeted the two of you and showed you to an available booth near the back.

🎄 “Welcome to Tony’s! We’ve been around for 68 years, and the dish we’ve always been known for is our spaghetti!” The waiter presented you and Leona with tall menus while pouring water into two cups from a glass bottle.

🎄 “Is that what you smelled earlier?” You cocked your head to the side.

🎄 “Yeah,” Leona nodded, eyeing the menu before turning to the waiter. “What other than the spaghetti would you recommend we get?”

🎄 “If our spaghetti led you to our restaurant, then I highly recommend that!” The waiter took out a worn notepad and a pen from his apron pocket. “We also have gnocchi, risotto, bistecca alla Fiorentina—er, Florentine steak—…”

🎄 “Steak? That’s right up your alley, Leona,” you smiled at your partner before going over the menu’s options one more time. “Mm, I’ll have the spaghetti, please.”

🎄 “Coming right up,” the waiter wrote your order down before turning to Leona. “And for you, sir?”

🎄 “La bistecca alla Fiorentina,” Leona answered smoothly with a small grin at you, handing his menu and yours to the waiter. “Per favore.”

🎄 You knew that Leona knew how to speak a ton of languages as a prince, but he never ceased to amaze you when he spoke in an another language. “Show off,” you teased, grinning back at him with your cheek rested against your palm. The waiter left to bring your orders to the kitchen, though not before smiling at how cute you and Leona were together.

🎄 “Non so di che cosa stia parlando,” Leona raised his eyebrows dramatically in faux innocence.

🎄 As the two of you waited for your orders, one of the workers sat down in front of a wooden piano in the corner of the restaurant and began playing a lively medley. Soon, another worker joined in with an accordion, and a few other workers joined in singing while speed-walking around the restaurant to serve the customers. The music brightened up the lively restaurant even more than one could think possible, like a star placed on top of a Christmas tree adorned with colorful ornaments and string lights.

🎄 Leona rested his chin on top of his hands as he watched you bob your head to the tune. A soft smile grew on his face when he saw the way your eyes lit up at the music. His eyes then caught a flash of red and green above the two of you on the ceiling. Mistletoe. You loved corny stuff like that, and before Leona could tell you about the mistletoe, the waiter came back to the table with your and Leona’s dishes.

🎄 “Mmm,” you took in the plate of spaghetti before you, with its juicy (meat/vegetarian) meatballs and tomato sauce atop the spaghetti pasta. Even Leona was impressed by his Florentine steak, which was seasoned generously with sea salt and freshly cracked pepper.

🎄 Before you could dig in, your eyes caught the mistletoe above you and Leona. “Oh!” you exclaimed in surprise, making Leona laugh.

🎄 “Would ya look at that,” Leona leaned back against his seat, his arms crossed against his torso as he smirked at you, acting as if he didn’t see the mistletoe first. “So what do you wanna do first, kiss or eat?”

🎄 “Hm,” you flicked your eyes down to your spaghetti before an idea dawned on you. “Oh! You know that thing where two people eat a strand of spaghetti at either end and meet in the middle to kiss?”

🎄 “People do that?” Leona’s eyebrows now shot up in genuine surprise.

🎄 “Yeah, it’s kinda like the Pocky Game,” you lifted a strand of spaghetti with your fork. “I’m down to try it if you are.”

🎄 The restaurant started getting more busy, and no one cared whether you and Leona would do something as bizarre as eat the same strand of spaghetti on opposite ends. “Let’s see who gets to the center first,” Leona placed one opposite end of the spaghetti strand in his mouth.

🎄 When you did the same with the other end, the two of you began biting the spaghetti strand and inching towards each other. It wasn’t long before Leona’s hands found their way to either side of your face as he gently pressed his lips onto yours.

🎄 You sighed against his lips, enjoying the warmth of his lips on yours for a few minutes before the both of you gently pulled back from each other. The two of you shared a soft smile before starting dinner. Unbeknownst to the two of you, your waiter watched on as he stood to the side of the piano.

🎄 “And that’s why our spaghetti is our star dish,” the waiter smiled fondly while talking to the worker who was playing the piano. The worker playing the piano smiled back, switching from a lively song to a softer one called “Bella Notte.”

🎄 “The food at Tony’s was so good, we need to go there again someday,” you hummed as you and Leona walked back into the Sage Island village square an hour later. “Like for Valentine’s Day or something.”

🎄 While shops began to close and people began to leave the square, the string lights around the square continued to shine well into the night. The clusters of stars in the pitch-black winter sky mirrored the brightness of string lights as the stars shined down onto Twisted Wonderland.

🎄 “Yeah,” Leona buried his nose into his scarf to keep his nose warm as the two of you idly walked around hand-in-hand.

🎄 The two of you then stopped in front of a big Christmas tree in the center of the village square. The tree was decorated with every kind of handcrafted and makeshift ornament possible from the Sage Island villagers and visitors as well as crimson ribbons and golden string lights.

🎄 You took out your phone to take a selfie with Leona as the two of you stood in front of the tree, the various lights around you and Leona dancing on your faces. While your eyes were fixed on your phone camera, Leona’s eyes were fixed on your face.

🎄 He took in your smile—a smile that rivaled the bright star atop the Christmas tree the two of you stood in front of. To Leona, your smile was a gift he treasured seeing everyday.

🎄 Before you could snap a picture, Leona turned to lean down slightly and kiss your cheek.

🎄 “Merry Christmas, my love,” he murmured.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆

Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Want more Leona content? Check out my masterlist

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆

#leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x mc #leona kingscholar imagine #leona kingscholar headcanons #twst #twst x reader #twst headcanons #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland

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lonelywhalien22 · 2 years

Text

trust me

pairing: bang chan x reader

rating/genre: comfort, fluff, sprinkle of angst

summary: you're having a bad day and your boyfriend chan is there to try and make you feel better.

warnings: reader is low key hella sad in this (take care of yourselves yall <3) + a steamy kiss (very self indulgent ik i'm sorry)

word count: 2.7k

song(s) to listen to while reading: steamroller by phoebe bridgers (reader is hella sad so are we surprised lol), renee's song by bazzi, fall by chloe x halle

note: while i try to tame some bigger fic ideas into submission i'll occasionally polish up + share some of my more decent smaller pieces from years past. pretty sure i wrote this one in the throws of the p*ndemic while struggling with college and feeling hella touch starved...so yeah...enjoy lol <3

————

It was one of those days - one where that funny feeling had bubbled up inside of you, seemingly out of nowhere. You knew it all too well by now, knew its signs and its symptoms. One moment you’d be fine, and then it would happen - a dreaded phone call for an appointment that you could no longer put off, a tedious task at work, a much needed item that you’d misplaced and couldn’t find - sometimes it was all of these things in one day and more, and suddenly you weren’t ok. And as much as you’d try to not let all the frustrations of life get to you, as much as you’d try to hold on to the good, to the light, sometimes bit by bit it would still slip from your grasp until you were tired of trying and there was nothing left inside of you but a dull gray.

You hated when you got in these sorts of moods - used to think there'd be some stage in life, some milestone you could reach, thing you could achieve that would make them go away forever, but you’d survived enough of them by now to know that it was a lifelong battle. There were highs and lows, and today just happened to be one of the lows.

Today also just happened to be one where your boyfriend Bang Chan was supposed to be coming over. His presence was one that so often brought light into your life - fun and laughter and a smile to every situation, but despite having accepted that you were in a sour mood, the thought of him seeing you this way made you feel worse instead of better - like a recluse undeserving of such sweet affection. As if he could hear your thoughts from afar, your cellphone began ringing on the kitchen table, temporarily snapping you right out of your self pity.

“Am I still good to stop by in an hour?" You could practically hear the excitement in his voice, imagining his charming smile immediately, but the warmth in your chest only lasted for a second before you just felt even more upset with yourself. You didn’t wanna burden him with your feelings - tramp all over his joy with your frustration.

"Hey Chan. I'm sorry, but I'm kind of feeling like trash right now." You thought maybe that would be the end of it, hoped that he would read between the lines, but he was completely oblivious, a caring tone seeping into his words as he tried to help you instead.

"Are you sick? I can pick up something for you and bring it by if you want.”

"No, that's not exactly it," you began, struggling to find the words. There was a long pause on the line, and you could hear Chan shifting, as if he was sitting up. You cursed in your head. There was no way he was gonna let this go now - not when you were being so distant.

“Babe, you know you can tell me anything right?” His use of the nickname made your heart flutter again, gently coaxing you to open up to him - to be honest.

“I know.”

“Then talk to me.”

“I just…I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“Nothing you say is stupid,” Chan said immediately. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You let out a sigh before nervously continuing. “It’s just…sometimes I’ll get in this really weird headspace and it makes me feel like crap and...I'm just annoyed with myself. I'm sorry if that doesn't make any sense...I think maybe I just need to be alone right now," you tried to get the last words out but began to break down a little as you really thought about what you’d said. Something about hearing it out loud made it feel all the more real, your eyes beginning to water and throat beginning to dry up.

“It sounds like you're upset. You sure you don't want me to come over?”

You took a big breath, trying to calm yourself before speaking again, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find it in you to say anything else. It felt paralyzing - being stuck between the part of you that just wanted him to be with you and the part that was afraid you’d scare him away forever with your feelings. The more you thought about it the more emotional you got, and you felt a tear run down your cheek before you started to sob silently into the phone.

"Babe? Y/n?” Chan asked, voice becoming laced with concern.

"Yeah?" It was all you could manage to sob out.

