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itsonlydana · 3 months

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"I Didn't Know That I Was Starving Till I Tasted You" | hobbit

➛ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

➛ When you get stood up by your date all you want to do is morph with the couch, eat ice cream and watch Pride & Prejudice. It's a shame your roommate/best friend Thranduil doesn't agree with those plans.

➛ warnings/tags: modern!au, roommate!au, friends-to-lovers, chef!thranduil, swf, kissing

➛ words: 9,3k

➛ an: sooo let's ignore that i said i wasn't writing anymore <3 i'm still not taking request but i have a few fics that i'll post over the next few weeks!

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The sound of keys turning in the lock sounds through your apartment before the door opens and closes, making you wince.

The piano music playing through the expensive stereo system is loud enough that you could blame your reaction for not reacting to it. After a brief moment, a deep voice echoes from the hallway, marked by an incredulous "Huh?" and followed by an urgent "What?" accompanied by hurried footsteps.

"Hello?! What– what are you still doing here? You should be dressed up and in a cab by now!"

Your roommate and best friend Thranduil rushes into the living room, you can see his tall figure out of your peripheral vision.

Not that it would change where he stands.

You don't bother to turn around and continue to hide between the mountain of pillows and blankets you had accumulated on the couch, watching the movie playing on the big screen in front of you.

"Uhh– Mister Bingley arrived from the North," you comment on the happenings of the Bennets' house, a spoonful of ice cream held to your mouth.

Thranduil steps closer, dropping his coat and a bag on the wing chair next to the couch. "What–"

Instead of answering his question, you let the ice cream melt on your tongue, mumbling a "5000 a year?" with a mouth full of chocolate.

"Talk to me, woman!"

"He's single!" you sigh happily and throw a dramatic hand in the air.

Before you can lower it again, Thranduil snaps and snatches your hand, cold fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you towards him. Finally, you look up to him and are confronted with your very baffled-looking best friend.

"If you don't tell me why you aren't on the way to the fabulous third date with Marcus-"

"Jake."

Thranduil rolls his eyes at the interruption: "Fine, why aren't you on the third date with Jake right now and instead sulk on the couch watching Pride & Prejudice again? I thought we promised to take a break from watching it anyway."

You push out your lower lip, pouting. "I'm not sulking," you say in a tone so drawn out it completely defiles your statement. Thranduil doesn't say anything, he just lets his gaze slowly wander over the blankets you are buried under, to the half-eaten ice cream bucket to the TV where the Bennet sisters are currently caught eavesdropping on their parents' conversation. He doesn't need words to express himself, the judgment is silent in words but loud in the raise of his dark eyebrow.

"Fine," you groan, admitting defeat. "He canceled."

Thranduil's gaze softens as he sits down next to you on the edge of the sofa and he slowly drops your hand from his grip. "He canceled," he repeats, eyes falling back to the ice cream.

"He canceled," you confirm with a sigh "Just like I predicted- so I don't know why I even bothered to dress up. I even bought that stupid dress just because he wanted to go out to this new fancy Italian place. He canceled and because I waited 15 minutes for him to not show up, standing outside - in the cold might I add- I think I am allowed to sulk a little!"

In the end, you had talked yourself into quite a rage and fall back into the pillows, your arms crossed in front of your chest. "And no, you said I should take a break from watching that movie but since you are not my mother I am allowed to watch whatever!"

You pierce him with a glare but only for a moment before you deflate.

"Sorry for getting all bitchy there," you shuffle around, hands searching for the remote to stop the movie.

"It's alright," Thranduil says and cocks his head. "Now that you are done, am I allowed to go after him and nail his balls to the ground for standing you up?"

A smile tugs on your lips as you shake your head. "No, you are not. I'm sure he has his reasons." The reason wasn't spelled out in the message but after hopping around in the dating scene for a while now, you know what ´I'm sorry but I don't think we really fit. You are a great person though!´ means.

It was nothing new, though it hurt the same as it did the first time.

"Well, unless there was a sudden death in his family I don't see a reason why he couldn't have canceled before the date," he huffs "-you know like a normal person would do"

You shrug your shoulders. "It's done now. Maybe it just wasn't supposed to happen."

"No, it wasn't. Not with a guy like him," Thranduil shakes his head, the long braid of silver blonde hair getting even more disheveled by the movement. "You deserve a man that doesn't cancel, doesn't let you stand outside in the cold!"

"Yes," you sigh again, staring wistfully at the TV "my Mister Darcy."

"He was literally the reason why Elizabeth ran out into the rain and cold," Thranduil responds deadpanned and you throw a pillow in his direction which he elegantly catches.

"I will not stand for this Darcy-hate! Ugh, you are such a bad friend," you whine, "I got stood up and you are making fun of one of the two people who have never let me down.. one person now that you decided to be a meanie!" You once again pout.

This time it works, a little too well because suddenly Thranduil looks at you with that one look of him, the one that breaks through every defense you could build up. He looks at you like you just told him you were dying, all the compassion he can find in his otherwise cold heart spilling out of his cerulean eyes that wander over your face.

"You know you have every right to feel sad about the date not happening," he says carefully, tilting his head slightly in a way that oozes pity, "You were looking forward to it, you even bought a dress for it. Let me cheer you up, I can cook something for you and we can watch a movie later or we can go out and drink until I have to hold your hair in the bathrooms." He smiles softly, sincere and it makes you want to jump up from the couch and hide in your room.

You two didn't do sincere; you bantered, you made jokes on behalf of the other and you most certainly did not comfort each other after a failed date. Your friendship needed lightheartedness, it thrived on sarcasm and arguments about everything and anything that came to your minds.

But the offer is tempting, especially the cooking part. Thranduil is a chef, working in his own restaurant; 'The Green Leaf' and he did a damn good job at it. Most nights, like this one, he comes home and cooks for you because apparently, Goldfish crackers were not as good for your diet as one part of the name misled you to believe and even though you made fun of Thranduils diet as well, fully vegan and with a distaste for anything that made life worth living like chocolate ice cream, he knew exactly how to whip up a meal that had you salivating.

You stare him down, weighing your options. Option one was to remain on the couch where you would shovel the ice cream down until you would inevitably get sick, watching Pride & Prejudice and mourning the never-happening and probably very boring date you would’ve had.

Option two would entail a doubtlessly very delicious meal as well as the possibility of getting drunk as fuck in a bar.

The choice comes easy.

"Okay," you agree and raise a pointed finger at him as a victorious grin spreads on his lips "But-" you wiggle the finger "you will not do this out of pity because I do not need pity from a man!"

Thranduil's grin only seems to grow, lightening up his eyes "No of course not. No pity here. I promise!" He stands up from the couch in a hurry, grabbing the bag he had left on the chair. When you don't move except to reach for the remote again, he shakes his head. "Leave Mr. Darcy for another day, you have to change!"

"Change?" you ask bewildered, looking around the apartment. "I thought you were going to cook here and not at the restaurant. Why would I need to change now?"

Thranduil scoffs, turning his back to you to walk towards the kitchen, his voice growing louder as it's accompanied by the sound of the fridge opening.

"Because I know you spent the entire day planning your outfit. You said you bought a new dress and I will not cook you an entire meal for you to sit there in your sweatpants!" he calls out and you throw your head against the couch with a groan that has Thranduil leaning out of the kitchen door

"You want the food, you follow the chef's orders," he copies the raised finger in your direction "Don't be a brat, get your butt off the couch and into your room before I have to spank you! I'll call you when you can come out."

The threat is met with you sticking your tongue out and one second thinking you could defy the order but that is until he fakes a quick step back into the room and you peel the blankets away squeaking "I'm moving! I'm moving!" while stumbling through the living room. "Jeez"

Despite knowing he would never hurt you the thought of Thranduil spanking you has you blushing a ridiculous amount and you don't turn around so he doesn't see it.

"But just so you know, I will wear the dress but only so I don't have to squeeze myself into it after dinner when we go out!" you yell over your shoulder instead and you swear you hear him chuckle before you slip into your room and close the door behind you.

The sweatpants land on your bed, followed by the sweater you had put on after getting the text message from Jack. You remain in your underwear, which you hadn't been bothered to change and stare at yourself in the mirror of your wardrobe. You are confronted with the blush the spanking comment had left on your cheeks and down your neck, and you scowl at the image.

He is your best friend and roommate.

Get a grip!

The dress you had bought for the date still hangs on the wardrobe door, a short, and black number that wasn't something you would normally wear but when you had stalked the Instagram Account for the place you would’ve eaten at today, nothing already existent in your closet had seemed fitting.

Staring at it now you question the length as well as the relatively deep front and back. After all, this was a normal dinner with your best friend, right? Yes, you would maybe leave for a club or bar after this and you had worn all kinds of clothes for a night out with Thranduil in your company but this dress had been bought for the sole reasons of looking sexy and with the hopes of getting lucky.

You shake the thoughts away and grab the hanger with the dress on.

This was a normal dinner with your best friend and this was just a dress. He had seen you in other skimpy clothes and literally any other form of dressed as well as undressed on several accidental occasions. There is no need to think this over and fall into an endless spiral of doubts.

With a nod to yourself for this mature thinking, wow, aren't you a well-functioning grown-up? – you slip the garment over your head, pinching and twisting the fabric until it sits to your satisfaction.

The hem barely covers your thighs, just doing enough so it wouldn't flash your bottom at the slightest movement but showing enough leg for you to feel powerful. The same was with the deep neckline. Bending forward was not an option, though it would draw eyes on you, hopefully.

You put the discarded jewelry back on again, a subtle choker necklace and a pair of more flashy earrings with - sadly fake- diamonds dangling and catching the light in them. The makeup is done quickly as well, some touches of a brush on your jawline, some lovely shade of lipstick on your lips, the movement of routine flows through your body with no need to really think about it.

After spraying some of your favorite perfume on your neck and behind your ears you wait.

Sitting on the edge of your bed you wait and you definitely don't think back to Thranduil's statement. No. Never.

Maybe a little bit.

Because when he calls out for you a fifteen-minute heads-up, you feel the blush coming back and the suspicion confirms itself at the last look in the mirror. You raise your head, challenging the woman in the mirror with an arch of the eyebrow before walking out the door and into what could only be described as a fever dream.

The living room is dark, the moss green curtains pulled closed except for a small gap where the afternoon sun filters through into the flat. The dining room table is clear from all the jackets, mail and stuff that accumulates throughout the day and week that are usually thrown on it and instead, there are candles.

Candles!

Candles in silver candleholders, like actual burning candles. Next to the expensive-looking candleholders is a vase filled with lavender, full and flourished purple flowers that fill the room with a soft and dizzying smell.

Suddenly you are very glad you are not in your sweats anymore, there is a heat rising in your body and setting your cheeks aflame.

Fidgeting with your hands you quietly step forward into the room to the kitchen, your eyes flittering from the table to the cleaned-up sofas and then you can see Thranduil rushing from the counter to the stove.

His back is turned to you, offering you a view of broad shoulders and arms flexing beneath the white shirt he had changed into, and even worse, the tight black pants he now wears, showing off his long legs and- you look a little higher, checking him out and blushing like it's a guilty pleasure.

Of course, the pants would show off his perfect arse as well.

You shouldn't stare.

No matter how magnificent the sight is.

And oh, it surely is magnificent.

You snap back into reality, take a lavender-filled breath, and walk into the kitchen.

It's a beautiful kitchen, not one of the reasons you had first checked out the apartment but one that had tipped the arguments for it in the end. And you are glad it did, because when you had taken roommate applications Thranduil simply waltzed into it, nodded and offered you the first year of rent with 25% on top of it if you would remove the pop-into-the-microwave-Lasagna from the freezer and never dared to buy something like that again.

His brisk and bold and sometimes very harsh attitude would've maybe frightened any other person off but you had seen the money, the prospect of a cook as a roommate and a handsome one at that, and had held out the contract with one hand while the other threw out the lasagna.

And look where that had brought you.

The kitchen is now filled with more vegetables than you have ever seen in one place that isn't a market, there is nearly always a pot with something ready for you on the stove and the fondest memories you have with Thranduil are baking Christmas cookies, throwing flour into each others faces so that your hair had been colored white like Thranduils, or you learning how to cut vegetables under his stern gaze because "No, you can not cut a carrot the same way you cut the bell pepper!"

Now here he is again, creating a memory that will never let you go.

You let your eyes wander over the stove, where one pot is cooking rice, the other has some onions caramelizing with garlic from the smell of it and Thranduil has one pan in his hand, throwing some cut tofu into the air while he brushes some oil onto white dough stretched into hand-sized bits.

He is fully in his element, maneuvering what seems like a three-course meal without any help or breaking a sweat. Setting down the pan with the tofu (hadn't that been a fun journey of convincing until you had let him cook that without any protest?) he wipes his hand on the towel thrown over his shoulder and turns to the cutting board on the kitchen island. He has even more flowers on the island, pink gerberas and white orchids stand next to his array of mint, basil and rosemary.

You have no idea what has gotten into him, there have never been this many flowers in your apartment except for the few ones some of your dates had bought you and even then they landed in the trash a couple of days later.

Sometimes Thranduil had even said he had confused them for some swept-in leaves after you asked him where the last bouquet went.

The man was truly an enigma.

"Smells good in here," you say and lean over the stove.

Thranduil clicks his tongue against his teeth. With a soft growl, he presses out a "Move," not sounding really annoyed but disturbed by you being in his way and with a giggle you move away to grant him free access to the pots.

"What is on the menu today, Chef?" you ask as you hop onto the island. No matter how much space Thranduil needs for cooking, he always leaves that one spot on the corner free for you to sit on.

"Tofu Tikka Masala you noisy girl," Thranduil doesn't turn around and for a minute you want him to see you, see the dress you have put on but then your gaze falls onto his back again and you blush.

Thank god, he didn't turn to find you checking him out, again.

"Couldn't you have waited until I told you the food is ready? Now I have you sitting around here, distracting me, even though I don't have a lot of time to begin with."

You know he is lying. He had told you more than once that you were a pleasure in the kitchen. Not at the stove but looking pretty sitting on your spot on the island and not touching a thing.

"Well, we could have ordered some pizza," you tease him, and he grunts. When he still doesn't turn around, you lean forward, a smirk on your lips. "Or we could have gone out to 'Oakenshields' and-" The rest of the sentence dies on your lips as Thranduil's whole body snaps around and you nearly squeak when he leans into your space.

Nose against nose, he stares you down, cerulean eyes holding yours without any playfulness in them. "You are on very thin ice," he says quietly and while you know he still doesn't mean it like that, you squirm under the gaze and sudden rush of adrenalin that his proximity is causing your head to swim.

"Yeah?" you ask breathlessly, sounding way too excited for your own good, and you try kicking him against his chin but he catches your leg before it hits him, and as soon as his hands grab the bare skin he lets go again, falling back like it had shocked him physically.

Cerulean eyes drop, leaving your face that suddenly goes up in flames and for a second you can see his breath hitch, his chest moving at the sharp inhale of air as he takes you in. The moment builds up, the atmosphere between you changes and charges with something and for this short, stopped moment in time you allow yourself to think:

'What if?'

Then a timer goes off, distant at first but growing louder when Thranduil's face shifts back to the usual calm facade that reflects not a thing of what is going on in his head. He sniffs, hiding behind his dark eyebrows when he lowers his head and pats you gently on your thighs.

"I'll rather perish than go to 'Oakenshields'," he rasps, the raw edge in his voice the only remnant showing that he was affected by whatever that had been between you.

Then he turns around and pushes the tray with dough into the oven.

He covers it up professionally with the joke, of course, because Thranduil Oropherion could never have been seen with feelings that go deeper than what any human would consider barely amiable.

Yes, he is your best friend and he makes an effort around you to not be the coldhearted asshole he is too, for example, Thorin Oakenshield, owner of the restaurant slash bar that the last critic had called a "serious opponent in the gourmet chef world".

Thranduil took the news so well that he had a furious meltdown of cooking for nearly 20 hours to create a menu that he would serve the critic to show him Thorin was not to put anywhere near him on a culinary level before he threatened to buy the paper the man was working for and fire him.

He only calmed down when he found out the critic had persisted to order his own wine choices and not the ones Thranduil had carefully paired with each course so he had decided that the man had no taste whatsoever and he couldn't give a shit about what he had said.

You had seen the irony in his statement and the state of him, tired, overworked, still behaving like a diva and you had just stifled a laugh and helped him clean the mess in the kitchen.

It was one of those moments that shows you he cares more than he leads on, about life, about people, about what the world thought of him but when it comes to love the man is as warm as deep diving naked in the antarctic would be.

He can be nice, living with him was pleasant and it got a whole lot more comfortable when you got to know each other better.

He makes jokes, he shows you how much he appreciates you through his food, you two watch movies together, go out, get drunk, get home and giggle when one of you trips on the doormat and after a few months he even lets you fall asleep on him when you came home crying because a date didn't go well.

You had seen him drive home in a frenzy when his mother had called him about his younger brother breaking his leg climbing trees, and he had another friend, Bard, with whom he had a friendly get-together every now and again; it was only the romance part he never talks about, never shows, never ever makes room for.

While you go out for dates- he works.

When you meet someone at the club you dance, you make out, you go home with someone else- Thranduil just ignores any woman or man who talks to him.

Thranduil's love life (if existent) is a mystery to you and that makes it even more confusing why he had looked at you the way he did just now. Why would he suddenly decide to buy flowers, to cook you an entire meal because you had been stood up and play-dress up?

Your brain is steaming with these thoughts by the time you catch up with reality again, a snap of fingers in front of your face pulls you back and you blink, slightly dazed. Thranduil stands next to you, body facing the cutting board in front of him but you can see him sneaking a peek towards you out of the corner of his eyes.

"Do you know what you want to do after dinner yet?" he asks, slicing some cilantro and parsley.

His long fingers wrap around the shiny knife elegantly, drawing your gaze in and keeping it locked onto the movement of him cutting a lemon in half and drizzling a few drops of juice into the bowl with the herbs.

You try not to stare at the few drops wetting his palm.

"We should go out," you say, voice wavering in between a question and a hoarse croak. You swallow and move your head before your eyes follow a few seconds later, blinking up at Thranduil. "There is this new rooftop bar- they opened a few days ago and are still baiting people in with the two-for-one drink offer."

Thranduil smirks, leaning his hip against the counter and wiping his hand on the towel. "Ah, yes, because that went so well the last time?" he inquires, eyebrow raised teasingly.

"I couldn't possibly know what you are talking about, Thranduil," you purse your lips, suppressing the smile just barely that threatens to spill out at the memory of the last time you went to a new bar, trying out the "new and never been done before"-drinks the small hipster bar had promised you and that'd ended up being the worst cocktails you ever had.

"You still owe me for the trousers I had to get dry-cleaned because you missy-" he half-threateningly holds out his pointy finger again, "you missed the toilet"

"You could have shoved me in the right direction!"

"Ah yes, blame the man that saved you from throwing up all over your date," Thranduil turns away again, adding coconut milk and chopped tomatoes into the pot with the garlic and onions.

"Occupational hazard of being my friend," you say, giving him the brightest and most dearest smile when he holds out a spoon he'd dipped into the curry, before leaning in and wrapping your lips around it, letting the flavors swirl over your tongue.

Then a low hum leaves your throat, a sound not only shocking you but also Thranduil by the looks of it.

By the look of him.

There is a sudden pink covering his face, right around his nose, showing off his prominent cheekbones in a way that lifts the gorgeous feature even more. It is such an unusual sight, Thranduil, blushing, that you are taken aback by it and the spoon slips out of your lips, nearly falling when Thranduil pulls it out of your mouth, clearing his throat suspiciously loud and rough that it sounds physically hurtful.

He steps back, hiding behind a "Good then?" that you can only agree to with a low "Yes" because– firstly you could never correct him on the taste of something he prepares, he knows your taste well enough to always get the spices perfectly adjusted to your preferences, and secondly your head is blissfully empty for any other answer.

The moment passes, gets drowned out by another timer going off, followed by Thranduil shifting into chef-mode as you endearingly call the shift in his demeanor into a controlled acrobat when he starts handling all those pants and pots, stirring here, tasting there, focusing on everything all at once with a concentration that nothing could penetrate.

You sit back and watch him with a soft smile, observing him as he pulls the bread out of the oven, and exchanges the tray with two dark green bowls out of the cabinets to warm them up in the leftover heat.

He moves with a grace that you surely could not copy, all of his long limbs knowing exactly when to push the rice away from the burner, ducking away when the steam of pouring the hot water into the sink would have given your face a free steaming and all that while looking extremely put together with his tight pant- braid! and white shirt he didn't even bother protecting with an apron like he always forces you to wear.

It's frustrating and attractive how much confidence he oozes in the kitchen. You wonder how the cooks managed to do their job without dropping to the floor and praising him like the godly being he seems to be.

He looks perfectly put together when he finishes plating up and ushers you back into the living room, where you are forced to sit down while he disappears into the kitchen and brings the plates and bowls, shaking off your offer to help every time you can barely start the question.

So you do what is expected of you and you wait, brushing off some hair of your dress- long silver blond strands that you twirl around your finger.

The kitchen light gets dimmed and Thranduil comes into the living room one last time, holding a bottle of wine in his hands that by the looks of it, and by that you mean expensive as fuck, must have been nicked from the restaurant.

He fills your glass, then his own and finally sits down on the other side of the table.

Before you can say something, he raises his glass, "To this evening."

You smile and raise your glass to his, "To Marcus-" Thranduil's eyebrow twitches but you only smile wider "Thank god he canceled, I much rather spend this night with good food and good company"

A deep chuckle accompanies the soft 'clink' of your glasses. You take a first sip, holding Thranduil's gaze over the rim and over the flicking fire of the candles that illuminate his face just right. The wine is smooth, and refreshing as it wets your suddenly dry throat.

You use the plate in front of you as an opportunity to look away without it feeling like you are fleeing from his gaze, even if the thought is heavy in your stomach.

"Everything looks delicious, Thranduil," you say, gesturing to the bowls with the rice and tofu tikka masala, the dough that turned out to be naan that he placed on a wooden board between the flowers and the candle.

Thranduil gives you an appreciative nod, grabbing a naan and ripping it apart. "I tried to make something that comes close to your planned meal of chocolate ice cream," there is a mocking tone in his voice, a drawl on the words chocolate ice cream that is the perfect mix between friendly teasing and his true disgust towards it.

You let out a giggle, following his example of dipping the naan into the curry. "Oh, you are so gracious for trying but we both know that ice cream is high above this. It doesn't even fall in the same food category to be able to compare. If you truly look at it, it's its own category"

"Never mind everything I have said, I've forgotten that I'm talking to the person who thinks a cup of coffee counts as an entire meal. How very stupid of me"

"Not everyone can start their morning looking like you do and have the energy to go out for a run and then cook breakfast," you shoot back, the realization of the compliment slipping out pours onto you when you see Thranduil's lips curve into a very self-satisfactory grin.

"So you are awake to notice," he leans back in his chair, popping another piece of the bread into his mouth and looking so smug that the urge to kick him is rising in you again. "You simply choose to act like you are non-responsive until you've had your coffee."

Instead of kicking him, you roll your eyes and fill your spoon with rice.

Yes, that was one way to put it.

The other would be that you are simply too scared you would say something very stupid and inappropriate when you watched him do his yoga in nothing but very tight pants while you sat on the couch and pretended to stare into empty space that just coincidently was very close to his arching form in front of the window.

"Yes, I live by the rule that coffee comes before any man."

"How rude, to consider me 'any' man," you want to say something but Thranduil is quicker to continue, shutting you up with that gorgeous smile, "Am I not the only man in your life right now who you don't leave on read after a while?"

"That is a very low bar to measure yourself with"

"Darling, those men you date offer nothing but low standards."

You nearly choke on the wine you'd reached for when Thranduil says these words, this term of endearment he casually throws into the sentence, far too confident to be a slip of tongue, far too soft to be meant as mocking.

He said it as if it had never not been there, as if it wasn't completely out of character. For a moment you consider reaching over the table to poke him, to make sure he is really here and not some (very accurate, word class if it truly was one) robotic imitation.

There is a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that only seems to twinkle brighter the longer you stare at him and you wonder if he feels like he has won the discussion or if he can hear your brain mulling over the 'darling'.

Either way, he doesn't comment on it further, not on this nor the matter of your dating.

Why he thought to do so in the first place was a mystery to you, another piece of the puzzle that was this evening. He had made comments about the men you were seeing before, subtle phrases made after glancing over to your screen and the conversations you were having, never really cruel but you wouldn't say that they were particularly nice either.

Sometimes when you came home from a night out, you never brought them back to your flat, Thranduil would simply raise an eyebrow, not saying anything and so much at the same time.

You dig back into your food and like always conversation flows naturally between you. Pushing the teasing and the sizzling of something warm in your stomach that you had felt in the kitchen away into the back of your mind you let yourself enjoy the moment, the comfort of sitting at the table, a nice dinner in front of you and the home-y feeling that was in the air.

Curry and naan fill your stomach as the wine settles in your head and laughter slips your tongue.

Empty plates get pushed aside, forgotten on the side of the table until later, making room for you to prop up one elbow and let your cheek rest in the palm of your hand as Thranduil talks about his newest ideas for his restaurant.

The candles flicker, coloring both your faces golden as the last bit of sunlight sneaks away from the tiny crack in the curtains.

After another glass of wine and some well-coordinated cleaning up, a hand-in-hand process of taking the plates into the kitchen where you load the dishwasher and Thranduil wipes down the pots and pans in the sink, Thranduil throws you out of the kitchen again.

You hop into the bathroom, spend a few minutes staring at yourself in the mirror and try to think about the outcome of this evening.

A few hours ago you had been ready to go out with someone else but right now, in the dim light that is too bright to conceal how flushed your cheeks are and too dark to be the glimmering sparkle in your eyes, there is not one thought wasted on any other guy.

It's a complicated feeling, being confronted with the crush you'd harbored on Thranduil for a while now and while it wasn't always easy to keep it at bay, it had been nowhere near as hard to keep your focus on the big fat label of 'friendship' that was the only thing ever to be between you.

Yes, you know that that label should hamper the want.. the need to kiss the ever-living daylight out of Thranduil when he stared at you across those flickering candles but who wouldn't want to do that to an attractive man showering you with attention he had given you today?

Any normal-thinking person would.

At least that is what you tell yourself, that these feelings are normal because he is attractive and not just because you are attracted to him.

Back in the living room, you fall onto the sofa, legs stretched and feet propped onto the small table in front of the couch, and fight the urge to cuddle into the pillows more than necessary. Any deeper and you would for sure fall asleep and with how your evening is going, that that would be a shame was an understatement.

"Thranduil?" you call out when another minute passes and the noises of washing up had quietened down and Thranduil still wasn't out of the kitchen again.

"One moment," his deep voice responds with a subtle grunt, "You can begin your search for a bar and please don't let it be the rooftop bar you mentioned earlier."

On another day you would have chosen a bar or even a club to go to, especially after your stomach did that traitorous summersault at the sound of his voice again.

Tonight, with your cozy little apartment smelling like fresh flowers and curry and your mind clinging onto a possessive and dangerous thought of 'What if..'´ you suddenly can't think of anything worse than going out with Thranduil.

Going out would mean that Thranduil's attention wouldn't be on you alone anymore.

"Thranduil?" you call out again, "Let's stay in and watch a movie."

"What?" He pops his head out of the kitchen and you giggle at the sight of soap bubbles on his nose as he wipes his hand over his surprised face. He rolls his eyes, lifting one arm, - oh god his sleeves are rolled up, exposing far too much skin and veiny arms for you to think clear- and wipes the soap away. "I thought you wanted to go out."

"No," you draw the word out, still hung up on the smooth-looking skin, "We talked about going out or watching a movie," shuffling your shoulders into the pillows you smile at him "and I think we should watch a movie. It has been a while since we did that."

Thranduils face softens and he cocks his head, "It has," he agrees, the tenderness in his eyes reaching his voice.

With Thranduil running his restaurant and your work demanding more of you there hadn't been a lot of time you had sat down and watched something together recently.

You still had your mornings full of nursing coffee and yoga and the evenings where you weren't on a date or Thranduil away on business you had gone out together.

The summer with all its warm and sunny days and bars filled with cool drinks and long evenings fading into soft blue nights had been fun- that didn't mean you didn't miss cuddling into a blanket on the couch and watching a movie with Thranduil where you spend the entire time making small comments only to annoy him.

"How about you sort out what movie you want to see and I'll fetch us a snack?" he proposes and you let out a hum. Thranduil starts to turn away, then halters, "And if you could find anything other than 'Pride and Prejudice' I would be very grateful."

You did, in fact, not search further for the movie that you had started earlier.

Something that Thranduil comments with a loud "God, please do not do this to me," when he reenters the living room.

Stubbornly, you shake your head, your finger dancing over the buttons on the remote control. "You won't know if you like it or not if you never stay to watch it through! What if this is your movie? You say you don't have a favorite movie, Thranduil- this could be it!" Your arms flare in the air, pointing the remote to the screen while you try your best to sound as motivational as you can under the skeptical raise of his eyebrow - though the corner of his lips twitch, betraying his amusement however hard he wants to look self-assured in his completely (unreasonable) hate for the movie you consider one of the best of all time.

It's only when he saunters closer that you see what he holds in his hands and it momentarily lets you forget the never-ending argument.

"Ice cream!"

He laughs deep and rough, always a bit darker and richer when he has drunk wine, his voice and tone taking on the velvety edge that clouds your mind just as much as the alcohol.

"That was much more enthusiastic than the reaction to the soufflé I made you a while back. Should I take offense? Is this your revenge for my dislike of this Darcy that you so obsess about?"

Sticking out your tongue you grab one of the two buckets he holds out to you, as Thranduil takes his place on the couch; always on the longer side where he could stretch out his long legs. "Do not disrespect the man of my dreams or I will buy the mac-just-add-milk-cheese," you open the lid of the carton box, reaching over to the table to place it there.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Mhm, I wonder if they still have the ones that only need water?"

"Please just press play you vicious woman," Thranduil pokes his finger into your side, admitting defeat with a desperate sigh and opens his own box of ice cream. When he sees you staring at it, he rolls his eyes. "What now? Can't a man enjoy something sweet once in a while?"

"A man yes," you snort "But you-" you poke him as well, "you're always on me when I buy ice cream and now you eat.. what is that..?"

Leaning into his space you ignore how Thranduil swats at you gently like he wants to get rid of a fly "It's chocolate, no way! My, my, should I call your health insurance and warn them that we will need a checkup? Maybe a brain-"

"Goodness gracious!" Thranduil groans, a sound that reverberates through you as you are still leaning into him, one hand propped next to his thigh, "Will you shut up or do I have to do that for you?"

That does shut you up instantly.

Not a sound leaves your mouth - left wide open as if he had simply pressed paused on your whole body - and you slowly turn your head away from him and back to the screen.

Now, while he did shock you enough with his words to let the teasing about the ice cream slide back down your very much dry throat, you can't help it to at least attempt to have the last word.