"I'm coming over right now," he said quickly, making the decision for you. You could already hear shuffling sounds in the background as he presumably scrambled to grab his things.

"Give me like twenty minutes ok? And just stay on the line with me please? Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

“There's nothing to be sorry for," Chan said softly.

————

In less than twenty minutes you heard a hurried knock on your door. Hanging up on your phone, you pulled yourself off of the couch and shuffled over to the entrance of your apartment, unlocking and pulling open the door to reveal your boyfriend's slightly panicked face.

“Hey…” he whispered gently when he saw you. You moved out of the way and he quickly stepped inside, setting down a bunch of bags before he turned back around and immediately enveloped you in his arms. The warmth of his body pressed against yours easily disarmed you, walls falling down so that all you could think about was his sturdy embrace.

"I'm sorry,” you mumbled into his chest, trying to look at him. “I didn't mean to worry y-"

"Hmm. Shush. No apologizing. Just let me hold you for a minute, yeah?"

You nodded your head against him, silent as you slowly relaxed all the muscles in your body and let yourself really feel his warmth, feel all of the love radiating from his body into yours. He smelled like his shower gel, a hint of spearmint seeping into your lungs as your breathing began to slow and your eyes closed, whizzing thoughts in your head beginning to dissipate one by one. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his black sweater, holding on as if you never wanted to let go, and he let you - staying wrapped around you for an entire minute, just like he said. One of his hands stayed firmly wrapped around your waist while the other went up to start rubbing all the way from your head to the middle of your back, repeating the motion leisurely. You released a sigh of content as he did this, feeling yourself start to calm down, heart rate beginning to slow. Eventually he loosened his arms just enough to pull back a little and look at your tear-stained face.

"Let's sit down and I'll get you some food to eat hmm?" he said quietly, thumb wiping across your wet cheeks. You nodded, feeling a bit like a child as he lead you to your couch and wrapped a blanket around you before getting you some food from one of the bags he brought. When he came back you noticed his hair was a bit wet, presumably still drying from a shower he must have taken right before calling you, strands curling from the dampness. And as you looked down at the container of food he’d placed in your hands you realized it was your favorite meal from your favorite place. He even remembered how you always asked for extra sauce.

Chan stayed silent as you slowly picked up your fork and began to eat, still sniffling a little. He easily found the remote to your tv, switching it on in a practiced familiarity, and put on one of your favorite movies, letting it play softly in the background before digging in to his own food.

When you’d both finished eating, he silently patted his lap, and you knew without any explanation that he was asking you to lean yourself back into his embrace. You did so shyly, Chan grabbing the blanket and draping it around the two of you before he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you even closer. Finally you relaxed, leaning your head into the crook of his neck and turning slightly so that you could shamelessly wrap your arms around his middle, no longer even focusing on the tv at all. It felt so comforting to be in his arms that your eyes immediately began to close, his embrace luring you to sleep.

————

When you woke up it was dark outside. You blinked a couple times, shifting slightly before realizing that you were still completely wrapped up in Chan’s arms. To your embarrassment, you caught him peeking at you with the softest look on his face, your heart beating a little faster because you’d never been this close to him for so long before.

“Better?” he asked you simply, thumb moving to rub against your elbow gently.

You opened your eyes a bit wider, immediately beginning to shift up on the couch.

“I’m sorry, I didn't realize how late it was," you said quickly instead of answering his question, feeling guilty as you shifted a little from his embrace. You’d essentially used him as your own personal pillow for who knows how many hours. “I didn’t mean to keep you here like that for so long,” you continued to ramble, but Chan only shook his head in response.

“Y/n. Hey - look at me,” Chan said with a soothing tone. You stopped your shuffling and did as he asked.

“Do you feel better?” he repeated his question from earlier, and you finally nodded a little before picking at the blanket on your lap.

“Yeah. I’m just sorry I wasted your time because of some dumb mood I was in," you responded, annoyed with yourself as you pushed your hair out of your face roughly.

“You know it’s not a crime to feel sad, right?” Chan started gently after a couple beats of silence, clearly trying to find the right words as his thumb continued to lightly rub against your skin. “Even if there isn’t a clear reason - that doesn’t make how you’re feeling any less real.”

“I guess.” You dismissed his words easily, clearly not taking them to heart.

"Why do you always do that?" he asked lightly.

"What do you mean?”

"Talk yourself down. Dismiss how you're feeling,” he elaborated, a little concern in his voice once again. “It makes me worry about you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise before you looked off to the side.

“I don’t know, I guess it’s just out of habit.”

Chan tapped your elbow, silently asking you to look at him again.

"Can I tell you something?” he whispered into the quiet. You nodded curiously.

"I care about you - so much that it scares me sometimes,” he said earnestly, raking a hand through his hair. "You're so thoughtful, so kind, such an amazing listener - you make it so easy for me to be honest about how I'm feeling, and I've never felt more comfortable talking to anyone else,” he continued, looking down a little as he said that last part.

His words made you feel shy all over again, not expecting him to be so open with you. You willed yourself to keep looking at him.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that…I wanna make you feel safe too - safe to share how you’re feeling with me, the good and the bad. Because that’s how you make me feel.”

“Chan…” you said, lightly smacking his arm in jest as you looked away from him, tears flooding your eyes for a different reason. But he just leaned forward and kissed your temple, pulling you back into his arms gently before continuing.

“Trust me, ok?” Chan asked as you nodded into his chest. “I want you to know that you can always share how you’re feeling with me - even if it’s sad or you don’t think it makes any sense - even if I can’t fix it for you - I’ll always at least be here to listen, I promise. Just don’t hide from me, yeah?”

Tears were falling from your eyes now - not because you were sad, but because Chan’s care for you felt so unconditional, so devoid of judgement - and you’d never known care like that from a partner before. You didn’t have any words to respond in that moment - all you knew was that you wished the two of you could stay on your couch, just like this, forever.

"I didn't mean to make you cry again," Chan said, a little worried as he saw your expression. "Let me get you some t -”

But you leaned up and kissed him gently, cutting off his words. This wasn't your first kiss, but it was definitely the first that you had initiated. Usually you would just stare at his lips longingly or give the tiniest of hints until he finally caught on to what you wanted, but this time you couldn't hold yourself back. You just felt this boost of confidence, an unrelenting need to express a feeling that words couldn't define.

Chan was shocked at first, but he quickly fell into it, closing his eyes and immediately wrapping his hands around your waist oh so gently as his lips began to move against yours slowly, lightly, with the utmost care. You each tilted your heads instinctively to opposite sides, still not coming up for any air as you maneuvered yourself back into his lap and brought a hand up to caress the side of his face before combing your fingers through his hair instead, a tiny noise of contentment leaving you in that moment.

“Y/n…” he groaned softly against your smiling lips.

"Hmmm?" you responded, still in a feeling of utter bliss. Your other hand was rubbing across his upper chest and shoulder soothingly, and you leaned in and kissed him again before he could even muster enough sense to respond, unable to stop yourself. Chan’s lips began moving against yours again, and he started to lean forward until your back was against a pillow on the couch and he was hovering over you completely. It felt as if he was trying to reach your heart with just the movements his warm, pillowy lips made against yours.

His thumbs started rubbing soothing circles into your waist and you felt like you were floating on a cloud, mind becoming hazy as your head became filled with thoughts of him and only him. He left three final pecks on your lips, finally mustering enough self control to pull back before things got even more heated. His hands slid from your waist all the way up to your cheeks, caressing them softly.

You were smiling softly but genuinely, in complete bliss as he leaned in and kissed your forehead sweetly before finally saying, “I love you, you know?"

“I love you too,” you whispered quietly, just enough for him to hear.

He rubbed his thumb near the corner of your lips, eyes crawling all over your face before he said a little regretfully, "I hate for this to end but I don't wanna keep you up any later than it already is."

“Then just stay over for the night. Please?" you begged a little bit and put a pout on your face. He immediately kissed it off of you and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

"Are you sure?"

Neither of you had ever spent the night at each other's place, so it was completely new territory and you could tell he didn’t want to seem like he was taking advantage of the entire situation. You shifted up a little to kiss his forehead back.

“Chan, I want you to. I promise. Please?”

You meant every word. You wanted nothing more than to hold him all night long.

"Ok," he said quietly, grin growing on his face until you saw that cheeky smile you loved so dearly.

————

That night was one of the most peaceful you’d ever had in recent memory. Buried deep under your sheets, nestled under the stars, you curled yourself into his arms - so close that you could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, slow and steady. And you fell asleep just like that - sweet dreams eventually melting away into the morning sun.

#bang chan imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #bang chan fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader

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coeurdalene · 1 year

Text

looking for some light

masterlist | ao3

summary: he tells raleigh, “i want to come back from this mission, ‘cause i quite like my life.” he means, there’s still so much i want to do, so much i have to do. (aka chuck wants to make it through this goddamn war so he can finally live a normal life, even if he doesn’t really know what that means.)

pairing: chuck hansen x reader

warning(s): character death (sorry), swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence.

word count: 3.86k

a/n: i meant to have this finished by the ten year anniversary of the movie but uh… anyways, here it is now! this is my love letter to chuck hansen and also a projection of my want for a beach house.

The universe gifts Chuck an unwanted Christmas present in the form of a memorandum. He swears under his breath when you trudge into the Mission Control Center that morning with a dejected frown on your face and shove the crisp paper into his hands. His eyes fall on the letterhead, embossed with the familiar spread-winged eagle, and he already knows what it contains. He’d been expecting it for months. He resists the urge to scream, to crumple the paper into a ball and hurl it at the trash bin with every ounce of remaining strength in his body. He doesn’t envy you when you announce the bad news to everyone else, fulfilling your final duty as Sydney’s Chief LOCCENT Officer.