To calm your racing heart if not to for the sudden lack of thoughts, "Only if you swear to watch the whole movie without talking shit about Mister Darcy"

"Half of it and a little bit of shit-talking?"

"All of it and none of that!"

"Just let me make my comments and I will buy you your ice cream next time."

You squint your eyes, challenging him to stay with the offer and consider if it's worth it.

You could easily buy your own snacks, you did it every day you went grocery shopping anyway but there was a satisfying pleasure in knowing that the great Thranduil, hater of all sweets, would not only pick out ice cream for you, but pay for it as well.

Maybe he would even throw in something else as well, if you agreed to him and let him make his jokes.

In the end, you were simply grateful that he was here, sitting on the couch to watch a movie he knows means a lot to you, despite his dislike for it, and maybe that was enough..

"Deal!"

Finally, you eagerly press play, allowing the soft piano music to fill the room a second time this day.

While you can't help but smile, muttering the words into the spoons full of ice cream, Thranduil is less mean than you thought he would be. In the beginning, you could see him rolling his eyes whenever Mr. Darcy came on screen - something you commented with a sigh and a giggle - but like you always predicted, he soon relaxed into the cushions.

His face softens, just like his comments, mouth corners turning up as he watches the discussion between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth in the reading room.

In one particularly dramatic scene, you turn to Thranduil with wide eyes. "See? See? Mister Darcy is just misunderstood. He's so in love with Elizabeth, but he doesn't know how to express it properly."

Thranduil rolls his eyes playfully. "Oh, please. He just needs to learn how to be less insufferable."

You lean closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, you could learn a thing or two from Darcy, Thranduil."

He scoffs. "Me? Like what?"

Despite the tone he lifts one arm so that you can really lean into his side and you follow the invitation. Drawing your legs up, ignoring that the hem of your dress rides up your thigh, you scoot into Thranduil's space and rest your back against the length of his chest. His arm remains on the headrest of the couch.

You grin. "How to sweep a girl off her feet. Be a little less aloof and a little more... passionate–" your voice wanders into a wistful sigh, words getting lost as you watch with bated breath as Mister Darcy helps Elizabeth into the carriage.

There is a deep rumble behind you, a hot exhale of breath hitting the back of your head and while it seems like Thranduil wants to say something, he remains silent.

When you slightly turn your head, you see him watching the screen with a look in his eyes that you can't pin point.

"Why exactly does he flex his hand like that?" Thranduil quizzes with what sounds like genuine interest and you nearly bounce off the couch in excitement.

"Okay so there are multiple ways that this could be interpreted, some think it represents his armor cracking because he has been so buttoned-up, closed-off all the time and now his muscles betray the character he is putting on," you start, the words tumbling out of your mouth fast and rushed now that Thranduil shows his interest "It's like he is unraveling slowly but surely."

"It's also the first time they touch," you add.

Thranduil cocks his head, "It is?"

The grin on your face grows wider and you nod enthusiastically. "Yes! It's the first time they touch and it's pure skin to skin contact which was totally scandalous in their time, hence the gloves and long sleeves. Imagine going on through your life with these walls built around you as a way to protect your heart and then there is this infuriating woman."

"I can't imagine," Thranduil throws in yet it's so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Nearly.

Your tongue trips over a few words as you continue speaking, caught on what Thranduil had said under his breath as if it had been meant for only him, "-well and she.. she is rebellious. She does not follow the etiquette of wearing gloves, she speaks her mind freely and she contradicts everything that you have been taught," you count on your fingers "And she must have been the first woman in a long time that has touched him like that, even if it's as simple as using his help getting into the carriage"

"Mhm," Thranduil raises the arm that isn't behind you and taps his lips. "And you find that moment important for their building romance?"

"Without a doubt in my mind."

"Alright."

And with that, the topic is dropped and you both return to watch the movie.

That is until Thranduil's arm drops lower.

At first, you think it could have been unintentional, physics and gravity and all that stuff being the reason that his arm fell or slipped from the headrest on your shoulders.

It happens, maybe it had been tiresome to leave it up there, stretched away at such an angle. That is what you tell yourself in the few seconds where his arm simply.. stays still.. but then his arm bends at the elbow and the movement is so slow, so careful that your brain has enough time to forget the movie and focus on how delicately wary his hand comes into contact with the naked skin of your arm.

At first, it's just his fingertips.

Trembling ever so slightly they ghost over your biceps, giving the impression that he is still unsure on how to proceed and you wait, trying your hardest not to flex your arm and maybe scare him away and it's the hardest thing - this kind of touch was rare.

The waiting and effort are worth every second of agonizing stillness because following the tips is the hot palm of his hand, curving around your upper arm and holding you.

Your senses are aflame like the candles, lavender clouding your mind, cold ice cream melting on your tongue as the rough skin of his fingertips trails over your arm in the smallest circles.

Reflecting on the previous conversation there is one sentiment burning its way through your body, bringing with it all the moments of today, his hands on your leg in the kitchen, the storm of emotions crackling through his eyes like thunder, splitting his facade like lightening, the way he had reacted on spoonfeeding you the curry, the tension.

This has to mean something.

This has to be something.

You make up your mind to confront him about it even before he opens his mouth for the next commentary again.

"Darcy sure has a fantastic way to show his love," his tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"Nothing screams more 'I love you' than separating the sister of the woman you love from your best friend because you think the family is far too poor and lacks social etiquette," he scoffs, seemingly being his normal self and you would have believed him if his eyes didn't dart towards you, hinting at a touch of nervousness in those cerulean seas which lack the usual confidence.

"Maybe he is unsure how to tell her that he loves her," you say, holding his gaze.

"Well, there are other ways than this," Thranduil says, pointing toward the screen where Darcy is now standing painfully awkward in Charlotte's home that Elizabeth visits.

While you know that he is trying to follow Elizabeths advice of simple conversation, Thranduil doesnt seem to make that connection.

"Why aren't you out and about flirting with women?" It is a slip of the tongue, led on by the teasing you are so used to yet it comes out far too soft, far too wobbly. Quickly you add to the question with what is half cough, half laugh: "Huh, I mean if you are so sure that Darcy is doing something wrong, you should be picking up women, right?"

Thranduil raises an eyebrow in confusion. He opens his mouth, slightly tilting his head. "What? Why should I do that?"

Now you wonder if he was more stupid than you thought or if you heavily missed him having a girlfriend. Or not a girlfriend, or a partner. Were you that ignorant? Did you miss anything he told you about his sexuality?

"I–" you stutter "I didn't want to pry. I´m sorry. I.. I'm just wondering why you never go out on dates"

"Oh," there is a solemn look on his face "Ah, I had hoped this wouldn't come up for a while longer," He pauses, glancing at the TV and a feeble smile has the corner of his mouth twitching.

You don't have to follow his gaze to know that Mister Darcy has just followed Elizabeth into the rain; the only scene Thranduil has ever watched with you.

Maybe you had been ignorant before but the resigned tone in his voice is loud and clear. "We don't have to talk about it!" you rush in, "Really. No need to converse. Let's just watch the movie alright?" Without thinking about it, your hand moves to his chest, a reflex to gently pat him that dies when you feel the hard thumping of his heart through his shirt.

"I could never date someone, let alone think about a woman the way I think about you."

There it was again, the casualness that had tainted the 'Darling' from earlier. You would have laughed, hell, it is already bubbling up your throat when the heaviness of his confession crashes down on you and all that leaves you is a choked sound and a sudden lack of air has you gasping.

The combination of both hurts but not enough to cover the flutter in your stomach.

"What?" you ask not because you didn't understand him, you had heard every word, every syllable clear and distinct, but because you can't believe that you had heard it.

Your hand still rests atop his chest, feeling the heartbeat- hard and fast.

The same way he suddenly pressed his mouth on yours.

It happens quickly, leaving no time for you to react how you want to react and the only thing you can do is gasp.

The kiss ends as swiftly as it has started at the sound yet Thranduil doesnt withdraw completely. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath ghosting over your dry lips. There was a question in it, the same that is in his eyes when you gather the courage to look up.

Thranduil wasn't this hesitant, he was efficient, confident and so fucking sure of himself that his lack of those qualities right now spoke just as much as the kiss itself.

In the background, you hear rain but all you feel is your mind clearing up like the sky after the downpour.

Without further hesitation, you nod and Thranduil lunges forward again, this time with enough force that you lose your balance - or maybe it was the feel of his lips on yours that prevented you from catching yourself as you fall backward and crash into the pillows.

As far as first kisses go, most of the ones you had with guys were significantly worse. They were usually awkward, sometimes even uncomfortable because you weren't yet attuned to each other, but you weren't kissing a strange guy in a bar here.

You were kissing Thranduil.

You had been friends for years, you had seen each other in the most embarrassing situations, he had probably been confronted with your unclothed body more often than others, and if there was one thing he had noticed, it was what disappointed you about your dates.

And while he kissed you silly and stupid you were happy about exactly this perceptiveness.

His hair falls around you like a curtain, his chest presses against yours and you get so used to the weight of his body on yours like it has never been different.

And you hope it will never be any different.

"Shit," Thranduil groans against your lips, and you open your eyes, smiling up at him in a daze.

"What?"

"Now-" he kisses you again "Now that we got this out of the way.." Another kiss, a soft bite on your lips and you are so fucking glad to know that no woman has experienced this from him in a while. You are getting addicted to his kisses fast "..can you please stop dating these assholes and let me take you out for a real dinner?"

You nod hastily and lift your head to catch his mouth again. You only let him go for another second, when the perfect place pops into your mind - the last thought for the rest of the evening probably.

"Let's go to 'Oakenshields'"

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #the hobbit fanfiction #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings x you #lotr x reader

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mx-pastelwriting · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 6: Foursome

Volturi Kings x GN! Reader

Summary: Fucking all three of the kings.

Warnings: Smut, Foursome, Bit of biting, Vampire & Human

Kinktober Masterlist

Minors do not interact!

Holding onto Aro's cold hand, lead into your shared chamber as Marcus and Caius follow close behind, then hear their footsteps slow while entering the room.

Aro, let go, turning to cup your face, quickly meeting your lips with his cold ones, feeling their roughness, a set of hands on your shoulder slowly pulling your clothes up. Breaking the kiss, seeing Aro's face full of lust before your shirt is lifted and away from your body.

Looking to the bed, Caius lays arms propping him up, enjoying the show. Aro's lips meet yours again while Marcus's hands strip you down, then travel back up, waking up every inch of your body.

Leading you to the bed, letting you drop backward onto it into the arms of Caius, kissing your neck, feeling his teeth graze your warm skin. Watching through your haze, Aro and Marcus strip down from their coats to unbuttoned shirts, showing a little skin.

Moans escape you as Caius's hand slips under your bottoms, touching you, the bed dips as Aro meets your lips once again. Moans mix into the kiss, then feel Marcus grasp your hand, raising it to his lips kissing it. Kisses travel along your skin, all the cold hands and kisses waking up the contrast to turning your haze into drunken love.

Caius's teeth finally sink in, lightly marking the surface. The pain mixed with the pleasure of his hand working away at you. Your bottom half felt a new chill as Aro pulled away what little clothes were left, seeing in your drunken state of pleasure Aro undoing his pants as Caius kissed your cheek and neck.

Watching as his cock springs out then into his hand, enjoying the show and the sound of his moans from his touch, reaching out pulling his hand, wasting none of your welcome, he moves closer. Touching your lips with his thumb, he slowly caresses them, letting you grab his hard cock then putting it into your month-earning moans from him.

Hearing undoings of pants before Caius lifted you up and onto him, having your naked back touch his hardened cock, feeling Marcus dip the bed, leading your hand to his cock, then guiding you into wrapping around his cock.

Aro stopped you softly, pulling your head back, allowing you to lay back, watching as he lifted your leg sightly up as his other hand guided his cock into you, sinking in slowly. Rolling your head back as moans escape back into the air, mixing with the kings.

Thrusts picked up quickly as your warmth gladly welcomed him. His hands held your hips as Caius played with you. Marcus thrusts into your hand while holding onto your wrist, making it as if he were in Aro's place.

Your body rocked from Aro's rough thrusts, giving Caius's cock attention; his moans filled your ear through his kisses to your skin. Lips still onto Aro's adding to your swimming head, feeling as if your body is drowning in pleasure, not letting you breathe. Your hand grips onto Aro as he rocks into you, roughly planting himself at the end of every thrust.

Hearing the moans pick up through your swimming head now spreads to the rest of your body, feeling your stomach stir deeply, making your nails dig into Aro's back then tightening your hold onto Marcus's cock.

Feeling warm liquid coat your back as Caius gasps and moans into your ear, stopping his kisses, hearing Marcus moan grasping your wrist before warm liquid coats your hand. Caius's hand still working away made your high build up quickly, then letting you release, laying into him, feeling Aro's grip on you, walking the fine line of bruising as he broke the kiss, then laying his head into your neck as he buries himself.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is and grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

Taglist: @memphiscity69 @k3nmakyan @typical-emilyyyyy

#marcus volturi x reader #caius volturi x reader #aro volturi x reader #volturi kings x reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #volturi kings smut

654 notes · View notes

sooniebby · 11 months

Note

A dream i had has been haunting me so here i am.

A jock any sport my dream wasnt specific just a popular jock is the reader and he is just so popular and everyone loves him and of course everyone assumes since his this big jock his the dom in the relationship between him and his boyfriend when in fact his the complete opposite.

The boyfriend can be in the band or a part of the cheer team again it depends on the sport and my dreams never clarify, He hears one of these conversations and has a brilliant idea that he was gonna put the reader in his place and everyone is gonna know that place.

Kinks you can go wild with, But praise and a little the reader getting dumb on whoever you choose the nerd to be cock but the rest you can do what you please 🤭🤭

ఌ 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

꧁ 𝙊𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Word count › 2.5k

Rating › NSFT

Warnings › none

Kinks › praise, voyeurism, semi-public sex, use of pussy/feminine terms

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

“Isn’t that (Name)’s boyfriend?”

“Mickey?”

“I thought his name was Mikey?”

“Nah man, it’s Mickey!”

Marcus sighed. He hated having to practice for the marching band when the football team was practicing as well. The players didn’t know how to whisper. He was really wondering if he should give them a look that he could hear them.

He wasn’t sure why the football coach allowed them to practice with them here but he was sure it was because the teacher for band was a sexy man. Marcus could tell the coach, Coach Pattinson, loved to stare at his band teacher’s ass.

But he couldn’t lie. Mister Yang had a nice ass.

More importantly though, Marcus could sometimes see his boyfriend playing. But it was mainly rare. (Name) played soccer so obviously he couldn’t play while the football team occupied the field.

Today was that day the soccer team practiced somewhere else.

He was getting a bit agitated at this point. The heavy drum strapped to his chest and the sun beaming down at him. God, he wanted to just walk home. But he did like his band mates. He didn’t want them to hate him for any reason so he’d put it with it.

But that didn’t mean he’d do it without complaints.

“Marc! Pay attention.” One of his band mates whispered, poking him with a drum stick. Marcus quickly put his focus on Mr. Yang as he continued to drone on and on about timing and making sure to be energetic during performances.

Marcus tried to pay more attention, even though he had already heard this speech once before. Expect the two players whispering (?) about him started up once more.

“I wonder what (Name) sees in him.” Thing 1 said.

“What do you mean? Mickey is a cute ass guy. Especially his ass…” Thing 2 muttered.

“Mikey… And yeah I guess. It’s kinda flat to me. Mr. Yang has a much fatter ass than him.”

“True true… I mean look it at… I wonder what it looks like when he jumps…”

Thing 1 whispered. The only time he ever whispered. “Perv.”

“You started it!” Thing 2 shouted, earning a glare from Coach Pattinson. Thing 1 & 2 quickly quieted down.

“But for real, who do you think tops?” Thing 2 muttered.

“(Name)… obviously. The dude is bigger and taller than Mikey. How could Mikey top him?!”

“(Name) is only 5’10 at the most. He’s not that tall. And he’s hardly that muscular. It’s mainly his legs.”

“Says you, Mister 6’4!” Thing 1 punched Thing 2 on the arm, earning a wince. “(Name) has an ass that could rival Mr. Yang, though.”

“Didn’t he play baseball?”

“He plays both sports. Such a cool guy. I’m not sure how he doesn’t go crazy.” Thing 1 looked as if he had a crush on (Name). Marcus didn’t like that, he could feel himself tighten his grip on his drumsticks.

“Maybe he knows how to manage himself… unlike someone…”

“Say that to my face you beanstalk!”

“Alright boys, break time is over!!” Coach Pattinson yelled. “Back to the field!!” He blew his whistle before glancing over to see Mister Yang’s ass once more.

Yeah, he wasn’t hiding it.

Marcus thought hard about what Thing 1 & 2 talked about. Damn, did he not give off top vibes like the thought? Shit—what could he do to show it off?

Well it wasn’t that he really cared what those little shits said but he didn’t like that his looks somehow determined his sexual position.

Oh. Marcus smirked to himself.

He could always make it known that he is the dom in the relationship… and he knew just the way to do it.

“Dude… the fuck are you smiling about?”

Marcus glanced over to his band mate, Olivia. “Nothing important.”

Olivia didn’t look convinced but she turned her attention back to Mr. Yang. Marcus couldn’t wait to test out his plan.

ꕥ

It was the next day and Marcus didn’t have band practice today. But (Name) was at soccer practice. He hardly joined him because he mainly wanted to go straight home after school. Any minute he stayed longer at this cursed school was a damage to his mental health.

(Name) was sitting down on the bench, drinking water when he spotted his boyfriend. He waved, a large grin on his lips. If he was an animal, many would say he would be a golden retriever. So happy to be with people.

“Marc! Something happened?”

“I can’t just see my boyfriend?” Marcus grinned, his blonde locs pulled into a ponytail. He wore a ridiculously large jacket with a red tee with black pants. (Name) always wondered why Marcus always complained about being hot when he chose to wear such clothing during summer.

(Name) simply hummed and pursed his lips, closing his eyes. He titled his head up earning a laugh from Marcus. Marcus would usually just give him a light kiss. He wasn’t one for PDA.

But this time, he grabbed (Name)’s chin and held him in place as he kissed him. (Name)’s eyes widen as Marcus immediately bit his lip, causing him to automatically part them. The innocent kiss (Name) wanted was quickly turned into a full on make out with tongue.

(Name) whimpered into the kiss, wondering if any of his teammates were looking at him. Marcus pulled away from the kiss—a small trail of saliva connecting their lips—as he glanced back to see if anyone saw that. It seemed at least a few did—with the embarrassed looks on a few of the boys face.

The coach didn’t seem to have saw it though by the fact she was paying attention to another player. Good. He just wanted the other players to see.

“What…?” (Name) muttered. He didn’t hate it. No he loved it but he would’ve loved a warning first.

“Trying something new. Like it?” Marcus said, wiping away a stray line of drool on (Name)’s chin.

“I like whatever you do. But I thought you didn’t like public stuff.”

“I still don’t.” Marcus simply said and sat down on the bench.

(Name) didn’t understand Marcus sometimes.

Marcus fanned at himself, starting to complain about the sun cooking him alive.

“I’m lucky I can’t get any darker ‘cause what the fuck, man…” he complained.

“Take your jacket off.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll mess up my style. I had this whole outfit planned and everything. I mean, look at my shoes—it matches the jacket!”

It did.

(Name) simply laughed. “Alright. Enjoy the sun, Mikey.” He said as he got up to return back to practice.

“Ay! It’s because of you those other jocks are calling me Mikey or Mickey! I’m not a mouse!”

“Sorry! I didn’t think anyone else would call you that!”

Marcus simply huffed. He mainly couldn’t wait until he could enact his plan. The kiss was simply to just get it started for later.

Ah he couldn’t wait.

ꕥ

(Name) knew Marcus liked to try new things. Y’know, only live once and all that jazz. But he didn’t know that he’d be into something so… scandalous?

So risky.

“Isn’t this nice?”

(Name) simply huffed, not able to say anything due to the cock in his mouth. They were behind the bleachers—not too far from door that leads to the locker room. When (Name)’s coach called for a thirty minute break, Marcus saw that as his cue to go ahead with his plan.

He had pulled (Name) to the back of the bleachers were no one could see them and forced him to his knees. But the spot they were in was hardly hidden. Someone could just walk up to the locker room door and get a clear view of them.

(Name) was kneeling down on the balls of his feet, forced to keep his balance this way. It wasn’t a good position to try and suck dick at, especially when Marcus was only 5’7 to his 5’10. (Name) wasn’t immediately at face with his cock.

He had to bend a little. Suffice to say, he was uncomfortable sucking dick right now. But he loved Marcus telling him what to do so who was he to stop him.

“Did I tell you that some guys said that you were topping me?” Marcus laughed.

(Name) hummed, pulling away from his cock. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Maybe.” Marcus tapped two fingers on (Name)’s lips. (Name) eagerly took them into his mouth—sucking them to lather it up. His cock twitched in his gym shorts as he thought about someone seeing him in this position.

Kneeling down in front of someone physically weaker than him.

“So I thought… maybe I should prove them wrong, y’know? But then it hit me… if they think like that—than everyone else must think like that.”

(Name) wasn’t sure if he believed that. No one could be that weird to care about his sex life.

Marcus hummed as he forced his fingers down deeper (Name)’s throat, enjoying the panicked choke he got from his boyfriend. He dragged them out of (Name)’s mouth. (Name) took a few shuttered breaths as Marcus motioned for him to lay down.

“Pants off.”

(Name) slipped off his pants and boxers as he moved to lay down on the grass. It felt dirty to do so but he didn’t care at the moment. Marcus hummed, deep in thought before he tapped (Name)’s waist.

“Doggy.”

(Name) flushed. He always felt embarrassed during doggy. Marcus always got full view of his ass at this position. It also didn’t help that doggy was the quickest way for Marcus’ cock to reach his prostate.

With a little hesitation, (Name) moved into the doggy position. Just as he was about to try and not think about the fact someone could see him in such position, Marcus slapped his ass.

“Hey, you forgot your move.”

(Name) blushed in full embarrassment as he leaned down more so his ass was in the air and shyly shook his ass. He hated doing it. The first time he ever did it was by accident. He didn’t think Marcus would’ve wanted him to do it everything for doggy.

Marcus had said it reminded him of a cat getting ready to pounce. It was the only time (Name) was ever said to resemble a cat.

“Good boy.” Marcus shoved in his two fingers, gaining a scream from (Name). “Hey, do you want them to hear you?”

(Name) shook his head.

“Your pussy says otherwise. It tightened as soon as I mentioned it.” Marcus laughed, dragging his fingers against (Name)’s wet walls before grazing his prostate.

Marcus loved to call (Name)’s features with feminine terms. Boobs, tits, pussy, cunt. You name it. He didn’t use it all the time. Sometimes he was nice to called them pecs or asshole.

(Name) liked both. But there was something different about his ass being called a pussy. He wasn’t sure what it was.

“I’m surprised they haven’t wondered where you are…. Do you often use these breaks to jerk off? Play with your clit?” He grinned, enjoying the whimper he earned.

(Name) shook his head, gripping at the dirt beneath him. His hole clenched down on Marcus’ fingers. He had never done that but he did usually use the break time to sit in the locker room with the air conditioner.

Marcus pressed against his prostate, teasing it as (Name)’s ass twitched upwards. He loved it whenever (Name) tried to chase the relief. His ass was a sight to see as it bounced at every sudden movement he made.

Maybe Thing 1 was right about his ass… it could rival Mr. Yang’s…

“You think you’re ready?” Marcus asked, continuing his grazes against (Name)’s prostate.

(Name) simply whined, too dumbed out to say anything. He honestly didn’t trust himself to open his mouth without moaning anyway.

Marcus took that as a yes as he slipped out his fingers and grabbed his cock. It was a good size, six inches. But the best part about it was how thick it was. Imagine a soda can.

He slowly pushed inside, moving one hand to grip (Name)’s waist. It took everything in (Name)’s body to not cry out. He bit his lip harshly—digging his fingers into the dirt.

Marcus was antagonistically slow. Dragging his cock in and out of (Name)’s hole. He wouldn’t go fully in—set to just tease his prostate before pulling out. (Name) was going to die if he continued this way.

“You always take me so well. But that’s just cuz you were made for me.” Marcus muttered, pushing down (Name)’s shirt to press soft kisses on his back. His back is sweating, from playing or sex? Marcus hoped it was sex.

(Name) huffed as he began to thrust backwards, hoping that Marcus’ cock will reach in deeper. Marcus simply laughed to himself as he stopped his thrusting—allowing (Name) to continue his lackluster performance.

“Mikey…”

“Yes, baby?”

“C’mon… we don’t have all day… please…”

(Name) was right. They had thirty minutes. It could’ve been thirty minutes already for all they knew. If he didn’t want to play soccer with a raging boner—he needed to cum now.

Marcus frowned. He hoped he could drag this out longer but knew it wasn’t fair to (Name).

“I’ll get you off. We’ll worry about me when your practice is finished,” Marcus said, grasping (Name)’s waist and holding him still as he began to thrust harshly inside of him.

He purposefully aimed for his prostate, enjoying the panicked hiccups (Name) accidentally slipped out. (Name) was struggling to keep his voice down. He could hear his coach saying they had a minute left.

Could he really cum in under a minute?!

Marcus was going to make sure he did though. He didn’t let up with his constant thrusts, reaching down to jerk (Name)’s leaking clock as well.

It doesn’t take too long for (Name) to cum. Before he could scream, Marcus quickly shoved (Name)’s own shirt into his mouth. It muffled it a little but he could still hear someone ask if they heard something.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Marcus pulls out despite his cock twitching for his own release and pulled his boxers and pants on. (Name) stayed on the ground, trying to catch his breathe before slowly moving to put on his pants.

(Name) looked numbed. He certainly looked as if he could fall asleep any minute. Marcus helped him to his feet (with a little struggle but he would never admit that).

“Go back to practice. I’ll be waiting for you,” Marcus said, patting (Name)’s ass. (Name) glared at him before limping away to his teammates.

If anyone asked why he was limping, he’d just say he hurt his leg while playing earlier. Though he was sure a few of his teammates didn’t believe that.

And unlucky for him, it was the few who loved to tell everyone what they knew. At least Marcus plan worked. Everyone was going to know who was truly the top in the relationship.

After practice, when almost everyone had already left, (Name) was changing into his clothes after taking a shower when Marcus walked into the locker room.

A small smirk on his lips.

“It’s time to worry about me.”

A limp walk wasn’t going to be the only thing (Name) went home with. A nice creampie would accompany it~

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

My comeback! Marcus is so fun to write, I hope you guys like him!! If you guys want, I can do a little fic of how he started dating you 🤭 lemme know!

Tag list: @mello-life69 @the-ultimate-librarian @nakedtoasterr @chill-guy-but-cooler @kiiyoooo

Number 1 fan: @elegantcecile

#bottom male reader #x male reader #oc x reader #original character

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burntheedges · 1 month

Text

Only for you

Marcus Pike x f!reader | 1.9k words | ao3 | 18+ this is all smut

summary: a little fic answering this request – Marcus Pike finding reader has nipple and clit hood piercings in the ~heat of the moment~ and is totally thrown (in a good way).

a/n: this was pretty fun to write, I'm not going to lie. Thank you as always to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta. I hope you like it, @fluffygoffpanda!

tags/warnings: smut, banter, kissing, groping, mention of breasts and nipples, reader has her nipples and clit hood pierced (vertical), playing with piercings durings sex, fondling, oral (f!receiving), reader has no description other than having breasts and a vagina, reader is wearing jeans and a shirt (this is basically just smut, but I imagined Marcus and reader just started dating and are having sex for the first time -- feel free to imagine whatever you'd like), no use of y/n, pet names (baby, sweetheart)

...

Your keys slipped from your fingers and fell to the floor as he pressed you back into your door. His hands slipped down your side and squeezed your hips in a firm grip and you gasped. He pressed soft kisses down your neck that made you shiver and your hands tangled in his hair before you realized you’d moved them.

“Fuck,” you breathed. His teeth worried a mark into your neck and you tugged at his hair in response. “Marcus!”

The way you said his name caught his attention and he lifted his head to meet your gaze.

“Yeah, baby?” He kissed you softly but quickly and moved away again before you could react. “You sound so good when you say my name like that.”

You tugged him forward to kiss you again and he chuckled lowly as he allowed it, tilting his head to seal his lips over yours. You sank into the kiss, unable to think of anything but the feel of Marcus’ lips on yours and the weight of his body as he pressed you back into your door.

“You feel so good, baby,” he murmured against your lips. “Been wanting this. For so long.”

His hands slid under your shirt and you hummed into the kiss, pleased. You felt him smile as his fingertips played along the bottom edge of your bra. He pulled away briefly to press his forehead against yours.

“Can I–” he started to ask, but you interrupted.

“Yes.” Your voice was fervent and insistent. “Please, Marcus.”

He pressed his smile to yours again as his hands continued upwards, fingers skimming softly over your skin. You were relaxing back into the kiss when he suddenly froze against you – his whole body tensed and he turned his head with a gasp.

“What–” you started, confused and a little worried. But then you felt it.

His fingers teased tentatively at your nipples and you understood.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice choked with lust. “Baby, are those–” he cut himself off on a moan as his thumbs pressed down on the metal he’d found waiting for him, hidden under your shirt. His forehead dropped to rest against your shoulder and he sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.

You grinned, though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, they are.” Your breath caught as he pinched, suddenly, framing one of your piercings between his fingertips, but he released it just as quickly.

“Shit, sorry, was that ok? Not too rough? I don’t–” he sighed. “Is it ok to–”

“Yes," you interrupted him and smoothed a hand down his back. “Please.”

He shivered. “Fuck.” His voice deepened as he returned to teasing your piercings. “Baby, I had no idea. Fuck.”

You turned your head to press kisses in his hair. “Do you like them?”

He pulled his head back to look at you again, and he looked wrecked. His pupils were blown wide and his mouth was open and red from where you’d kissed him moments before.

“Do I like them?” He sounded incredulous, and you bit your lip. He smoothed his thumbs over both of your piercings beneath your shirt and you sighed. When he saw the effect it had on you his gaze darkened. He did it again with a little half grin on his face that made you squirm. “Well, maybe I need to see them, hmm? Before I can say for sure.” He teased you with a wink. He started to move his hands upwards to remove your shirt and you smiled as you raised your arms to help.

You tossed your shirt to the floor by your keys, but when you could see him again, he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were locked on your chest and it seemed like he was barely breathing.

“Marcus?” you asked, a bit tentative. But you needn’t have worried.

“Baby,” he whispered as he dropped to his knees. He reached up and traced around your nipples lightly with each thumb, watching your nipples move as he tugged lightly at your piercings. You gasped and his eyes darted up to watch your face. “You are so fucking hot.”

You gasped out a laugh, and smiled. “So you like them?”

“Fuck, I love them. Had no idea you were hiding these under there.” He stood to lead you to your couch and gently pushed you down to sit before he fell to his knees in front of you again. “Can I?” he asked, leaning forward. You nodded.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your left breast before teasing around the piercing with his tongue. You tangled your hands in his hair again. “Yes, please,” you breathed.