Days later, not even twenty-four hours after the Shatterdome decommissioning and right at the beginning of the new year, the universe offers him—and the rest of Sydney—another unwanted gift.

Mutavore is an ugly thing. Nearly ninety meters tall and weighing over two thousand tons, it’s hunched over as if struggling to support its own weight, blade-like plates protruding from its head and back.

“I don’t care how many eyes it has,” he says after you read out its classification and measurements, “I’m gonna kick its ass.”

(Six. It has six eyes. Just because he doesn’t care doesn’t mean he won’t pay attention.)

The category four Kaiju plows through the coastal wall like a knife cutting through warm butter and tramps into Sydney Harbour, stopping only to raise its head and let out a guttural screech, as if barging through a metal barrier hadn't been enough to announce its presence. He wonders how many millions of dollars have now been reduced to rubble at the bottom of the bay and how many weeks were spent welding together beams that took only a few seconds to destroy.

Then, its beady eyes—all six of them—focus on Striker Eureka and her brass knuckles glinting in the sun. It screeches again before charging headfirst into Striker’s swinging fist.

Mutavore dies as quickly as it breached the wall, lying motionless in the bay, blood-soaked missiles lodged in its chest and Kaiju blue staining the water.

“That’s Striker Eureka’s tenth kill to date. It’s a new record,” he boasts to the reporter in the aftermath. He ignores the questions about the decommissioning and brushes off the look his father gives him. Don’t get too cocky, he looks like he wants to say.

When they return to the Shatterdome, the J-Tech crew cleans Striker, polishing her knuckles and wiping Kaiju remains from the Conn-Pod. Chuck takes a long hot shower. Then, the move to Hong Kong begins.

The Anchorage Shatterdome—the cold and stalwart Icebox—had been the first to close. He remembers how you had stared blankly at the official PPDC statement for hours while he watched the newscaster on the television read it out loud. The Marshal had been on the broadcast, too, brought on for further questioning. When the anchor asked about the future of the Jaeger Program, he had assured her that, as long as the Kaiju kept coming, the Jaegers would keep fighting. Chuck had laughed dryly at that. The dwindling funding from the U.N. would say otherwise and whispers of better opportunities at the wall hung in the air, getting louder with every passing day.

The closure of the Icebox set off a string of shutdowns: Lima and Tokyo later that month, Panama City in November, Vladivostok and Los Angeles a few weeks after. The clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before that damned memorandum arrived in Sydney, his fate dictated by its contents.

His beloved Sydney Shatterdome closes at the turn of the year, leaving behind its only remaining sibling in Hong Kong. What had once been a robust network of PPDC hubs was now reduced to one.

And the clock continues to tick.

“We don’t need a stupid wall,” Chuck declares on the flight to Hong Kong, glaring at the news broadcast replaying footage of the Sydney attack. “We need better pilots.”

He’d expressed the same sentiment to the reporter who interviewed him after Mutavore’s attack, too, blaming the fall of the Jaeger program on the mediocrity of those involved. He isn’t sure if it’s that simple—you had explained something to him about politics and funding and morale, government nonsense he didn’t understand—but he sure as hell knows that the Jaegers would be winning if pilots stopped letting the Kaiju kick their asses.

“Have some respect,” his father chides. “Every pilot has fought tooth and nail to protect the people they love.”

And perhaps that’s the truth—it sure is for him. His days consist of sore muscles from training, never getting enough sleep, and always anticipating another fight. He does it for his father, who has been a soldier for as long as he can remember. For his mother, whose untimely death lingers in the back of his mind every time he sets his eyes on a Kaiju. For you, who frequently pulls all-nighters and agonizes over details to make sure the Shatterdome stays running. And for Max, of course. (Silly little dog probably has no idea what a Kaiju is.)

So, yeah, perhaps it is the truth. But it doesn’t change the fact that they only have eight months left of funding, or that the U.N. thinks a wall will fare better than a Jaeger.

“We won’t be getting more pilots. All we can do is work with what we still have,” you chime in, pulling Chuck out of his thoughts. “But, on the bright side, our remaining pilots are some of the best in program history.”

“Including me?” he smirks. You laugh, cheerful and bright, punching his arm lightly. Max shifts in his sleep at the sudden noise. His father gives him that look again. Don’t get too cocky.

He spends the rest of the flight listening to you read briefing notes on “Operation Pitfall,” the Marshal’s shiny new plan to end the war by detonating a bomb at the throat of the Breach. Somehow, the PPDC had procured a thermonuclear warhead from the Russians, entrusting Striker Eureka to carry it while the remaining Jaegers played defense.

Chuck is cynical about this plan. They had already tried (and failed) to drop things into the Breach. A bomb would only bounce back at them and kill anything in range.

He quips sarcastically if the Marshal had thought of that. You respond only by flipping through the file again for an explanation. He knows you won’t find one.

As he steps off the plane and onto the landing pad, he’s met with a grinning Tendo Choi shouting over the patter of heavy rain, “Welcome to Hong Kong!”

The man, wearing a grey suit jacket too wide around the shoulders shakes their hands in greeting before ushering them out of the rain and into the Shatterdome. Chuck sidesteps some J-Techs as he enters, surveying his surroundings.

He had been much younger the last time he visited Hong Kong and much less invested in all the inner workings of the PPDC. He remembers mechanics and pilots shouting and running about, dirt and scuff marks on the floor, and his father reminding him to keep a tight grip on Max’s leash. It had felt unfamiliar then, but he realizes now that it isn’t too different from Sydney. Same high ceiling, same metal catwalks, and almost the same arsenal of Jaegers towering over him. It’s a little older, a little grittier, and a little more worn down, but no longer foreign.

He spots Cherno Alpha in one of the bays, its stalwart form hunkering and heavy. The Kaidanovskys stand at its feet, engaged in conversation. Crimson Typhoon stands opposite it, brilliant red and regal. J-Techs gather around her three arms, inspecting and cleaning the rotating saw blades.

“Striker arrived a few minutes before you did,” Tendo gestures to the shiny silver Jaeger standing in the far bay, metal glinting under the bright lights of the hangar. “The crew is getting her settled in.”

Then, Chuck’s eyes fall on the fourth and final Jaeger. That last he had heard of Gipsy Danger was that she had been decommissioned, damaged beyond repair from a mission gone wrong. But here she stands—untarnished metallic blue, left arm intact, and definitely not lying forgotten in Oblivion Bay.

“What’s that old rustbucket doing here?” he leers, very aware that there isn’t a single speck of rust on her.

“She looks brand new,” you remark.

“She is, sorta,” Tendo replies, “We’ve been fixing her up: a new fluid synapse system, new engine blocks, and a new hull. She’ll be holding the defensive perimeter for you in Operation Pitfall, along with Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon.”

“Does she have pilots?” you inquire.

“Not yet,” Tendo grins. “But she will.”

Chuck hopes that these pilots won’t be incompetent idiots, whoever they might be.

The peaceful moments are rare, but cherished and so welcomed. In these instances, he lets his guard down, breathes deeply, and allows himself to think of anything other than training or fighting.

One of his favorites is somewhere in between Striker’s fourth and fifth kills: a lazy afternoon in bed with your back against the headboard and his head in your lap, sunlight streaming in through the windows with your fingers carding lightly through his hair.

“After this war is over,” he declares, imagining a life without the chaos and destruction that comes with being a Jaeger pilot, “we’ll buy a nice house in the suburbs where we’ll live blissfully for the rest of our lives.”

“The suburbs are nice,” you contend, “but how about a beach house on the Gold Coast? Or Port Douglas?”

He chuckles at that, picturing what living by the ocean without the fear of a Kaiju attack would be like. He would spend his mornings engulfed in the soothing murmur of the sea, gazing out at the unbroken horizon. His afternoons basking in the warmth of the sun, feet buried in the soft sand. His evenings surrounded by music and your melodious laughter, trying not to step on your toes while you lead him through a dance in your living room.

Quiet, he thinks. Serene. The only unrest would be the waves at high tide or the gulls swooping down to steal his food.

“Wherever you want, as long as it’s you and me. And Max. Right, bud?” he grins at the bulldog lying at the foot of the bed. Max lets out a little grunt. Chuck takes that as a sign of agreement.

“Sounds lovely,” you reply, your hand moving to rest against his cheek. He turns his head to kiss your palm, heart soaring at the way you smile softly down at him.

All Chuck knows about Raleigh Becket is that he quit the Jaeger Program. That information alone is enough for him to dislike the guy. He doesn’t trust some washed-up pilot to run defense for him while he carries a 2400-pound bomb on the back of his Jaeger. Doesn’t care that his father fought alongside the guy in Manila or that he single-handedly piloted his Jaeger back to shore. Doesn’t bother to hold back a grimace when Raleigh tells him that he’d been working on the wall for the past five years.

“If you slow me down, I'm gonna drop you like a sack of Kaiju shit,” he hisses at him in the mess hall. He ignores the way his father watches him with disapproval as he stalks away.

His bad mood turns worse when Mako Mori is named Raleigh’s copilot.

He has known Mako for years. They had grown up in Shatterdomes together, met a few times when the Marshal had brought her to Sydney, and briefly bonded over their love of dogs. He’s close enough to her to know that she can fight well and that she has one of the best simulator scores he’s ever seen. (Better than his, although he’d never admit that.) But, she has no experience in a Jaeger and no understanding of what a drift is actually like, which, in his eyes, makes her no better than Raleigh. He isn’t surprised when they’re both out of alignment during their test run, your concerned tone alerting the rest of LOCCENT of the deviation, or when Mako begins chasing the RABIT, raising apprehensive murmurs from the crowd of onlookers. Or when it ends in Tendo pulling the plug on Gipsy’s power.

“Worse mistakes have happened,” Tendo sighs as Gipsy’s plasma cannon goes offline. Chuck scowls. There is no space for even a single mistake in the plan to attack the Breach, especially amateur ones like chasing RABITs. He knows that the Marshal understands this, too.

Later, as he paces in the Marshal’s office, still brimming with anger from Raleigh and Mako’s failure of a test run, he snaps, “He's a has-been. She’s a rookie. I don’t want them protecting my bomb run. sir.”

His father stands across the room, arms crossed and mouth set tightly in a frown. In the corner, you and Tendo are huddled over a tablet, discussing the drift results in hushed voices. The Marshal warns him to watch his tone. Chuck rolls his eyes in response and thinks to himself, He knows I’m right.

He finds Raleigh and Mako standing silently in the hall outside after his father kicks him out of the room. He rounds on the former, seething and jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He turns to Mako, sneering and spitting out some distasteful things, ignoring the feeling that he’ll regret it later.

When Raleigh’s fist makes contact with his jaw, Chuck sees red.

On bad nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat, plagued by nightmares of being painfully ripped to shreds by sharp claws and teeth. Some nights he wakes up angry, frustrated with himself after overanalyzing his fights. Other nights, he relives the moment when he found out about his mother’s death, shaking with body-wracking sobs and shuddering with each intake of breath. But you hold him through it, your soothing hands on his back and comforting words in his ear. He focuses on your voice, steady and calm, and syncs his breathing with yours.

“You’re okay,” you murmur. “They’re just nightmares. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he repeats.

On bad nights, you confess your fear that the war will never end, or that you’ll burn out before it does. Some nights, you feel that you’re not doing enough, that you need to get back to work even though it’s past midnight. Other nights, you worry that you’ll spend your entire life fighting, that you’ll never be able to rest. But he holds you through it, his calloused fingers on your cheeks wiping away your tears. You focus on his touch, firm and resolute, and rest your hands on top of his.

“It’s okay,” you contend, voice shaky but certain. “I have you. This is enough.”

“This is enough,” he repeats.

Yet, he can’t help but want more. He wants the beach house instead of the cold metal walls of the Shatterdome. Wants to wake up to the sun, your smile, and Max’s whining for food instead of doomsday alarms and Kaiju attacks. Wants you to be able to sleep in for once. Wants to spend his days sunbathing and learning to surf instead of training in combat drills and preparing for another attack. Wants to give you some peace, and to find some of his own.

He tells Raleigh, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He means, There’s still so much I want to do, so much I have to do.

Chuck has only felt true fear a few times in his life. Standing on top of his disabled Jaeger with only a flare gun in his hands is one of them. In the moment, he tells himself that he isn’t afraid, that a double event isn’t any different from any other Kaiju attack, and that Striker will come back online in just a second. The adrenaline coursing through his veins overpowers the feeling of impending doom anyway. But, later, as he reflects on the feeling of relief that had washed over when Gipsy’s fog lights enveloped him, he admits that he had been scared shitless. And, he admits (only to himself) that he’s thankful for Raleigh and Mako, even if they’re has-beens or rookies.

He holds you closer that night and knows that you’ve already picked up on all the details of his uneasy expression. Still, he musters up the strength to confess aloud, “I thought we were gonna die.”

You’re silent, responding only by rubbing your hand across his back and hugging him a little tighter. The heavy weight of his lingering fear sits in his chest as he continues, “Dad had injured his arm, our comms were out, Cherno and Crimson were gone, and there was a fucking Kaiju ready to swallow us whole. Shooting that flare at it made it even more pissed off.”

“Not your best idea,” you remark playfully. “You’d think all that training to prepare you for situations like this would help you keep calm and think of something rational to do.”

“It was Dad’s idea, not mine,” he shrugs.

“Well, I’m glad the flare managed to keep it occupied long enough for Gipsy to get there,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “And I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me, too,” he sighs, the weight in his chest lightening slightly.

When he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the war ending and a house overlooking the shore.

If, a year ago, you had told Chuck that he would be piloting a Jaeger with the Marshal Stacker Pentecost, he would have laughed in your face and asked why the Marshal wasn’t off doing better things (like convincing world leaders to keep funding the Jaeger Program or figuring out ways to increase pilot recruitment). And, if you had told him that he would hear the phrase “there’s a third signature emerging from the Breach,” he would have rolled his eyes and declared the situation impossible. (“I’d still kick its ass, though,” he would have probably said.)

Yet, here he is, strapped into Striker with the Marshal as his copilot, only three hundred meters from the Breach, watching a category five Kaiju materialize in front of him. He feels his stomach drop as he lays eyes on Slattern’s angular head and the sharp spike protruding from its chest. When it roars, the water around them ripples, and the ground beneath shakes. He barely has any time to think before the massive beast rears its head and charges, swinging its heavy leathery tail directly at them.

The hit knocks Striker off her feet and sends her crashing into a nearby hydrothermal vent. He winces and swears, body aching and head beginning to throb as streams of water push and jostle the Jaeger. Slattern prepares to charge again just as Striker regains her footing and he easily falls into a fighting stance along with the Marshal, fists clenched and ready to strike. This time, when it attacks, they’re ready—dealing out swift punches that send the Kaiju reeling.

He isn’t sure how much of it is the Marshal and how much of it is himself, but the exhilaration that rushes through him as one of Striker’s sting blades slices across Slattern’s throat reinvigorates him. The other blade cuts into its arms, blue blood spilling from deep gashes. It screeches, and he expects it to rush at them again, but it swims away, blood trailing eerily in the water.

He takes the moment of respite to breathe, and to survey the damage. The harsh red light of the many, many warning messages flashes across his vision. He fiddles with some controls, watches as the Marshal does the same, and sighs heavily when neither of their attempts fixes anything. He resigns himself to hoping that Striker can hold on a little longer. She had gotten him this far, surely she could see him through to the end of this war—and to the beginning of his life at peace.

But–

“The attack jammed the bomb release,” he notices. “We’ll have to manually override–”

A yell from LOCCENT cuts him off. Chuck’s stomach drops even further when he hears someone say, “Striker, you have two Kaiju converging on you fast!”

He curses loudly and immediately knows, There’s no time for a manual override.

The Marshal is on the intercom before Chuck can even begin to formulate a plan, shouting to Raleigh and Mako.

“You know exactly what you have to do,” he declares. “Gipsy is nuclear, take her to the Breach.”

“What can we do, sir?” Chuck asks, bracing for the hit.

“We can clear a path,” the Marshal answers firmly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “for the lady.”

Even without the drift connecting their thoughts, Chuck understands.

“Well, my father always said, ‘If you have a shot, you take it,’” he remarks, knowing that, on the other end, his father is listening with pride. Chuck can admit that he was an arrogant dickhead with no respect for any of the pilots around him and that he never bothered to hide his resentment for his old man, never gave him a reason to like the man his son had become. Yet, he knows—and has always known—that his father is proud of him. (He is proud of his father, too, for what it’s worth.)

In the final moments, his thoughts drift to you: swathed in blankets and gathered in his arms on cold winter nights, perched on the seat of a stationary bike and reading reports while keeping him company in the gym, wrapped in his brown leather jacket with Max’s leash in your hand while accompanying him for walks around the Shatterdome. He recalls your bright laughter when he’d crack stupid jokes, your serious voice you’d use only over the intercom, and the mischievous glint in your eyes when you’d pretend you hadn’t given Max extra treats.

“I love you,” he had said before entering the Conn-Pod, so quietly that only you could hear him, holding you tightly and kissing away your concerned frown. The warmth of your hands against his cheeks had lingered as he had stepped away.

“I love you,” he says now, loud enough for you to hear him over all the noise, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry we’ll never get that beach house.”

“But, I had you,” he says. “It was enough.”

When the bomb detonates, he’s surrounded by blinding light and a deafening boom. And, finally, peace.

In his dreams, he can’t tell where he is, only that Max is sitting at his feet, his father is somewhere in the distance, and you’re next to him with your hand in his, fingers intertwined.

#pacrim #pacific rim #chuck hansen #chuck hansen x reader #chuck hansen x you #chuck hansen imagine #my writing

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harleybeaumont · 1 year

Text

Never Have I Ever

Chaper 20 - Watershed

Book- TRR

Series- Never Have I Ever

Pairings- Bertrand x MC

Chapter Synopsis- What started out as a humiliating ordeal with Savannah has turned into a huge realization for Bertrand.

Chapter Warnings- language, sensuality

Rating - Mature

Word Count- 2,980

A/N- I know it's been a MINUTE since I posted, but I'm back and ready to continue this story! Since it's been a while since I posted the previous chapter, I'm going to include a snippet of what happened at the end of chapter 19 to refresh your memory.

_______________________________________________

Bertrand closed his eyes tightly and imagined Riley in front of him. Instead of the overwhelming scent of Chanel No. 5, he caught the faint note of Riley’s floral shampoo. Suddenly he could taste Riley’s strawberry lip gloss. He caressed her cheek, knowing there were adorable tiny freckles beneath his hand. He ran his fingers through her golden locks which were probably just let out of a messy bun or braid. He felt her arms wrap around him and she whispered against his ear, “Do you want me, Bertrand?” His mind flashed back to Riley laying beneath him, her plump lips curving into a sexy grin as she uttered, “fuck me, Bert.”