He closed his lips over your piercing and you thrust your hips forward without meaning to. He released it gently and looked up at you again. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive, knowing you have these. Knowing they’re hiding under all of your shirts and dresses and fuck.” he darted in to press a kiss to the other one. “Fucking gorgeous.”

You bit your lip, wondering if now was a good time to tell him about your other piercing. You started to grin, imagining how he might react.

“You know, those aren’t my only piercings.” His head shot up and his gaze darted from your nipples to your ears, brow furrowed. “No, I don’t mean those. You can’t see the other one right now.”

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. You watched as a flush took over his cheeks and traveled swiftly down his neck. His gaze dropped to the front of your jeans and he stared, eyes glazed and unseeing. “You mean–”

You grasped his chin in your hand and tugged until his eyes returned to meet yours. “Yes, Marcus.” You watched him take that in. He looked completely overwhelmed by the idea. “Why don’t you take off my pants and see?”

The speed with which he scrambled to do so was extremely gratifying.

Marcus unbuttoned your jeans and tugged them forward with your underwear. You lifted your hips to make it easier, and soon enough your jeans were flung elsewhere in your living room. He never took his eyes off of your pussy. His hands were trembling as he raised them to your thighs and gently pushed your legs apart.

When he caught sight of what was waiting for him, he moaned. “Baby,” his voice was deep and dark and it sent shivers down your spine. “Baby, this is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” He used his fingers to part your lips as he took you in. You knew what he was seeing – the two round ends of the curved barbell, nestled just above and below your hood, with the bottom one nestled against your clit. You suddenly realized your chest was heaving as you breathed, you were so affected by Marcus’ unwavering stare.

“You can touch–” you were cut off as you sucked in a breath when he leaned forward. “Please, Marcus.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your piercing, right over the end of the barbell next to your clit, and you gasped.

“Is there–” he swallowed and tore his eyes away, finally meeting your gaze again. “Is there anything I shouldn’t–”

You smiled and tangled your hand in his hair again. He was so good. “You can touch. With your fingers and your mouth.” He huffed a laugh and nodded. “It’s long healed. Just be gentle – it feels good against my clit but it doesn’t do a lot on its own.”

He shook his head a little. “Well, baby, let me tell you, it’s doing plenty on its own – for me.” You grinned as he ducked his head down again.

You gasped as he closed his mouth around your clit and teased lightly at your piercing and your clit with his tongue. “Yes,” you breathed, “like that, Marcus.” He pressed a little more firmly with his tongue and you let your legs drop open completely as you tilted your hips forward into his mouth.

Marcus moved his tongue expertly against you, teasing at your clit and moving your piercing against it in a way that felt amazing. He slipped his hand forward and you felt his fingers teasing at your entrance. He circled one of his fingertips around in a circle before pushing forward gently, just pressing the tip inside as he flattened his tongue over your clit. You moaned.

He pressed his finger forward as he circled your clit and piercing in little figure-8s and you lost yourself completely in the sensations. Before you could catch your breath he slipped a second finger next to the first and thrust them both forward to find that perfect spot inside of you. You started to squirm against his mouth.

“Yeah, baby,” he pulled back just enough to murmur to you. “Fuck my face, sweetheart.”

You tangled both of your hands in his hair and did as he asked.

Overwhelmed, you thrust your hips forward to meet his fingers. His lips and tongue were steady and devastating on your clit. It was like he couldn’t, he refused to pull himself away. You could feel it building at the bottom of your spine, climbing and clawing its way upwards as he tongued relentlessly at your clit. You thrust forward again and pulled his face forward, almost grinding against his mouth. He hummed into your pussy as you pressed his face into you, mouth open to meet you, and your next breath came out like a sob.

“Marcus–” your breath caught. “Marcus, I’m close–”

On your next thrust, he pressed his fingers right onto the spot that felt amazing, and at the same time twisted the tip of his tongue around your clit. He looked up and locked his eyes on yours, mouth open against your pussy. All you could see were his eyes, dark and intent.

“Come, sweetheart.” His lips moved over your clit as he said it.

You did. His lips closed over your clit and piercing again and you fell over the edge. You sighed out his name as your legs shook and your back arched. He didn’t move away, guiding you through it with his tongue and his fingers until your whole body was shaking.

You blinked and found yourself staring up at your ceiling, legs, thrown wide, with Marcus between them pressing gentle kisses around your pussy.

“Holy shit, Marcus.” He chuckled as he moved upwards to hover over you.

“Me? No, baby, that was all you.” He smiled as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “How am I supposed to go about my day, knowing what you’ve got hiding away, just for me?”

You smiled back. “Only for you.” You watched as he shivered at the thought. “C’mere, handsome.” You tugged him down into a soft kiss and felt him smile against your lips as you wrapped your legs around his hips. His cock, hard inside his jeans, pressed against your spread open pussy and he moaned.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips. “Let’s finish this in bed.” You laughed as he tugged you up and off the couch. Something about him leading you down the hallway, fully clothed while you were completely naked, was turning you on even more. When he reached your door, he turned around and captured your hands as he walked backwards into your bedroom. “Got any more surprises waiting for me?”

You winked. “Guess you’ll find out.” He laughed and tugged you forward into another kiss.

...

a/n: let me know what you think? 💕

tag list: @katareyoudrilling @jeewrites @dancingtotuyo (since we talked about it)

If you're on the tag list for Maintenance Request and want to be on all my tag lists, let me know!

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike smut #marcus pike #x reader #piercings #this is all smut folks #bte requests

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intheupside · 6 months

Text

What's the secret to Sidney Crosby's success?

Always eat a strawberry PB&J on game day… and have unwavering dedication, unparalleled work ethic, and exceptional talent.

With Sidney Crosby appearing in his 1,200th NHL contest on Saturday in San Jose, I wanted to ask how his game-day routine has evolved in the years since that first one to help keep him playing at such an elite level.

Because as Mike Sullivan said, that’s not an easy thing to do – and it's a testament to Crosby’s drive, his will to win, his desire to be the best, and his willingness to put the time in and make the sacrifices so that he can continue to sustain that type of play.

At first, Crosby laughed good-naturedly – because we all know how superstitious and routine-based the captain is – and half-joked that there might not be much there. Most of it has stayed the same, particularly his on-ice warmup routine heading into puck drop. "Whether it’s preparing for a game or just a typical game day, (my routines) just allow me to feel good about going out there and doing what I need to do," he said.

But there has been a tweak here and there to the captain’s preparations now that he’s 36, particularly when it comes to what he does in the mornings. Unless the Penguins have the day off before a game, the morning skate is always optional – and in recent years, Crosby has chosen to stay off the ice.

“You look to conserve that energy a little bit more,” he said. “As much as I like getting on the ice in the morning, it’s good if you can just take that opportunity to do other things and still get a little bit of sweat – get ready for the night, but still conserve some energy at the same time. It's always a balancing act.”

Instead of skating, Crosby will take his stick and gloves and find a quiet area of the rink to do some solo stickhandling, which helps him loosen up a bit. He’ll also take part in the first soccer game of the day with Bryan Rust, Jake Guentzel, Erik Karlsson, Marcus Pettersson, and Rickard Rakell. Sometimes, Noel Acciari will join them, depending on if they do 3-on-3 or 2-on-2.

“We’re just kicking it around, but it can get pretty intense,” Crosby said before adding with a grin, “Sometimes, I wonder if I expend more energy in soccer than I would in morning skate. It just depends on the day, maybe.”

After grabbing lunch to go, when he gets home in the afternoons, Crosby’s nap has gotten shorter as he’s gotten older. “I used to sleep like, two and a half hours when I was younger. But a little harder to do that now,” he smiled. But Crosby still isn’t a big coffee drinker, since natural adrenaline gets the job done when it comes to waking up. “I feel like I get pretty amped up, so I don't need that. I’ve had some caffeine before, and I don’t think it’s good for me,” Crosby laughed.

When it comes to the food Crosby fuels himself with, on a game day the players have the same menu available to them both at home and on the road for their breakfast, lunch, and pregame meal/snack, so he sticks to his routine for those … down to the strawberry PB&J that HBO filmed him making during their 24/7 Penguins/Capitals Road to the Winter Classic series.

But Crosby doesn’t eat as much steak the night before games compared to his early years in the league, especially on the road. “That changed a little bit. Other than that, as long as it's somewhat healthy, I just try to make sure I get a good meal,” Crosby said.

There’s obviously a lot more that goes on behind the scenes, both inside and outside of a game day, that Crosby does to set himself up for success.

“All the subtle things he does – for me, that's the most impressive aspect of his overall body of work. A lot of it goes unseen,” Sulivan said. “That's why I've always said on so many occasions that it's not by accident this guy's as good as he is. Yeah, he's talented, he's gifted, and all of those things, but he maximizes every opportunity that he has to be at his best. I think that commitment, in my experience of being around the game, has been unmatched by any other player I've seen.”

And that’s because Crosby’s passion for the sport is something else that’s remained the same.

“I love it just as much as I did Game 1,” he said. “It’s a lot of hockey, and just grateful I’ve been able to play this long.”

#sidney crosby #pittsburgh penguins

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wardenparker · 14 days

Text

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 10

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: 12.3k 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, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* In-laws (nice ones though!), passing mention of federal agents possessing guns, family dynamics, that one family member that married someone awful, the mystery of Agent Bailey begins to unravel, discussion of life in the public eye, planning for the future, discussion of collaring. Summary: After a rather dramatic birthday, heading to Texas to meet Marcus's family seems like a walk in the park. Notes: I am 100% certain that I have missed errors this week, loves. But alas, ya girl is back to working five days a week and she is SO tired. ✌ Please enjoy the chaos that is the Pike extended family!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

The flight from Washington DC to Dallas is just over three hours long and you had agreed that it would be better to leave early in the morning on Saturday to arrive at his family's compound before lunchtime. The last two weeks have been a dream as you and Marcus spend basically all of your extra time together, sharing dinners after work and alternating beds for overnight stays. He's even come to his first Friday Night Dinner with your family, which makes it all the more appropriate that you're now flying with him to meet his.

Airline points used, Marcus was well aware that on a commercial flight, Agent Bailey would be much more comfortable with First Class and boarding the plane last. Allowing for the rest of the plane to embark so they were not filing past her and you. Now that the flight is closed and you are settled into your seat, he looks over at you with a smile. "Ready for chaos?" He asks playfully, picking up your hand. "My family is....energetic."

“I’m excited,” you assure him. You’re also nervous, but that’s natural. His big family is having their annual springtime get together for the start of baseball season and — according to Marcus — this is the biggest Pike family get together of the year. It’s a week of pickup games with his cousins, big family meals, revisiting old favorite haunts, and catching up on life. It used to be a way to help distract Marcus and his Mom as his Dad started out the new season every year and started traveling, but now it’s just their favorite reason to get together.

“Don’t feel like you have to do anything you don’t feel like.” Marcus insists. “Plenty of times half the cousins or wives and husbands end up in the stands watching and shit talking.”

“Baby if you think I’m not playing at least one game, you’re nuts.” Marcus has been so sweet about reassuring you and making sure you know nothing is expected of you on this trip, but frankly it just sounds like fun. Like the kind of happy chaos that is a complete break from your normal life.

He flashes you a grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He admits shamelessly. “After the games, we grill out or eat whatever we threw on the smoker that morning.” He shrugs. “It’s a party the entire time.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” You have been, and you are, and seeing him get excited would make the whole thing worth it even if you weren’t.

“Everyone is excited to meet you.” He promises. “Oh and mom asked if you had any allergies? Food or otherwise?” He shoots you a sheepish grin. “Forgot to ask.”

“Nothing at all. I’ll eat anything you put in front of me and sniff whatever weird Texas plants you guys have got.” A teasing grin counters his embarrassed one. “My brother and I did a campaign stop in Texas; I don’t think there was anything too sniffly in Austin. But I know the state is big.”

“Huge.” He snorts, smirking slightly. “You know what they say. ‘Everything’s bigger in Texas’.” He jokes.

"Oh yeah?" The smirk that forms on your face is immediate and you lean over to nudge his shoulder. "Is that how you grew up so big?"

“Not that big.” He chuckles. “My cousins – the males – are bigger.”

Snorting slightly, you can't help but laugh as you nudge Marcus again. "That sounds painful."

“Shit.” Marcus chokes and shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that.”

"Well good," you're still laughing, juvenile sense of humor on full display even if you're quiet. "Otherwise I'd feel bad for their spouses."

He snorts and leans into press his lips to yours. “I’m the biggest.” He boasts, completely lying and he winks to acknowledge that. Not like him and his cousins have compared…since before puberty.

"Naughty." It's chastising, but you giggle as you steal another kiss as you both settle back in your seats for a short but comfortable flight.

Marcus hums as the flight attendant comes by. “Do you want a mimosa?” He asks softly. “Start our vacation off right?”

"Why not? Let's have a fancy flight." First class is already a bit of an extravagance, and you smile at the flight attendant gratefully. They are well aware of who is on board – Agent Bailey had background checks run on the flight crew as a precaution – and discreetly point out your agent to the gentleman. "And a cup of coffee for the woman in the suit right over there? She'll say she doesn't want anything but I know she'd love a cup right about now."

“Yes madam.” He nods and smiles back at you, finding it refreshing that you aren’t over demanding like some political figures. One asshole really set his teeth on edge last month.

"Thank you so much." The last thing you want to do is make a fuss for the flight crew, and you sit back with Marcus's hand in yours. As nervous as you might be, this is going to be a good week.

“Anywhere you want to see in particular?” Marcus asks, stretching his legs in the extra space the first row gives you. “We don’t have to rent a car. Although I know Agent Bailey will want one of the Secret Service vehicles to follow.

"I want to see whatever you want to show me. Any place you used to hang out when you were growing up, or favorite local places, or even places you've never been that you've always wanted to go." It's his hometown, after all, even if he wasn't born there. Texas is where he became the Marcus that you know and love.

“There’s a band that’s playing Friday night.” Marcus tells you. “At the bar where I used to play.” He chuckles. “It’s my old bandmates.”

"One hundred percent." Your agreement is absolutely instant and there is a giant smile on your face. "No contest. It will be the perfect way to spend our last night in Dallas. Well...last night for now. I know we'll come back plenty of times."

“Awesome.” His grin is wide, happy that you would want to listen to some music and hang out. Potentially meeting old friends. “Then that’s what we’ll do. You’ll like the place.”

"I'll love it." Just like everything else this week, you're looking forward to it because it's something that you'll share with him. It's the early memories of your relationship, as you share the things with each other that made you who you are.

The family compound is exactly that. A compound. Built during the first contract with the Yankees, Pike’s Place as it was fondly referred to, had started out as a way for Marcus’s dad to build the retirement home of his parents’ dreams and ended up being the multi-generational property it is today.

There are more than a half dozen buildings in the property, a large pool and a garden, and even their own personal baseball diamond. It’s like having a resort built specifically for his family. Stuck smack in the middle between a ranch to the south and another large family property to the north, no one would even have any idea that neighbors existed around here if they weren’t told about it.

The main house is a beautiful American Craftsman-style building with a deep front porch and a swing out front, painted bold blue and white against the yellow Texas sun. Matthew and Donna Pike’s house is well-appointed but far bigger than it looks on the outside, and all around it is a stunning garden that they keep together as a shared hobby. The backyard sprawls on endlessly, but for right now you can see more cars than people. It looks like everyone is congregating with Uncle Matt and Aunt Donna.

Marcus’s smile gets visibly wider the closer you get and when the car stops, he’s almost vibrating with joy. He’s not nervous at all, knowing that his entire family will adore you. “Are you ready?” He asks again, not even waiting to the reply before he is shooting out of the car to open the door for you.

“You didn’t tell me you grew up in the cutest place on Earth,” you tease happily, practically giggling at how picturesque it is as you get out of the rental car.

“It’s home.” He looks around the property proudly. “Even when we were living somewhere else because of dad’s job, this was always home.”

“It’s beautiful.” You squeeze into his side and grin back at Agent Bailey as she gets out of the second rental car. “I hope you get to relax a little while we’re down here, too. It’s got to be a hell of a nice change of pace from looking at the inn every day.”

Agent Bailey notes the fence that seems to stretch around the property with approval. “We might be more secure here.”

“Glad to hear it.” Anything that makes her more comfortable is more than okay with you. With as hard as she works, she deserves to be able relax whenever she can.

“Dad installed a fence when he had some fans come up to the house when he was on an away trip.” Marcus explains. They had done one of those ‘where the star athletes live’ things in the Sports Illustrated magazine and someone figured out where it was.” He shakes his head. “Dad was furious, and the compound got an upgrade.”

“Sounds like a solid response to me,” the Secret Service agent agrees as she looks around the property.

“Although, he does open the compound up for youth programs. Training, spending the day with baseball players.” Marcus smiles proudly.

“I love how proud of him you are.” You slip your hand into Marcus’s again and give him a beaming smile. “Time for the chaos, baby. Let’s do it.”

Marcus laughs as the two of you hear the playful shouts from the backyard. The little welcoming barbecue that your father had insisted on was already in full swing. He can’t wait to see how you take all of his cousins and nieces and nephews wearing name tags.

It only takes about a second before someone notices you, letting out a boisterous shout across the yard and garden. “Well, looky what the cat dragged in!”

“Charlie.” Marcus leans in to tell you as every head turns your way. “First cousin from my mom’s side. Can’t believe he’s the first one.”

“Is Charlie not usually this friendly?” You ask under your breath, smiling and waving as more and more heads turn your way.

“Just…unobservant.” Marcus hums, smiling wider when his mother drops her platter of finger foods on a table and rushes forward. “You made it!”

Dr. Donna Pike is a tall woman with a wide smile and honey brown eyes, but right now her most noticeable feature is her long arms which reach out to fold out her only son like a protective mama bird. "Flight was okay?" She asks, smiling at Marcus's nod before she shifts over to hug you in turn.

When she had been told that Marcus had found his soulmate, she had been thrilled. Not because he had to be with his soulmate, she wasn’t narrow minded like that, but because he’s always had so much love to give. She can only hope that you will do well receiving it and return a fraction of it back to him. The others hadn’t seen how pure his heart is. She says your name and squeezes you tight. “How are you? It’s such a delight to meet you.”

"Thank you for having me." Her hands are on your shoulder and it's instantly obvious where Marcus's beaming smile comes from. "I've heard so many wonderful things from Marcus about his family, I'm really excited to meet everyone."

“Well if anyone is too much, or we all are, you just tell us to go away.” She snorts, shooting you a grin. “We are a bit much as a collective.”

"I promise my threshold for much is very high." It has to be, with the kind of people that are always around political figures, but this week is not about you. You do smile again, though, and urge Agent Bailey to come closer than her usual three steps away. "And thank you for understanding that things are not very conventional for me right now. This is Agent Bailey. She's my duty agent and an absolutely superb human."

Donna smiles at the agent, although she doesn’t attempt to hug her. Aware that it might be deemed as threatening. “She is also extremely welcomed.” She nods and offers her hand. “I hope you can relax and have some fun as well, Agent Bailey. We have a comfortable room set up for you at the top of the stairs, just down the hall from them.”

"Thank you, Dr. Pike." Agent Bailey accepts the handshake gratefully. Some people perceive her presence as threatening and that just isn't the case. Especially not here.

“Please, call me Donna.” She insists. “Now, we’ve told the children they are not to ask about your gun, but I do hope that you will change out of your suit into more weather appropriate clothes?” She asks. “Texas is too hot for bespoke all day.”

Agent Bailey actually laughs at that, and you smile when she nods. "I'll be dressed down while I'm here, don't worry about that. Being conspicuous doesn't do much good in protection most of the time."

“Good.” Marcus’s mother smiles. “I’ve also taken the liberty of moving Marcus’s gun safe into your room. For when you are needing to secure it.” She frowns and looks towards Marcus. “Did you bring your own, sweetheart? I didn’t think to ask.”

"Very kind of you, ma'am, but not necessary." Agent Bailey assures her. "I have a portal safe in my luggage. Agent Pike also has his firearm so we'll both be secure and safe that way."

“Told you.” Matthew Pike snakes his arm around his wife and kisses her cheek. “Always overthinking. But I love it.”

"Precautions are good, sweetheart," Donna reminds him, but she smiles.

Marcus and his father could be twins, except for the older man has more pronounced wrinkles from a career spent in the sun. “So this is the gorgeous creature the universe paired you with?” He unwinds his arm from around his own soulmate to pull his son into a bear hug. “Aren’t you a lucky man?”

"I swore I was only going to do this once while we were here." Standing beside Marcus and practically vibrating, you know you probably look silly but you don't care. "Mr. Pike, I am a huge fan and I promise there will be no more fangirling from this point on, but I just wanted to say that once."

There’s a grin that matches his son’s, currently on both of the Pike men’s faces. “Marcus….she has taste.” He teases, winking at you and pulling you in for a hug. “You can fangirl all you like, sweetheart.”

“I’m just very excited to be here,” you admit, laughing as you hug your soulmate’s father in turn. “Marcus…he’s absolutely amazing. I hope you’re as proud of him as he is of both of you.”

“More-so.” Matthew promises, already liking you. “Although, let’s get you settled and a first drink in your hand before we introduce you to everyone else, hm?”

You and Marcus follow his parents through the house and Agent Bailey notes the features of the house with interest but doesn’t interfere. So far, everything is straight forward. She just hopes it stays that way. For your sake.

The tour of the house is easy. A large, open concept main living area is perfect for entertaining, and lines of sight. “Our bedroom is downstairs.” Donna explains. “So you kids will have the top floor to yourselves. Everyone else is staying in the bunkhouse this trip.”

The bunkhouse, as it has been explained to you, is the largest building on the compound which basically amounts to a Pike family motel. Plenty of parking and plenty of rooms to stay in makes it the place that is customarily occupied by Marcus's enormous brood of cousins. "And I'm sure Marcus told you," Matthew glances back at you as the five of you walk together. "But the basement is a game room. Foosball table, game systems, all that kind of thing."

“I was going to show her.” Marcus admits with a shrug. “But she’s bowled in the White House, I doubt our game room would impress her.”

"You are seriously underestimating my love of foosball," you assure Marcus. "I'm terrible at it, but I love it."

“Don’t worry.” Matthew chuckles. “My son excels at pool but cannot figure out a foosball table.”

"Then we can be terrible together," you decide, thankfully garnering a laugh from both Marcus and his parents.

“Which will be a lot of fun.” Marcus chuckles. “When bad weather rolls through, we enjoy the game room and there are people everywhere.” He warns. “One time, we had a checkers tournament, so all the little kids could be involved too.”

The group of you stop in the kitchen for large glasses of sweet tea, and Agent Bailey excuses herself to bring her things upstairs and change into some more civilian-oriented clothes. There are pictures of the family all around the house, but none as prevalent as the pictures of Marcus. His graduations, his triumphs, and some absolutely adorable childhood photos adorn the walls of the house, and you smile at every single one. At one time his wedding picture must have hung on these walls too, or other pictures of him and Lara, and for a moment your heart clenches with regret that he was ever hurt but swells with the knowledge that he’ll never be hurt like that again. The next wedding pictures on these walls will be of you with him, and those will never be coming down.

“Home sweet home.” Marcus hums, watching you take in the space that he had mostly grown up in.

“Ready kids?” Matthew Pike chuckles, opening the sliding kitchen doors to the backyard with great ceremony.

“Don’t worry.” Marcus quickly assures you. “Everyone has had their rabies shots. So they aren’t as feral as they seem.”

For all the teasing, the hugs from his cousins are immediate. They descend on you like a swarm of eager birds, flapping their wings and chattering away as they all introduce themselves and say how happy they are to see Marcus and to meet you.

Marcus smiles at every one of them. Greets them like long lost friends, which they are. They are the friends of his entire childhood and he's happy to introduce you.

A man wearing a name tag that marks him as Uncle Rob holds up two more name tags proudly — one emblazoned Marcus and the other Birdie. “Marcus told us you prefer your nickname,” his father explains with a grin.

“It’s perfect,” you assure them, taking the name tag with a bursting heart. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Uncle Rob is a treasure.” Marcus tells you as he is pulled into a hug and slaps his uncle’s back.

"Uncle Rob is his mother's younger brother," the man clarifies with a happy grin. "Four of the cousins are ours, but I won't quiz you on the family tree just yet."

"I appreciate that." Your laugh of acknowledgement comes easily. "But I've been studying, I promise."

Marcus laughs, knowing how worried you had been over this visit, and it seems as if you are blending in well. He reaches out and squeezes your hip affectionately. “She’s a quick study.”

"Probably mandatory." One of his cousins – her nametag says Selena – teases as she offers you a hug. "Can't imagine the way family debates go when your Mom is the President."

"They're....active." You admit with another laugh. The hug is readily accepted, too. Pikes are apparently very huggy people. "I'm just glad we don't have to come up with opening and closing arguments."

She laughs and nods. “No, but here you might be asked the ERA or RBI stats of anyone you are a ‘fan’ of.” She advises. “So beware.”

"I can absolutely handle stats." For some reason Selena's energy is a lot more calm and reassuring than some of the other cousins, and you feel a little more at ease with her at the moment. "Most of the time I've got those on lock even when nobody's asked."

“How do you take your hotdog?” She asks, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Get it right and we can be friends.”

"It's not gonna be what you want it to be," you laugh, though you do appreciate the way Selena measures her new acquaintances. "I'm from Philly, so pepper hash and spicy mustard."

Her frown is replaced by a smirk and she nods. “You didn’t say ketchup, so you’re good in my book.” She smirks, eyeing Marcus who is huffing and rolling his eyes. “I don’t claim her.” He snorts.

"Too bad," you tease back, looping your arm through his cousin's. "She's delightful and I'm adopting her immediately."

“She’s not housebroken.” He warns, ducking the playful swat she aims towards him.

"Neither is my brother, and we let him into the White House," you snort, laughing even harder when Selena snickers.

Matthew chuckles and he pats his son on the shoulder. “Too late now, son, Selena has charmed her.” He advises.

"I steal hearts," the woman beside you jokes, throwing you an exaggerated wink. "My parents named me after Selena Kyle. It's not my fault."

“Last year you said you were named after Selena Quintanilla-Pérez.” He reminds her with a grin, slapping away her hand again and tapping her chin fondly. “You were lying?” Of course she was, considering she was nine when Selena rose to fame.

"You should keep the Catwoman reference," you advise her with a grin. "Mysterious and nerdy. Very sexy choices."

“See?” Selena smugly grins at Marcus. “Your soulmate has taste.”

Marcus can’t help but grin at that. “So I keep hearing.”

“I have the very best taste.” You agree with that assessment wholeheartedly, leaning back over to Marcus to kiss his cheek.

That makes him laugh quietly and he leans in to hug Selena. “You do. Especially in soulmates.” He teases.

“Oh no.” Pretending to be grossed out, Selena rolls her eyes dramatically but is smiling fully at seeing her cousin happy. “Did you finally find someone as gross as you are when you’re in love?”

“Grosser.” Marcus hums, grinning at you lovingly. “My perfect match.”

“Stop hogging them!” A voice calls out from halfway down the yard, and yet another of Marcus’s smiling cousins can be seen lounging on a picnic table. “We all need to get our annual harassment in, ya know!”

“Oh god.” Marcus hangs his head, even as he laughs. He knows everything is in good fun and he will be harassing them right back.

Thank god for the nametags. You'd be utterly lost without them, even after the flashcards you made for yourself with permission from Marcus to scout his Facebook page for photos of his family. There are just too many of them. The conversations swirl and so do the introductions, but Marcus sticks with you. By the time everyone starts eating the conversation dies down a little and you find yourself at a table with Marcus, his parents, Selena, and her twin sister Harper. Plates of barbecue and cold salads come with fresh glasses of cold sweet tea or cans of soda, and the most relaxed atmosphere of chaos you've been in the middle of in a long time. In your book, this is vastly preferable to a State dinner.

“So what do you think?” Even Agent Bailey has a plate and a drink in her hand, talking to Rodger, one of his dad’s oldest friends. He always comes to these weeks. “She’s gonna relax some?”

"Seems like it." The sight of Agent Bailey socializing is like a miracle to you. A unicorn in real life if ever you saw one. "Any chance your Dad's friend is a beer guy? I found out last week that Agent Bailey brews her own as a hobby and I am endlessly fascinated by all the niche hobbies I keep finding out she has."

Marcus chuckles. “Rodger owns the brewery that supplies the Rangers with the Pike’s Pints.” He explains. “So he’s kind of a renaissance man when it comes to beer.”

"So she has a new best friend?" You laugh, leaning into his side as you eat. "That's fantastic. I hope she has some new ideas to be excited about by the time the week is out."

“My question is this…when does she have time?” He asks, shaking his head. “She’s always with you.”

"I don't think she sleeps." It's a question you've asked yourself plenty of times, but have yet to find an answer. "Apparently she has a dog and a husband and everything? A whole damn life. I'm so glad that doing the job she does hasn't kept her from it."

“Holy shit.” He snorts and looks back at the woman in question with more than slight admiration. “She’s a superhero.”

"She really is." There's no denying that whatsoever.

The meal progresses and his mother smiles at you. “So please, tell me about your inn.” She insists. “Marcus said that you have created a beautiful oasis.”

"It's my happy place." The question – and the description – make you beam. "And...sort of my first child, as well. I bought it from the previous owners a few years ago and my best friend runs the restaurant. It's a beautiful historical property in Alexandria, just outside of DC."

“It sounds like it’s your baby.” She smiles happily and nods. “He has had nothing but praise for it, and you, since his first phone call.”

"He's been wonderfully supportive. I couldn't ask for a more understanding or helpful partner." You do flash him a grin, though, and decide to rat him out to his mother just a tiny bit. "I do think the restaurant is at least half the reason he spends so much time there, though. It's amazing."

“He has always led with his stomach.” Donna snorts, shooting you a conspiratorial grin. “When he was a teen, he was always starving.” She intones dramatically.

"Isn't that how all teenage boys are made?" The laugh you share isn't at his expense, just shared amusement, and you pick up your sandwich again. "At least, my brother was always that way. I swear he ate six meals a day from ages twelve to twenty."

Marcus laughs and Donna rolls her eyes. “Marcus still sometimes eats six meals a day.” She snorts. “At least that’s the way it sounds when he calls. Always snacking.”

“That’s probably my fault these days,” you admit with a guilty grin. “I’m a snacker. Maybe that’s just another fun little quirk in the broad scheme of things.”

“I just have to run more.” Marcus chuckles, picking up a pickle spear and biting it in half. “So I can still beat everyone here stealing second.”

“We’ll see.” Selena narrows her eyes at him in challenge. “I’ve been training.”

“Oh you have, have you?” Marcus snorts and winks at his cousin. “Twenty bucks says I steal more bases than you.”

“Fine,” Selena shrugs, smirking as she leans back in her seat. “I’ll be out there stealing more hearts, anyway.”

“I’ve already got the heart I want.” Marcus informs her, picking up your hand and kissing the back of it dramatically.