Savannah whispered against his ear, “Say my name. Tell me you want me.”

Bertrand smiled with his eyes still closed tightly and replied, “I want you, Riley.”

__________________________________________________

Chapter 20 -Watershed

Bertrand flailed his arms in an attempt to steady himself as Savannah quite literally tossed him out of her bedroom and into the hall. “Savannah, can we just talk about-”

“No, we cannot!” She shrieked, looming in the doorway with her blouse still unbuttoned.

A creak in the hallway snapped their attention to a very startled Riley, who was holding a bag of Chewy Chips Ahoy, attempting to return to her room to watch some trash TV with a late night snack.

“Oh, isn’t this just perfect!?” Savannah spat, now directing her ire at Riley.

“Savannah, please lower your voice! People are trying to sleep and we don’t want to cause a scene.” Bertrand whispered with his hands held in front of him as if trying to calm a wild animal.

“A scene? A scene?! I’ll give you a scene!” Savannah shouted, picking up a vase from a nearby table and raising it over her head, poised to hurl it down the empty hallway. Suddenly her entire demeanor changed and she took several deep breaths. “No.. No. Lady Savannah Jane Walker is better than this. That’s right. She’s a lady. She doesn’t need to lower herself to yelling and screaming and throwing things. Especially not over a man who turned out to be nothing more than a lying, cheating scoundrel.”

Riley watched the scene before her in utter confusion and brought a cookie to her mouth, chewing slowly. This was wilder than anything she could have seen on TV.

Savannah took another deep breath before fixing Riley with a murderous gaze. “And don’t worry, he’s all yours!” She spun around, stomping into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, leaving Bertrand and Riley alone in the hall.

“Riley.. I..” Bertrand started, but Riley nodded her head toward her bedroom which was thankfully at the other end of the hall from Savannah’s.

“Come on. It’s probably safer if we talk away from.. Whatever that was.”

Bertrand dropped down onto Riley’s bed with his head in his hands.

She touched his shoulder softly, “What happened?”

He sighed and mumbled without lifting his head, “Utter humiliation. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Riley?!” Savannah snapped, breaking the kiss and jerking away from him.

“What?”

“You just called me Riley!”

“I’m certain I did no such thing.”

Savannah’s brows furrowed and she looked as if she might physically hurt him. “You did! You son of a bitch! I knew you had a thing for her!”

“No! It’s not like that!”

“So that tramp got her hooks into you!”

“Savannah, that’s not-”

“Don’t lie to me, Bertrand! Are you two having sex?”

“I-I-I.. no?”

“Oh my god! You are!”

At that point, Bertrand could do nothing but drop to his knees and beg. “Please don’t tell anyone!”

Savannah’s mouth fell open and she ran her hands through her hair, pulling slightly so several strands stuck out wildly. “You think I would tell people about this?! This is humiliating for me! The man I’m courting is sleeping with common trash! My reputation would never recover if people found out! Why this whole thing makes me-”

Savannah suddenly stopped and took several deep breaths, speaking with an eerily calm voice. “No, no. Calm down Savannah. You can fix this. There are still several eligible men at court. What’s that idiot’s name? The one who is going to be an earl? Neville? Yes. Yes. We can do this. There’s still time for you. You’re young and beautiful. You’re going to be a countess.”

Bertrand watched her with wide, and slightly fearful eyes before saying, “I am truly sorry for-”

Savannah’s expression once again turned heated. “Oh, you're going to regret this! When I think of all the time I wasted with you, you pathetic, stuttering mess of a man! Get out of my sight!”

He jumped up and rushed for the door and Savannah shoved him roughly into the hallway.

Riley rubbed his back soothingly, trying her best to comfort him. She wished she could have been a fly on the wall for whatever weirdness happened back there. “Ok, we don’t have to talk about it.” She smiled and held out the bag, “want a cookie?”

Bertrand looked up from his hands and burst into laughter and Riley couldn’t help but join in. He smiled genuinely, clearly thankful for some relief from the earlier tension.

“I should probably go.” Bertrand shook his head, looking back down at the floor. “This has been an.. unusual night.”

“Understatement of the century.”

He stood and headed for the door. “I apologize that you had to witness all of that. And I truly hope that you are feeling better than you were earlier today. I was quite worried about you.”

Riley smiled and held out her arms. “Come here.”

Bertrand returned her smile and stepped toward her, easily melting into her embrace. His heart instantly stopped racing. His body erupted in goosebumps and he felt warmer and safer than he had in his entire adult life. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, breathing in everything about her. The warmth of her embrace and the softness of her skin sent him into a comforting and calm place that he didn’t ever want to leave. Despite the horrible night he had, everything was suddenly right with the world and he couldn’t have been happier.

After a few moments, they separated and Bertrand headed back to his own room. As soon as he locked his door, he slumped into a chair, groaning as a new and bittersweet realization overtook his entire being.

There was no use denying it anymore. Riley was his calm, his home. And he was in love with her. Hopelessly, desperately, madly, and completely in love.

_________________________________________________

The following day, the court returned to the palace to prepare for Liam’s upcoming coronation, but the Beaumont’s stayed behind a few more days to attend some upcoming appointments. Bertrand was thankful for some time away from the court, in particular, Savannah. He desperately needed time to think about.. Well, everything.

Bertrand had spent the last four months implausibly falling in love with the woman he had been training to be a queen. When Maxwell convinced him to sponsor this woman, the only reason he allowed it was because having someone from his house be chosen would be a way to secure his legacy. But each day spent with Riley, made him care less and less about his legacy, and more about something new. Something he had never cared about before.

His own happiness.

Growing up, Bertrand always struggled with the guilt that inevitably accompanied any sort of happiness. His childhood and teenage years were almost completely devoid of any sort of joy. Under the scrutiny of his father, he had grown up far too quickly. There was always something he needed to improve on, and his father made sure to inform him of this on a daily basis. His adult life was spent going through the motions of trying to keep house Beaumont in good standing. There was no time for frivolity or romance in any way. Not until people in court began questioning why he hadn’t chosen a wife, did he begin to accept Savannah's persistent propositions for a date.

What was he supposed to do now that everything had changed?

______________________________________________

Riley knocked on Maxwell’s ajar bedroom door, pushing it open when he didn’t answer. “Max? You in here? Ready to go?”

A retching sound from his adjoining bathroom caught her attention. She peered around the corner and found Max slumped over the toilet. “Max, are you ok!?”

“Ughhhh.. Don’t look at me.”

“Aw, honey, what happened?”

“Armando has a stomach bug.”

Riley ran some cold water over a washcloth and blotted his forehead and neck, “Ah, that makes sense. Since you always have your tongue down his throat, you caught it too.”

Max coughed and waved Riley away, “Thank you, but I don’t want you to see me like this. I’m too hideous!” He sniffled dramatically, “Remember me as I once was, Riley. The cool, sexy, charismatic, life of the party.”

“Max, you’re going to be ok!” Riley tried not to laugh at his melodrama. “I’m going to get you some sprite and crackers and pepto bismol. Do you want me to call the doctor?”

Max put his head in his hands, “No, Armando said his is almost over, so it looks like a 24 hour bug.”

After a few moments, Riley returned with a tray full of snacks and medicine and placed it on the nightstand. She turned down his bed, clicked on his TV and lowered the lights. Max staggered into bed and pulled the sheet up to his chin. “Thank you. You’re an angel, you know that?”

She placed the washcloth on his forehead and chuckled, “I don’t know about that.”

Maxwell gasped, “Oh no! Your appointment at the boutique is today!”

“I’m sure I can reschedule.”

“No way! Do you know how many favors I called in to get you into Levre Rouge Boutique at such short notice? You have to get a killer dress for the coronation and show up all those snooty, prissy twats!”

“But.. I don’t want to go alone.”

“Ask Bertrand!”

“Do you think he’d really want to go dress shopping with me?” Riley laughed skeptically, but paused when she noticed the thoughtful look on Maxwell’s face.

“I think he’d be happy to do literally anything with you, Riley.”

Her heart fluttered and she couldn't keep the smile from her face. She patted Maxwell’s hand and made her way to the door, still unable to stop grinning. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, right?”

“I will.” Max smiled and settled into bed. “Now go get something sexy, bitch.”

______________________________________________________

Bertrand waited in the crisp, white and red sitting area of the fanciest dress shop he had ever seen in his life. Levre Rouge Boutique had dressed princesses, celebrities, heiresses, and everyone in between. Whatever they chose for Riley to wear to the coronation would surely be jaw droppingly gorgeous. Not that she needed a new dress for that.

“Ready for the first one?” Riley sashayed out in a sleek, forest green dress that hugged her curves all the way down to the top of her thighs, where a long slit began, ending in a pool of silk at her feet.

She stuck out her leg, allowing the slit to open completely and Bertrand swallowed hard as his eyes betrayed him, taking in every inch of skin he could. “It’s um, um..”

She grinned and waved him over to her side in front of several floor length mirrors. “Come over and see it properly.” She twirled and flared the dress out. “It’ll need to be taken in a bit, and it’s way too long, but the seamstress said they can have any alterations done overnight. Apparently you Beaumont’s have a lot of clout around here for some reason.” She winked and nudged Bertrand, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. “That.. was a joke. I mean, obviously you have clout being nobility.. Bert, you ok?”

He cleared his throat and met her eye line, desperately trying to avoid the ample amount of cleavage protruding from the top of the gown. “It’s lovely. I mean, you’re lovely. I mean, you look lovely.. In the dress.” Bertrand cringed. Somehow he always made a mess of everything he said when she was around.