“I love you, too.” Over the weeks, the promise has become stronger between the two of you and little daydreams about the future don’t seem so far off anymore — though you haven’t really planned anything beyond agreeing that you want to be together.

"See?" He smirks towards Selena with a fluttering of his lashes. "She loves me, so I am complete."

“You’re completely gross and I’m very happy for you,” Selena teases back. “You’ll have the picturesque wedding you always dreamed of, and a million kids, and make an east coast version of Pike Place.”

"Ohhhhh." He tilts his head curiously as he looks back at you. "Modern day Kennedy Compound?" He suggests. "Our version of Hyannis Port at the inn?"

“That’s a lot bigger than a little colonial cottage at the back of the grounds,” you remind him, but the idea makes your chest swell with absolute love. “But I think if we build at the back of the property we could do a bigger house and get away with it. People wouldn’t even be able to tell the two are connected.”

He smiles at the idea. "We will have to find out who owns the property adjoining yours." He hums. "Expand."

“So you’re already talking about a family, then?” His father, obviously enamored of the thought, smiles broadly. His son has always been a family man, even when that definition just meant his best friends were his cousins.

"We are planning out a lot of things." Marcus admits with a grin, unable to contain the happiness at the idea. "Not sure when that's going to happen, but we are on the same page."

“Maybe sometime before we’re too old and gray to travel all the way to DC?” Matthew jokes, although he’s only half joking.

You groan quietly and Marcus smirks as he looks at you expectantly. "Told you." He laughs. "You said your parents would be first, but I knew it was going to be mine."

“I’m still shocked my Dad didn’t bring it up at dinner last night,” you admit. You had been absolutely certain that your folks would use Friday night dinner as a chance to interview you about your intentions as a couple.

"I'm sure he wanted to." He laughs. "But we've classified that as Need To Know." He jokes.

“That may be the only way to survive with them.” Still, you can’t help but let the smile grow on your face. “By their standards, we’re taking positively forever.”

"I guess that means we should just run off to Vegas and get married." Marcus teases with a wink. "Really mess with their expectations."

“We would have four parents very upset with us,” you remind him. Every time you joke about getting married or have a little daydream it just sounds better and better, but you would never push him to elope. His family means to much to him, just like yours does to you.

"Yes they would." Donna points her fork at him playfully. "I don't care how you get married, I just want to be there."

“Yes ma’am.” That gets an instant agreement from you — not at all ready to set the precedence of going against your future mother-in-law about something like this.

"Good." She smiles in approval and smirks at her husband. "We will clear our schedules whenever they decide on a date."

"Well," you laugh, leaning into Marcus's side. "I guess you were right about not needing to worry over their approval."

“The fact that I love you is all my parents ever need to know.” He smiles and Matthew nods. “Marcus has a good head on his shoulders and a heart of gold. With you being his soulmate, you have to be the same.”

For dinner on your second night in Texas, Marcus promises to take care of everything and disappears with a grin on his face while his mother and Selena take you on a long walk around the large gardens of the compound. Anticipating a little girl talk and some bonding with his family, you had readily agreed.

“So how are you liking Texas, Birdie?” Donna asks curiously as the three of you stroll in the warm morning. You have been a dream to have visit and it’s obvious that you adore Marcus, so she has loved you being here. She just wants to make sure the feeling is mutual.

“It’s beautiful.” It’s not too hot yet, being the beginning of April, and walking around the compound is a nice way to settle in and work off the big breakfast everyone had this morning. “I’ve only been here once before and this is far less stressful.”

“I am sure the campaign trail was never relaxing.” She sympathizes softly. “Although, if you have to take up the trail again, we can offer you a respite from the questions and prying wherever we can.” With being her baby’s soulmate, she will be just as protective over you.

“I’m sure when re-election comes, I’ll be volunteering to come to Texas again just to be able to see my in-laws.” The thought is actually relaxing, to be able to take respite with such kind people, but the in-laws part excites you a bit.

“In-laws.” She beams when you say that. “Now I promise I won’t insist that you call me ‘mother’ or anything, but I hope that we can be friends.”

“Let’s start with Donna and Birdie and go from there,” you suggest, smiling just as broadly as she is. “I absolutely want us to be friends. Marcus loves you all so much and I know it means the world to him.”

“He is our only child, and we want him to be happy.” She promises. “But that doesn’t mean smothering him or not letting him live his life.” She laughs. “Matthew almost had a heart attack when he came home one break to find Marcus with shoulder length hair and an earring. But he never said a word.”

“Oh, please tell me you have pictures of that.” Marcus had told you about his long hair phase, but claimed no photos remained. You’ve been hoping that his parents have one tucked away somewhere.

Donna grins. “I have them all.” She promises. “Snuck them up to the attic before he could burn them.”

“He looks like the nerdiest member of Nirvana,” Selena snorts, giggling with the jovial malice only family can truly master.

“He was…too polite to really pull off the grunge look.” Donna admits, smiling at Selena’s almost evil outlook.

“He’s such a sweetheart.” There are hearts in your eyes when you say it and you don’t care to hide them one bit. “It’s—he’s better than I could have dreamed of for myself. Truly.”

“I have to confess….” Donna looks out over the gardens and sighs. “I have been so very worried about Marcus. He’s is such a loving man. He always has been, from the time he was a baby. But when he called me to say he had discovered his soulmate…” she looks back at you. “I was so very afraid that you wouldn’t understand his heart.”

“How do you mean?” She obvious cares for her son very deeply, and you do want to make sure that the relationship you have with her is honest. No misunderstandings if you can help it — which means asking for clarification. “Because he’s so giving and quick to jump in headfirst?”

“Yes….and no.” She admits. “Marcus is….well, he’s a caretaker. A fixer. You have a problem, he comes up with a solution. You feel tired and down, he will take some of your burden and try to cheer you up.” She sighs softly. “Oftentimes, so many women have been conditioned to be strong, independent, so they view that as misogyny or finding them helpless. It’s insulting to them and they resent him for it.”

“They don’t understand that offering care is his way of being supportive. It’s not that he doesn’t think they can do it themselves, it’s that he views being helpful as a romantic gesture as much as anything else.” You nod, understanding that entirely. “I think the hardest part for Marcus and me right now is that we’re both like that a lot of the time. Which means we’re constantly doing little fixes or giving little gifts or making little gestures. We’re still finding the balance.”

“That makes me feel better.” She admits with a smile. “You understand his need in doing it.”

“He wants me to know I don’t have to do it alone,” you acknowledge, offering her a smile as you walk. “And I want to make sure he knows the same.”

“You two truly are soulmates.” She chuckles. “And I have never been more happy to say those words.”

“Just as happy as I am to hear them, I promise you.” Stopping in your steady tracks, you touch her arm gently and offer her a slightly more serious look. “A lot of people interpreted the things I said on the campaign trail to mean that I’m against soulmates, but I’m absolutely not. I just don’t think anyone should be discriminated against for who they love. Anyone, and unfortunately a lot of people still believe only soulmates should be able to get married.”

“Those people…in my most professional opinion…” Donna snorts. “Are assholes.”

“Agreed.” You nod your head but Selena snorts at her aunts phrasing as the three of you start walking again.

“Do you have any specific plans while you are here?” Donna asks, curious if you had wanted to spend the entire time at the compound.

“I want to see whatever Marcus wants to show me.” It seems like an easy answer, but honestly you’re just here to meet his family and spent time with your soulmate. Anything more is a bonus. “Or anything you guys have in mind. I just…” you shrug in admission. “I never take vacations. So I’m reminding myself not to worry about work and trying to relax.”

“A workaholic.” She smirks slightly. “Something I’m very well-versed in.” She teases.

"Can't exactly stop yourself from taking work home with you when you live at work," you admit with a grin.

“As long as it’s work you love, I don’t see a problem with it.” Donna tells you.

"I really do." They already know that, of course, from how much and how proudly you talk about the inn. But still, you're beaming. "Marcus suggested we look at building our house on the property since I already own it, and I think it's only going to be a little while before we start in on that plan."

Building something together is something that Donna highly approves of. She nods. “Word of advice?” She offers with a smirk. “Have a general contractor negotiate any and all disagreements.”

"Noted," you agree instantly, knowing that Marcus's parents have a whole lifetime of experience in this particular area.

“It will solve a lot of arguments.” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Over tile size!”

When Selena snorts out a laugh you have to suppose it's a family joke or at least and a family story, and you laugh too. "It's always something small, isn't it?"

“Yep.” She shakes her head and laughs. “One fight was about if the dishwasher should be on the left or right side of the sink.” She huffs. “Matthew rarely loaded the dishwasher, but thought that it continuously unfair to live in a right handed world as a leftie.” She rolls her eyes again, although it’s more amusement than annoyance.

Small things always seem large when they're under the microscope, and you can see how those things could get out of hand. But fortunately, from what you and Marcus have talked about so far, you're mostly on the same page right from the start. "I can see us tussling over little things pretty easily, but I think it will all turn out pretty well in the end. It's definitely a solid way to work through our skills in compromise and communication, though."

“Marcus knows how to communicate.” She promises. “He’s good at it, and if he’s not, I’ll give you free sessions.” She jokes, knowing the last thing any couple would want is to have an in-law involved.

"You'll be glad to hear that I have an excellent therapist to help me handle stressors and any manner of other unexpected event in my life that I need extra help in processing." The importance of simply having an impartial third party is not lost on you, but having a professionally trained and educated one is all the more important when possible stressors could include death threats sent to your family members.

“Very glad.” She nods and reaches out to pat your hand gently. “You are under a lot of pressure. That is obvious.”

"When we get back I have a meeting at the White House." Though you shudder for dramatic emphasis, it is unnerving. Those meetings about social outreach and the image of the First Family had gone well for Junie and Alex but since you're fairly certain what your mother will ask of you, you're dreading it.

“If you ever want to talk, just to vent, you can call me.” Donna offers softly. “Not in a professional capacity, although anything you say would be kept between us.”

"I really appreciate that." It's not something she has to offer. Not at all. But you're so grateful that your soulmate's parents have so far turned out to be wonderful people.

“Of course.” You might not take her up on the offer, but she wanted to extend it.

"And I hope you know you're always welcome in DC. Anytime, no hesitations." You swing back to grin at Selena on your other side. "You too. We could use another partner in crime."

“I am absolutely going to come visit.” Donna promised, and Selena nods eagerly. “Me too! I want to see this inn.”

"If you want to come and stay there, I'll have a word with the owner," you joke, and throw in a wink.

“And the food.” Donna insists. “Marcus has raved about your best friend, Sydney.”

"She's an absolute goddess." You promise them both. Building up your friends and loved ones is always easy for you. "Just the most talented chef you could possibly imagine. And an amazing person, to boot."

“She has to be.” Selena isn’t joking this time. “Marcus doesn’t waste time on people who aren’t amazing.” Now she gives a small, preening grin. “Which is why he loves me so much.” She jokes.

“I know what it is.” After about one full day of hanging out with Selena, you’ve narrowed down why it is that you are so comfortable with her, and it makes you laugh endlessly. “You’re exactly halfway between my best friend and my brother. Who are two of my top three favourite people in the world, despite the crap I give my little brother on a daily basis.”

“That sounds like a high compliment if I’ve ever heard one.” She laughs. “I’m the little sister Marcus never wished he had.”

“He loves all of you like siblings.” Even if he hadn’t said so explicitly, it’s easy to tell.

“We grew up together.” She agrees. “Even if we lived apart, summers together were important. Holidays spent driving each other and our parents crazy.” There’s a fond smile on her face. “Hopefully our kids will experience the same things.”

“I hope so, too.” The idea head settled into your bones and made you sunny with daydreams. “My siblings’ kids, too. The biggest family we can possibly make for them, since we never had any cousins growing up.”

“Pikes tend to assimilate the families that join them.” Donna shoots you a grin. “They are like the Borg.”

“That’s how we collected friends when I was a kid,” you laugh. The Pikes are definitely not like the Borg — they all feel far too much for that and you adore it. “Make friends with one of the three of us and suddenly you were just another family member.”

“That sounds familiar.” Selena snorts. “We love having people around. The more the merrier.”

“Absolutely.” The morning sun has hit the top of the sky but it’s not too hot, just making you stop warding off the crisp breeze as it disappears into a mellow midday.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” Selena hesitates. “There was some talk about you dating a Congressman?”

There it is. You were wondering how long it would take someone to ask the very fair question. At least it’s Selena and not Cousin Terry’s wife Hannah who seems to distrust you purely for being the daughter of a politician. Which…is also fair…just not a stereotype that applies to you personally. “I was. For almost a year. I was still seeing him when Marcus and I met, but…” you shrug your shoulders a little, with honesty in the sheepishness. “I fell in love with Marcus so fast, and so deeply. Even if he hadn’t turned out to be my soulmate, I still would have ended things with my ex.”

“I didn’t want to pry, I just hadn’t seen anything about a break up and wanted to know if you were ‘public’ yet.” Selena reassures you. “There’s already been a message in the family chat about not posting while we are here on social media. So we don’t potentially ‘out’ your relationship.”

“It will be out by Easter.” Breathing a sigh of relief isn’t subtle, so you swallow it down and simply tighten your smile into an affirmative. “He’s coming to the Easter Egg Roll at the White House with me. After that, just…try to be conscious of people asking about family photos? If you’ve got ones with Marcus and me in them, we’ll just ask everyone to keep them private. You know, friends only.”

“We are used to that.” She nods and sends you a smile. “We’ve got your back. Don’t worry. No one here is going to judge you. Besides Hannah.” She snorts. “And let’s be honest, she’s a bitch.” Donna chokes out a laugh, quickly smothered, and swats at Selena’s butt from behind you. “Selena!” She scolds, obviously still trying not to laugh.

“Oh.” This time the relief whooshes out of you, but you end up laughing. “So it’s not just me?”

“Hannah is…the least comfortable with the easy, familial closeness of our family.” Donna snorts. “When she first started coming, there was an…accusation.” She hums delicately.

“What could poss—” As soon as your mind spins on it for long enough to actually ask the question, your mouth falls open in horror. “Oh my god! That’s—obviously, obviously I don’t think that. Please know that I have never ever thought that.”

“You don’t think I’m sleeping with Terry?” Selena snorts. “Thank God!”

“No, I definitely do not think you’re sleeping with your first cousin,” you laugh but still shudder.

“Apparently, Hannah doesn’t believe men and women can be friends. Not even relatives.” Selena shrugs. “So if it seems like all the female cousins keep their distance from Terry, it’s not because he’s a pervert. He’s actually amazing. His soulmate is just fucking nuts.”

“Got it.” Even though you flash a thumbs up in acknowledgment, all you can think of is how glad you are that Marcus didn’t stay with Vanessa. She would have hated this for the exact same reason. Probably been Hannah’s only ally.

“Hannah isn’t all bad.” Donna adds, trying to soften it some. “Just….a little…set in her ways. But honestly, this is the only time of year they come. They rarely join other holidays.” She looks over at you. “And pleased don’t think that we expect you to come for every holiday, but we will invite you.”

“We’ll come as often as we can.” You can promise that easily, though you know sometimes he’ll have to work and you’ll have to be at official events with your family. “It…will be easier once my mother is out of office.”

“I understand.” Donna is well aware of the demands of public figures. She had to be seen at a certain number of games and it was her own personal mission to attend the post seasons games any time Matthews’s teams made it. “Just know that we want what is best for you.”

“And that is so much more appreciated than you could know.” Maybe she does. Maybe she understands every bit of it. But because you appreciate the honesty of the words from your soulmate’s mother so much more than you expected to, you leave the phrasing as it is. No stumbling or correcting.