She smiled and took his hand. “Thank you.”

A plump woman with gray hair pulled into a tight bun blew into the room in a cloud of tape measures and fabric. She spoke to Bertrand with a melodic french accent, “We are honored to have you here, Your Grace. And what do you think of your date's dress? You two will surely turn heads at the coronation in a gown this exquisite.”

“Oh,” Riley turned toward Bertrand, and the two blushed simultaneously, dropping one another's hands and stepping back. “We’re not-”

“She's not my-” Bertrand started. “She's my, uh..”

“Friend!” Riley finished for him. “He’s helping me find a dress. We’re friends.”

“Yes. Friends.”

The woman regarded them skeptically, but grew wide eyed as she seemed to finally recognize Riley. “Oh, mon Dieu! I apologize. When Lord Maxwell contacted me, I did not realize I would be dressing the prince's American suitor! I am so embarrassed. I should have known-"

"It's fine," Riley assured her with a smile. "Don't worry about it."

Yvette regained her composure and turned to Bertrand slyly, "Date or not, you must admit that the green brings out her beautiful eyes, no?”

Bertrand met Riley’s emerald eyes and smiled. “It does.”

Riley grinned back at him and turned toward the mirror. “Madame Yvette, I’m a little worried this one might be too revealing for the occasion. The slit is so high. Would it be inappropriate to wear in front of royalty?”

Yvette tapped her cheek thoughtfully, “Oui, you may be right. Follow me, darling, we will find you something perfect.”

After an hour and a half of trying on dress after dress, Riley had narrowed it down to two. “Bert, I can’t choose! Which one is your favorite?”

“Oh, I don’t think it should be up to me,” Bertrand shook his head.

“Well technically you are paying for it,” Riley wrinkled her nose slightly. “Which I still feel bad about by the way.”

He smiled, “And I’ve told you before, don’t worry about that. Which one do you like the best?”

“Ah, I don’t know! Let me see the other dress one more time!” She changed out of the sequined, mauve gown and back into the scarlet one, then reemerged into the dressing area where Bertrand was waiting patiently. “I’m sorry, this must be so boring for you. We’ve been here forever and I’m so indecisive.”

“You cannot rush perfection!” Madame Yvette mused as she adjusted the dress on Riley, tucking and pinning fabric until it fit just right. “And this, darling.. This is perfection.”

Bertrand simply watched in awe of how gorgeous Riley looked in absolutely everything. He had seen her in ballgowns, pajamas, jeans, and absolutely nothing at all and she was always resplendent. And not just in her appearance, in everything about her. The way she carried herself, the way she could find the good in any situation, the way she cared about everyone.

His heart clenched as he imagined the two of them as a couple choosing an outfit for a ball they would be attending together. They would dance and laugh and everyone would be jealous of him for having the most perfect woman in the world on his arm. It was never going to happen, but it was an amazing thought.

Madame Yvette was called away for a phone call, leaving the two alone. Riley made her way from the platform to the couch where he was sitting and held out her hand. “Dance with me.”

Bertrand was sure he gulped aloud, but he stood immediately. “Dance? Here?”

“Ya, then I can see if this one feels right for a ball. Let’s give it a test drive.” She held her hand out and smiled, “please?”

Bertrand shook his head and grinned, before grasping her hand and wrapping his other arm around her waist. He looked down shyly and Riley leaned her body closer to him.

“Doesn't the fabric feel good? I’ve never worn material so soft and silky before.”

Bertrand nodded, still unable to look in her eyes.

She moved even closer to his body until there was no space left between them. “Touch it.”

He tentatively ran his hand down the fabric of her lower back, sucking in a sharp breath when she took his hand and brought it down further.

“It’s.. quite nice.”

Riley lay her head against his shoulder and he held her close as the two swayed together to the soft jazz music playing over the boutique's speakers. “I bet this seems silly, doesn’t it? Spending all this time picking out a dress.” Especially since there is no way I’m going to marry Liam.

“Nonsense. Besides, any time I spend with you is enjoyable.”

Riley felt a warmth in her chest at his words. “Bertrand, you’re too good to me. I really don’t deserve everything you guys have done.”

Bertrand stopped dancing and looked into her eyes, more serious than she had seen him before. “Never.” His thumb traced softly across her cheek and he leaned in closer. “You deserve everything and more.”

His pulse was pounding as she smiled sweetly at him. He swallowed hard, speaking directly from his heart for once. “Riley.. I need to tell you something. I-”

“Have we made a decision, madame?” Yvette called out from the hallway as she made her way back to the dressing room.

Riley and Bertrand jumped away from each other quickly and Bertrand took out his phone in an attempt to appear nonchalant. Riley looked down at her dress and smiled. “This is the one.”

_______________________________________________

When they arrived back at the estate, it was already dinner time. Riley quickly popped into Max’s bedroom to check on him, and found him sound asleep in bed.

“I’m starving.” Riley sighed as she made her way toward the kitchen, taking a seat beside Bertrand at the bar.

“What would you like to eat? The chef has left for the night, but I can call and have something delivered for you.”

“Anything.. But you pick! I am mentally drained and honestly don’t think I could make another decision tonight if my life depended on it.”

Bertrand opened his mouth to protest, but paused as an idea hit him. “I know just the thing,” he smiled shyly and pulled out his phone.

He was going to have to step way out of his comfort zone for this.

#never have i ever #bertrand x riley #bertley #trr fanfic #the royal romance #cfwc fics of the week #bertrand beaumont #maxwell beaumont #bertrand x mc

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roosterforme · 2 years

Text

The Deployment Diaries Part 13 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley get your groove back. And Bradley takes out the trash for you.

Warnings: Smut, swearing, fuff, angst

Length: 5200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots! Check my masterlist for the reading order!

Monday morning felt like a fresh start to you. You entered your lab to see your usual workmates, minus Josh. Nobody asked where he was or what happened to him, and you wondered immediately if Bickel had said something to everyone else. But you didn't dwell on it, because as long as you were able to enjoy a stress free day, it didn't really matter to you what had been said. You ate lunch with Cam and Maria, trying to catch a glimpse of Bradley while you were in the cafeteria. But all you got from him was a text message letting you know he would be working a little late today. You sighed. You had been hoping to surprise him by taking him out to dinner since you never really had a proper welcome home meal ready for him in your distraught state.

Even though you'd had a great afternoon at work, you were still a little disappointed when you got home. You showered, changed and made dinner, but Bradley wasn't back yet. He hadn't texted you again either. You were about to take Tramp out for a walk when your boyfriend burst through the front door, still in his flight suit. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry I'm so late!" he called, heading right for you with a huge bouquet of yellow flowers in one hand. He was so lovely, he took your breath away. You wrapped your arms around his waist and let him kiss you as his fingers tangled in your hair. When he started to pull away with a smile on his face, you pressed up on your toes until your lips met his again. "I like it so much better when you're home," you whispered against his lips while your eyes were still closed. Bradley chuckled and you took the flowers from him with a smile. "Thanks, Roo. Dinner's ready, unless you want to walk Tramp before we eat?" "Nah, I'm starving. Been thinking about eating dinner with you all day, Baby Girl. But Mav kept Nat and I late to go over a bunch of things we had apparently missed while we were gone." You knew exactly what he was talking about, because it came directly from your lab. You just didn't know he was going to have to do it today. Your heart skipped a beat knowing you were hopefully making his job safer. When Bradley sat down at the table, still in his flight suit, you made yourself comfortable on his lap. He listened intently when you told him about your day, kissing your cheek between bites of food. Then you walked Tramp to the beach together after Bradley got changed. When you reached for his hand, he laced his fingers through yours and kissed your knuckles. He held your hand for the entire walk, and everything felt good, really good. And you realized you hadn't felt the prickle of tears behind your eyes once all day. --------------------------------------- Bradley held your hand in his, and you took turns, trading off who held onto Tramp's leash. The three of you tripped along down the sidewalks, dodging sprinklers and pulling Tramp away from flower beds while you laughed. Things felt more normal today between the two of you. God, Bradley had missed this so much. His heart squeezed every time he looked at you smiling and laughing. When you reached the beach entrance, you started to lead him onto the rocks and sand, but he pulled you gently to a stop, and Tramp plopped down, taking a break and panting at your feet. "What?" you asked him, probably wondering why he'd stopped you so randomly. "I just wanted to kiss you," he replied, and he smiled as you pulled him closer to you, inch by inch until his chest met yours. "I wanted to kiss you and tell you how much I love you." You reached up and stroked his mustache before letting your hand rest on his shoulder. "Okay, kiss me, Roo. And tell me how much you love me." He took his time about it. He watched his fingers tangle in your hair as the breeze tossed it around a bit. The setting sun made your beautiful skin glow such a pretty shade he couldn't have imagined it if he tried. And that thought was startling to him, because he thought about you almost nonstop. He thought about everything, imagined everything when it came to you. But he couldn't have pictured in his mind's eye just how perfect you were right now. Your eyes were searching his earnestly as he brushed your hair back from your face. He let his rough thumb touch the soft skin of your cheek, marveling over how good that felt. But that was how you always were. Your voice, and your laugh, and your crooked smile when he was telling you a funny story. The way you said things in such a matter of fact way. The way you loved him and took care of him. It always felt so good yet totally unbelievable to him. He trusted you. And he'd earn your trust back completely. Let you know it was okay to trust him when he promised he was never going to ask you to leave. Never going to do anything to jeopardize having you with him. He knew you were scared. But he also knew he was a broken person, and that you made him whole. Your lips parted as you drew in a deep breath, and he kissed you softly, longingly. Both of your hands found their way around his neck, as Tramp's leash slipped from your grasp. Bradley's heart beat faster as your lips skimmed over his. He let his fingers tangle further into your hair as he wrapped his other hand around your lower back. When his nose bumped yours, and you gasped for air, he pressed his forehead to yours. "Baby Girl, you're everything to me." Once you both finally made it onto the beach with Tramp, you let Bradley hold you while the sun set. You sat in front of him on the rocks, and your hand rested on his thigh and warmed his skin through his shorts. Bradley buried his nose in your hair and closed his eyes, filling his senses with you while you talked to Tramp and watched the sun dip below the horizon. ------------------------------------ "Which show do you want to watch?" Bradley asked you, a while later. "You pick, Roo. You're the one who was TV-less for eight weeks," you replied, settling on the couch next to him and handing him the remote. Bradley couldn't have given less of a shit about what was on the TV, because you were touching him again. So he chose an episode of your favorite show, and you snuggled up next to him, tucked against his side. Then Tramp settled down on the floor with his head on Bradley's feet, and it was a miracle Bradley could pay attention to the show at all. Three-quarters of the way through the episode, you turned to look up at him, whispering, "I missed you so much." Then you kissed his neck. Bradley held you close as you rose up onto your knees and kissed his lips, your soft hands caressing his cheeks and shoulders. And every time you pulled back, you just looked at him, like you were surprised he was really there. "I love you," he told you, every time you looked at him like that. You were smiling. And then you were laughing. And your laughing lips pressing against his made him dizzy. You just simply smiled and laughed and kissed him, but there was nothing simple about it. His heart leapt, and he was laughing too. Before you, kissing had never meant much to him, other than a means to getting laid. But Bradley would have gladly kissed you all night just to see that smile, the one you saved just for him. The show had ended, and Bradley subconsciously knew the TV screen was prompting you two to make a decision about watching another episode, but your fingers were in his hair now. His brain was screaming out for you and only you. He tightened his arms around your back, and you squealed as he pulled you flush against him. He let you kiss him more, but that's all you seemed to want to do. And that was fine with him. "Sweetheart, it's getting late," he whispered against your neck, placing a soft kiss to your jaw. "Let's get some sleep, okay?" He needed to get up and get ready for bed, because he was getting pretty hard now, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel pressured about having sex with him again before you were ready to. "Mmm, okay," you replied before kissing the tip of his nose and caressing his scars. Bradley watched you stand and stretch before heading toward the bedroom, and he took Tramp out to the backyard. After the dog was finished and ready to head inside, Bradley crouched down to pet him and tousle his ears. When he carried Tramp into the bedroom, Bradley smiled at the sight of you already in bed, wearing his shirt and your glasses. "Hurry up and get in bed, Roo. I want to cuddle more." ------------------------------------------- Tuesday was just as pleasant as Monday had been. Perhaps all of that time you'd spend working late with Josh had actually been extremely toxic for you. It hadn't felt bad at the time, but now that he was gone, you were getting so much quality work done. Sonya was wonderful, too. She really made your job much easier. As soon as you got home, you saw a text from Bradley telling you he was on his way. "Daddy will be home soon," you told Tramp as you let him out the sliding glass door. It was so hot outside today, you were already undressing from your uniform in the dining room. "Fucking khaki monstrosity," you muttered as you pulled your shirt off. You stopped in your bedroom and grabbed the basket of dirty laundry before taking everything into your tiny laundry room. You were carefully removing all of the pins from your uniform shirt when you heard the front door close. "Sweetheart?" Bradley called for you, and your heart skipped along at a faster pace. You pressed your lips together and sighed. "I'm in the laundry room!" you replied, and a moment later he poked his head in with a smile. You watched as his smile slipped a little bit, turning into a look of awe as he stepped all the way into the room. His hands clenched into loose fists at his sides as he looked at you standing there in your bra and high waisted uniform pants. You could practically feel the weight of his gaze on you, and it seemed like he was struggling to keep his hands to himself. All you knew for sure right then was that you wanted him. You needed him. You needed him to touch you. You needed his body. "Why don't you get undressed, and I'll wash your uniform too?" you asked, and your voice sounded needy even to your own ears. "Fuck," Bradley muttered, his eyes wide as you watched his fingers work on his shirt buttons. You helped him remove his shirt and undershirt, and then you kept your hands busy by removing his uniform pins while he removed his belt and unbuttoned his pants. You set his pins in the tray next to the sink alongside yours before adding his shirt to the washing machine. As your boyfriend pulled down his tight khaki pants, giving you a clear view of his penis straining against his light gray boxer briefs, you audibly moaned. Bradley's eyes snapped up to yours, looking up at you as he had his pants down to his knees. "I want you," you whispered. His groan in response echoed around the laundry room, and you were gasping for air as he stepped out of his pants and took a step closer to you. "Baby Girl," he rasped. His voice was needy and his cheeks were flushed. You knew he had waited more than eight weeks for you, and you also knew he would wait longer if you wanted him to. "Oh, Sweetheart. Can I touch you?" You didn't want to wait any longer. You nodded your head and licked your lips, but you were already in his arms before he even reached you. "I want you, Roo. Oh, God! I need you!" Your lips were on his neck, sloppy kissing his scars, and your hands were gripping his huge biceps. "Baby Girl," he grunted, running his hands all over your back and down to your ass. "Fuck, are you sure?" "Yes," you whispered, and he was kissing your lips hard, backing you up until your butt hit the washing machine. You could feel his hands everywhere. Messing up your hair, sliding down your neck, unhooking your bra. He was hard and ready for you, but when you reached for the front of his underwear, he moved your hands back up to his chest. "Gotta slow down, or I'm not gonna last," he gasped looking you right in the eyes as he smiled. "I love you," he said before pressing his lips to yours again and squeezing your breasts. Your lungs felt like they were on fire, and you moaned out loud again as Bradley quickly removed your uniform pants and your socks. Then he knelt in front of you, stroking the fronts of both of your thighs with his thumbs. "I love you," he said again, placing soft kisses to your core through your underwear. You let your head tip back. Everything felt so good, and then Bradley was pulling your underwear down and licking your pussy, and it was euphoric. You threaded your fingers gently through his wavy hair, holding him to you while he licked and sucked. When Bradley guided one of your legs over his shoulder to get better access to your soaking wet pussy, you started grinding yourself against his face. "Oh my God," you moaned as he dipped his tongue inside you while his nose rubbed your clit. He slowed his pace, licking and sucking on your clit just the way you liked it, and soon you felt him pushing two fingers inside you. As soon as he worked his fingers against your most sensitive spot, he had you coming and squeezing around him. You tipped your head forward and watched him place soft kisses to your clit, his mustache prickling your soft skin. As your moaning subsided, Bradley glanced up at you while kissing your thigh which was trembling on his shoulder. You could see that his mustache was wet, and you needed to taste yourself on him there. "Come here," you whispered. Bradley gently kissed your leg one more time before setting your foot back on the floor. He stood to his full height and caged you in against the washing machine. You reached up and wrapped both of your hands around his neck, and when you guided him closer and licked his mustache, he moaned. "Baby Girl, you make me crazy. You know that?" You licked his mustache and kissed his lips, loving the way you tasted on this man's mouth. "Bradley," you whispered, reaching for the front of his underwear again. This time he let you grab the elastic and undress him. You grinned at him from where you were caught between his body and the washer. "Nice socks," you said, glancing down at the only article of clothing remaining on either of you. "Just for that, they stay on," he rasped with a smirk. You started laughing and Bradley kissed your neck and smiled against your skin. You felt his dick jumping against your skin where he was pressed to your belly. "You sure you want to do this, Sweetheart? We can still stop." You reached down between your bodies and wiped the bit of his precum from your hip bone and licked it from your index finger tip. Bradley groaned as you said, "I'm sure. I want you. I never stopped wanting you, Roo. I was just so scared." Bradley pressed himself harder against you, caressing your neck with both large hands before tilting your face up to look at him. He kissed your lips once before telling you, "You have nothing to be scared about, Baby Girl. I promise. You never have to be scared of me." "I know, Roo. I do know that." You rubbed your hands along his hard cock before spinning around toward the washing machine and looking at him over your shoulder. ------------------------------------------ Bradley was sweating. He hadn't been with you like this in two months, and he was so excited, he was afraid he would only last a minute. But right now you were rubbing your ass along his dick and looking up at him over your shoulder with such a lust-filled expression, and he couldn't wait to be inside you. So he would do his best to please you, because you always chose him over and over again. He took you by the hips and lifted you up to your tiptoes while bending you over and pressing the front of you against the washing machine. You gasped as he pressed your tits against the cold metal and caressed your hips and waist. You were still whining and rubbing yourself back against him as he used his knee to gently nudge your thighs apart. You were moaning his name over and over, and he was trying so hard to focus. He lined himself up with your entrance and pushed himself slowly inside, almost crying out when he was fully seated. You felt that fucking good to him. He tried to hold still while you were trying to get your footing, but Bradley held you in place with his right hand on your hip. He ran his left hand from your left shoulder all the way to your fingertips, before wrapping his fingers around yours. He pulled your hand back to his mouth and kissed your palm before stretching your arm out along the top of the washing machine and pinning it in place. Then Bradley leaned down, pressing his chest against your back, letting you feel his weight against you. He was kissing you just below your ear and whispering your name as he started to thrust slowly. "Baby Girl, you make everything better. I'm in love with you." "Roo!" you whined as he loved your body. He kissed your neck and teased your ear with his nose. He whispered your name and let his right hand slowly wrap around your body until he was stroking your clit. "Oh, I love you," he groaned, squeezing your left fingers in his, stretching your arm further until you were barely touching the floor. You were whining loudly now as he ran his lips along your neck, licking the line of your spine. He felt the squeeze in his balls and knew he was beyond the point of return, thanks to all the sexy noises you were making. "I love you, Bradley," you gasped, and that was it for him. With a loud groan, he was cumming inside you, but he knew you weren't quite there yet. He wanted you to come a second time while he was still inside you, so he worked his fingers slow and steady along your clit. His cum was oozing out of you, and he swirled the slickness against your sensitive bud with his fingers. He buried his nose in your hair, and stroked you until you pressed back against him and cried out, squeezing around his softening cock. He collapsed against you, rubbing his sweaty forehead along your cheek. You pulled his left hand along with yours across the top of the washing machine until his fingers were pressed against your lips. Bradley slowly stood upright and eased you back to the floor until you were standing in front of him. You spun in his arms and looked up at him with your hands on his chest. Bradley scooped you up into his arms and carried you to the bedroom, and your lips were connected with his the entire way there. He stretched out on the bed with you straddling his waist and kissing him. You started giggling. "You still have your socks on." Bradley glanced down at his feet. "I told you they were staying on, Sweetheart. You were touching me. I couldn't have figured out how to take them off at that point anyway." You smiled and settled against his chest, wrapping your arms around him and tucking them under his back. Bradley rubbed both of your shoulders as you whispered, "Thank you for loving me no matter what." -------------------------------------- "Is this for real?" Bradley asked when he showed up at your office on Wednesday afternoon. You spun in your seat to see him standing in the open doorway. "Roo! What are you doing here?" He stalked toward you with a grin on his face. "I got an email and then I talked to Mav. He told me I get to take you up with me. In Phoenix's F/A-18. Is that for real?" You smiled at him and nodded. "That's right. I need to fly for research purposes, and I got to choose my pilot. Turns out Phoenix is busy that day, so I picked you. Bradley barked out a laugh and you stood and wrapped your arms around him. "Nat would have jumped at the chance, and you know it," he said, kissing you on the top of your head. "I can't stay, Sweetheart. I have to get back to the classroom, but I just wanted to confirm that I get to take my favorite person flying with me." You smiled against his uniform. "See you at home?" "Of course," Bradley replied, but you were rubbing your hand along his abs with intent. After the laundry room yesterday, you and he had eaten dinner and then had sex in the shower. Everything felt like it should, but Bradley was being cautious. "How about you meet me in the laundry room again after work today?" you asked him softly. "We got so distracted, we never actually ran that load of laundry." Bradley chuckled. "Yeah, I'll meet you there." And that's what had him running into the house just after 5 o'clock, barely stopping to pet Tramp on his way to the laundry room. "Jesus," Bradley muttered as he rushed in and saw you sitting on top of the running washing machine, completely naked, your hair still in a bun. You smiled and reached for him, and Bradley was just a lost cause. After you helped him mostly undress, he stood before you in his boots with his pants and underwear around his ankles. "Tell me, Lieutenant Bradshaw," you said, while stroking his length. The use of his rank and last name coming from your mouth made him painfully hard in your hands. "Why are you suddenly obsessed with keeping your uniform socks on?" Bradley tipped his head back and chuckled, loving that you could always make him laugh. "Do you think your girlfriend prefers it that way?" you asked, still running your fingers along his length. He looked you in the eye. "I'm not sure. Would my girlfriend prefer it if I removed the socks?" "No, she finds you oddly charming no matter what you're wearing," you whispered, and he kissed your lips softly. Soft kisses turned a little more frantic as Bradley pushed your legs further apart and fucked you slowly where you sat on the running washing machine. "My girlfriend is charming all the time," he whispered next to your ear as you came for him. "The laundry room is my new favorite room," you said, and Bradley fervently agreed as he came inside you. --------------------------------------- After the laundry load was completed, and dinner had been eaten, Bradley cleaned the kitchen in his underwear while you got changed to go to the Hard Deck. "Just one drink though, okay?" you said when Bradley joined you at the bathroom sink. "I know everyone is obsessed with Wednesday happy hour, but I have to be at work really early tomorrow." He kissed the back of your neck and made it difficult for you to finish putting your makeup on. "Yeah, just one drink," he agreed, peppering your neck with kisses. "Or we can just stay in?" You laughed. "I already told Phoenix we'd be there. Apparently you owe her a drink for borrowing her Super Hornet next week. Oh! And I wanted to ask Bob and Fanboy for pointers on how to be an excellent backseater! I want to make sure you're impressed by me." Bradley laughed. "Baby Girl, if I were any more impressed by you, my brain would stop functioning. Now let's go so we can get back and cuddle." The Hard Deck was busy, as usual, but you and Bradley made a beeline for the other aviators at the pool tables. You felt your boyfriend's hand on your waist as he stood behind you with his chin on your shoulder, and you were sipping identical bottles of beer. "Bob and Fanboy, I need your help!" you said, gathering the two weapon systems officers together. "I need you guys to tell me how to be an amazing backseater, because I get to fly with Rooster next week!" --------------------------------------------- Bradley was really enjoying himself, listening to you asking the other aviators for tips about flying with him. He loved that you were taking your job as his backseater for the day very seriously. "Hey, Bradshaw," he heard Jake say before the other man grabbed his shoulder a little roughly. Bradley turned and looked at Jake who looked very displeased. "He's here," Jake whispered. Bradley tried to stay calm, but his heart was immediately pounding in his chest. He couldn't believe Josh decided to come back to the Hard Deck, where he had fucking touched you the last time you saw him. You seemed to be doing okay now, but you were still processing everything that had happened to you. The fact that Josh had lost his job and now his wife in rapid succession had seemingly made things easier for you. But Bradley wasn't going to let him get to you again, physically or mentally. So Bradley kissed your cheek, and left you to talk to the others with your back turned to the bar. Nat nodded at Bradley, and he knew she would keep you distracted and safe. His best friend was good like that. "Which one is he?" Bradley grunted at Jake once he'd taken a few steps away from you. But he already knew. Josh was looking longingly across the bar to where you were standing with your back to him. And then he made eye contact with Bradley. "Tall, dark hair, gray shirt, looking right at you," Jake drawled calmly. "You want me to come outside with you? Phoenix already knows, and she said she'll keep Angel inside." "Nah," Bradley replied quietly, maintaining eye contact with Josh, who had the decency to look a little scared. "I'll do it alone. Unless you wanna watch." "Have at him. I'll come out and make sure you're not interrupted," Jake promised before he followed Bradley silently across the bar. Bradley approached Josh with a very calm exterior, but inside he was raging again. "Let's go outside." Bradley practically growled at the other man who just raised a concerned eyebrow in return. "Now." Josh eyed Bradley up before turning and heading for the door. Bradley had been raised in a very peaceful home by Carole Bradshaw. She taught him to talk about his feelings instead of resorting to violence. But then again, Carole had never met you. She never got to see Bradley fall in love. And Bradley liked to think his mom would have made an exception for this singular occasion. Once all three of them were outside, and Jake was playing the part of lookout at the door, Josh spun around to face Bradley. "Hey, look man, your girl-" Bradley grabbed him by his shirt collar and rammed his back against the deck railing, and the entire length of wood rattled violently. "Shut the fuck up, asshole. I know exactly who you are and exactly what you did. I do not need to hear it from you." Josh opened his mouth to speak again, but Bradley hoisted him a little higher and shook him by the shirt collar. "I did not give you permission to talk!" Bradley shook with anger as Josh made eye contact with him again. "You even think about touching my Y/N again... you so much as look at her, and I'll ruin your fucking miserable life." Josh sucked in a breath and opened his mouth to speak, and Bradley grinned, because this man was about to give Bradley even more permission for him to wreck his face. "She let me work late with her all the time. She got drinks with me every week while you were gone, man. You have no idea." Bradley set Josh back down and straightened out his shirt with both palms before nodding solemnly. "Yeah, she's really something else, isn't she? Sweet and friendly and smart. And pretty. She's so fucking pretty. But she's not yours." Bradley slowly raised both of his fists to chest level, and watched the look of panic on the other man's face as he made two fists as well. Then Bradley punched Josh one time hard in the nose and watched him double over in pain, grabbing at his bloody face. And then Bradley grabbed him hard and rammed his knee into Josh's ribs, relishing in the cracking sound followed by groaning before tossing him to the ground. Once Josh started coughing and scrambling as if to stand, Bradley stepped on his fingers, keeping him in place. Then Bradley growled, "You disrespect her again, physically or verbally, and you'll need someone to call an ambulance for you. Understand?" Bradley yanked Josh up by his hair, forcing eye contact. "You stay the fuck away from her, and you stay the fuck away from the Hard Deck. This is my bar, and that is my girl." Jake came to stand next to Bradley as they watched Josh hold his nose and stumble through the parking lot, presumably to his car. "He won't be back," Jake drawled. "He better fucking not be," Bradley hissed, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. When Bradley went back inside and rejoined the conversation about weapon systems officers, you smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You okay, Roo? You look very deep in thought," you whispered. He pulled you into a hug. "I was just thinking about how much my mom would have loved you, Sweetheart. And she would have been completely delighted by how in love with you I am." It was the truth. And when you reached for his right hand and he winced a bit, he simply told you that he had hurt his hand earlier that day taking care of something annoying.

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I hope you enjoyed this outrageously long chapter! Thanks for reading!

Part 14 is here

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