Donna winks at you and links her arm through yours. “You and I are going to be good friends.” She predicts with a happy smile. Marcus is over the moon in love with you and from what she could see, you are much the same. There is nothing more than Donna could ever wish for her baby, to find a smart, loving, good person – and you fit that bill perfectly.

Most of the day is spent in the massive pool down by the bunkhouse, with a little day drinking and a whole lot of horsing around and even a little heckling when some of the cousins got into a competition over best diving form — which quickly degraded into silliest dive. Now it’s sunset, and you’ve thrown a shirt and shorts over your dried out swimsuit for Marcus’s surprise.

“Hey babe.” Marcus finds you again, smiling at the relaxed smile on your face and he hands you a new drink. “You look like you’ve had a good time.”

"Well howdy stranger!" A slight affectation in your voice is just to make him laugh, and you grin when it succeeds. "Where have you been all day? Did you have fun with your Dad?" Matthew Pike had disappeared after breakfast along with his son, and when you had remarked on it to Donna during your walk, she had just said not to worry.

“Of course.” He grins, unable to stop himself as he moves over to caress your neck. “I was taking care of a few things for tonight. Why? Did you miss me?”

"Every second." And you don't care who knows it either. You sit up in your chair and stretch a little more to kiss him, catching the fresh scent of the bodywash he favors as it mixes with his bergamot and musk cologne. He's fresh and clean and it makes you wonder what he's been up to as much as it makes you want to drag him up to his bedroom.

“Good.” He smirks against your lips and offers you his hand as he steps out of your sphere. “Come on.”

"Ooo, is it surprise time?" The look of delight on your face is undisguised as you readily take his hand to pop up from your seat. "I'm all yours."

“Yes you are.” He beams about that fact as he pulls you closer. “Say goodnight to everyone, Birdie.” He hums quietly. “We probably won’t see them again tonight.”

"Good night everybody!" You wave immediately, wrapping your arm around Marcus's waist and barely sparing a backward glance in favor of grinning up at him.

“Damn.” He whistles as he guides you away from the pool and over to the truck. He’s already talked to agent Bailey and cleared things with her, so he just nods as the two of you pass by.

“Damn what?” You pose, laughing a little as you wonder if he’s amused at how quickly you’re ready to leave just about anyone behind to spend time with him.

“I could be a kidnapper and you would just go willingly.” He teases, reaching out and tugging on your ear gently.

“You’d be the best looking kidnapper around and Agent Bailey would have a hell of a time bringing me home,” you tease, hopping into the pickup when he opens the passenger door for you.

“Yep, you have Stockholm Syndrome.” He teases, leaning in to steal one more kiss before he closes the door and hurries around the hood.

Once he’s back in the cab beside you, you flash him a grin. “Belle got a library, I got the softest dom in the whole world and awesome in-laws. I’m okay with it.”

“Softest dom?” He snorts, tilting his head while he tries, and fails to look offended. “I’m a hard dom.” He protests.

"How hard you fuck me when we get going is not what I mean," you clarify, settling into the corner of the seat as he starts to drive the two of you across the compound. "You have the softest heart in the world and I feel very lucky to be the one you've decided to give it to."

“I know.” He promises. “I was teasing. I want you to be happy, healthy and loved. That’s all I want.”

"I am. All three, absolutely." Leaning against his shoulder on the drive, you hum slightly and end up sounding a little sheepish as you look out the window. "I missed you today. Even though we weren't apart too long."

He chuckles slightly and lifts your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles and scrapes his teeth over the delicate skin. “I’ll show you how hard of a dom I am.” He teases. “I’ll put a collar on you.”

Not expected that reaction from him, you make a remarkably incoherent noise of interest and surprise before turning your head to look at him. "Don't tempt me with a good time, Pike."

He had been joking, but the way you react has him pausing. “Is that something you’re interested in?” He keeps the question casual, not wanting to seem like he’s pushing or judging, he’s doing neither.

"I always thought it sounded kind of sexy," you admit, wondering if he was just joking and not serious at all. "I mean it's not like...like something mandatory for me to be happy in a relationship, obviously. If--if you're not into that and at all and you were just joking—"

“Baby.” Marcus squeezes your hand. “Anything you are interested in is something we can talk about. If it’s an absolute no, then I’ll explain why. But I think it sounds kind of sexy too. Collars don’t have to be spiked dog collars where I pull you around on a leash and make you bark.” He snorts.

"A lot of day collars just look like cute little necklaces." Alright, you may or may not have done a little looking into it a few years ago with the guy you were seeing at the time. He was long gone now, but the idea had remained in your head. It was not something Sam would have gone for so it had never been brought up to him.

His brow ticks up, noting your interests and he hums. “They do.” He agrees. “Something sexy about being claimed, isn’t there?”

"Absolutely." He turns left at a pair of apple trees on the western part of the compound and keeps going, while you continue to snuggle next to him like a contented house cat. "I mean...I'm wearing a Pike family nametag. That's about as claimed as it gets."

“Not quite.” Marcus chuckles. “There’s definitely more claiming that can be done.”

"Is that a promise?" You tease, grin growing a little wider when he turns toward a tree line up ahead.

“Absolutely.” He follows the less worn paths through the trees, although it’s obvious from the tire marks through the grass road that someone has been there recently.

"So can I have a hint about where we're going?" This isn't a part of the property that you've been to yet and it's beautifully woodsy in a distinctly Southwestern way that you're finding fantastic.

“You’ll see.” The tree line gives way to clearing and Marcus smiles as the pond comes into view. “Right now.”

The little clearing in the trees is picture perfect. It looks more like a movie set than real life, the tree-lined pond ringed with fairy lights sitting side-by-side with a red and white checked gingham blanket and large picnic basket, and a small cooler to boot. "Baby," you sigh out the endearment excitedly. He knows you love surprises -- your family told him so -- but you weren't expecting anything. That, of course, it was makes surprises so wonderful.

“Now you know what I’ve been doing all day.” He tells you as the truck pulls to a stop close to the picnic sight. “Wanted to make this perfect.”

"It's gorgeous!" You breathe, practically squeaking with excitement as you turn to snuggle into his side as soon as he parks the truck. "Is this your old make out spot? Because if it is? It's an awesome choice."

“Maybe a few times?” Marcus shrugs his shoulders and gives you a boyish grin. “Not too many times.”

"Could make it one more." The exaggerated wink you aim at him makes both of you laugh. "If you wanted to, I mean."

“That was my evil plan.” Marcus admits without any remorse. “Bring you out here, woo you, make out with you.”

"Pretty good plan." Right about now he could undo your seatbelt and haul you into his lap in the truck and you wouldn't protest even for a second. "It's absolutely gorgeous, baby."

“Wanted to give you a special night.” He’s explains, unlatching his seatbelt so he can open the door and walk around to help you out.

“Every night with you is special.” As soon as you’re out of the truck you press in to kiss him, enjoying the lingering warmth of the early evening.

“So you’d rather go have dinner with everyone else than have a romantic picnic by the pond?” Marcus asks, reaching for the door handle. “We can go back…”

“Ohhhhh no.” You shake your head immediately. “We’re staying right here. In our perfect little oasis.”

“I thought you would say that.” Marcus chuckles as he takes your hand to guide you over to the blanket. “I brought wine, but we don’t have to drink anything stronger than lemonade.”

“Wine sounds nice.” You’ve been moderate in your drinking today, having two cups of water for every alcoholic beverage and making sure to eat, so you’re not worried about being too inebriated. “And very romantic, but I don’t ever doubt that from you.”

“Well. I know that it might not be the fanciest, but I wanted to make an effort.” He grins at your praise and both of you sit down on the checkered spread.

“You’re perfect level of fancy for me.” Once you sit down here starts to unpack things, and you fidget slightly on the blanket. “But…Speaking of…of that? I wondered if I could talk to you about an idea that I had.” The actual thought has been rolling around in your head for a while for uncomfortable reasons, but now that it’s Marcus it’s actually a nice thing you don’t mind dreaming about a little.

“Speaking of fancy….” He chuckles. “Alright. I’ll pour out the wine. You pitch me your idea and we will strategize.” He jokes as he opens the top to the wicker basket and produces two, picnic friendly wine glasses and sets them down to retrieve the wine from the cooler.

“Unless you had something else you wanted to talk about?” Maybe that’s what this beautiful picnic is and you’ve usurped the purpose of the night by jumping the gun, you can’t be sure.

“I’m wanting to talk about whatever you want, my love.” He promises as he uses the corkscrew to open the bottle.

“Very accommodating of you.” But that’s Marcus and you know it. Instead you focus on opening up the containers he’s packed away that are holding your dinner. “Do you remember I told you that my mother wants the three of us kids to all do…sort of…family publicity type stuff? Like Junie getting a dog and being willing to be public about it?”

“Yes.” He nods and pours out the wine into each glass. “You didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic about it, although you tried to put on a good front.”

“I’m not terribly enthusiastic about it.” You can admit that, especially to him. “Which is why I’m not sure if this idea is selfish or not.”

“Honey….” Marcus hands you the wine and takes the container with the cheese from you to open. “You are not a politician, you don’t seek the spotlight. Sharing yourself with the public in a way you need isn’t selfish.” He’s pretty much guessed that it has to be some idea about your relationship, and he’s okay with that.

“It’s selfish because it’s something I’m asking you to do with me.” The wine glass is cold in your hand, a soothing and grounding change from the warm day. Although now that the sun’s down it will be cool sooner rather than later. “Because I’m more comfortable and more confident with you beside me in that spotlight.”

“Whatever you need.” Marcus promises. “Undercover work was never exactly fun for me, and I’m out as a UA now that the picture of us dancing was posted in the papers.”

“I feel like I ought to apologize.” The wine he chose is fruity and dry, much more complex than you would but for yourself despite his claim that it’s not fancy.

“No, sweetheart, please don’t.” Marcus shakes his head. “I was aware pictures would be taken. It was my own choice. And I don’t regret it for a second.”

“I didn’t know art crimes required undercover work. Though I suppose it makes perfect sense now that I think about it.” And you’re definitely stalling, but you push it further by assembling a charcuterie bite from the containers around you.

“It’s rare, but I only took the last assignment where I went undercover was because I needed to get away after things ended with Teresa.” He explains.

"Well, you'll have nothing like that reason ever again." The idea of Marcus with a broken heart is too much to stomach, and the coping mechanism of assembling the perfect charcuterie bite for him now pushing the thought out of your mind.

“I know.” It’s freeing to know that you two are very much in the same pages. Despite the fact that being soulmates does guarantee happiness, you and him will do everything to make sure that your story is a good one.

"So...the thing I wanted to talk to you about..." Enough stalling. Time to be an adult. "Is not because I want to push you, or rush you, or anything like that. But...because I keep thinking about it and thinking that getting ahead of the curve is the only way to really control it, and controlling it will be so much less stressful and make half as much work in the long run."

You’re cute when you’re flustered, Marcus leans back on the blanket, completely relaxed as he takes a sip of his wine. “So are we talking televised wedding? Or just pictures?” He asks.

"We are not broadcasting the wedding." That's the point at which you draw the line, you already know that. It's too much. Too invasive even for a family in the public eye. "I was thinking more like...letting photos be released along the way. Like sharing engagement photos, or photos of dresses that I don't pick. Things like that?"

“I’m perfectly fine with that.” It’s an easy agreement, one that has him lifting a brow. “That was all?”

"Even if that includes sharing photos of your bachelor party or sitting down with a reporter yourself?" The fact that he's willing to agree to it so easily is utterly shocking to you, and you feel like you have to do your due diligence and double check. "Or even share part of the proposal?"

“Whatever you feel comfortable with.” Marcus agrees. “It’s like the family days at the parks or when mom and dad would have interviews.”

Sometimes you really do forget that he already has a frame of reference for all of this. That he understands being a family in the spotlight. You take a sip of your wine and build him another bite from the charcuterie containers, offering it to him with a grateful smile. "I love you. Completely. I really hope you know how grateful I am for you."

“Why don’t we plan to have photos released from our engagement, you and I can sit down with a reporter about the expectations of soulmates and politics. There can be a website for all this with links to charities or causes that you want to champion or bring to light?”

"I don't understand how you get even more perfect." When he takes the cracker from your hand you run a finger under his jaw and end up feeling heat in your cheeks all over again. "When we get back I'll talk to Mom and whoever from her team is supposed to be coordinating my media stuff. And..." That same hand of yours squeezes his knee gently. "This is not me trying to rush you into anything. I'm sure we'll get enthusiastic and rush all on our own."

“Us?” He feigns surprise and smirks slightly. “Maybe we will, maybe we will surprise ourselves.” He turns and kisses the palm of your hand. “But I doubt it.”

"I doubt it, too." It's a kiss from his lips that you want most, and lean forward to steal it without shame. "But I love that we're on the same page so easily."

“So after that birthday….um, debacle…” he makes a face. “Are you totally opposed to the idea of a surprise proposal or what?”

"As long as it's you proposing, a surprise is fine." Debacle is the right word, and you roll your eyes slightly. "I actually do love surprises. Mom told you that."

“You might have changed your mind.” The sun is setting and right on cue, the fairy lights that he had spent the majority of the day stringing around the pond come on.

The way you coo at the change in lighting is full of delight, and you lean into his side on the blanket with nothing short of delight on your face. "See this is why I love surprises. For things like this."

“I was hoping you would like it.” Marcus grins as you stare in loving awe of the lights as they play off the water and the sunset.

"You know...the back of the property at the inn has a little pond like this." You lean back against him and enjoy the view around you. "There's nothing around it really, so I haven't thought about putting a garden there or anything. But...it could be in the backyard of our house if we wanted it to."

“I think we could do that.” Marcus smirks and reaches out to touch the rim of his glass against yours. “Our own little escape.”

"And it's far enough back from the inn to soothe your very sweet concern over historically matching buildings." Which you love, but you don't want him to get so hung up on it that he ends up sacrificing another aspect of the house he might truly love.

“You have something else in mind?” He asks, wondering if you want something different for how you raise your children and where you live.

"I don't really know a hell of a lot about architectural styles," you admit. "I just don't want us to miss out on our dream house because we got stuck on making the buildings match. We can set our house back enough that it will have its own space."

“Any house that has you and our family in it is my dream house.” He promises, smiling at you happily.

"I love you, too." In a way that makes you feel like your heart is going to swell right out of your chest, but in the absolute best possible way.

“I know you do.” Marcus murmurs softly, wondering how he got so lucky with you. “I am a lucky man.”

Leaning back lets you kiss him, just a soft thing but tender and full of desire and promise before you pull back and smile at him softly. "I guess we're both lucky, then."

“Oh!” Marcus pulls out his phone, forgetting that he had programmed it and opens it up to the music app to start playing music. “Forgot that part.” He huffs. “Too eager to pour wine.”

You know even on the first song that it's a playlist of love songs. There is nothing more supremely on point for Marcus than a night like this, with all of the magic that he's infused into this beautiful little dinner. "I don't know how, but you keep making it better every second."

“That’s high praise.” He hums, putting together a bite for you and holding it out for you to eat. “I’ve enjoyed having you to spoil.”

“And you’re about the only person in the world I’ll ever let do it.” The admission comes with a laugh, and you place another soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for suggesting this trip, love.”

“I’m glad you got to come.” He admits with a smile as you take the offered bite and groan at the taste. “I know it was hard to take off last minute and I appreciate it. Next time we will have it planned better.”

“It’s less that it’s hard and more that I get very determined about being hands on,” you admit. “Malachi can run that place in his sleep during the day, and my managers are great. I just…always worry.”

“It’s your baby.” Marcus acknowledges easily. “It’s like a case for me. My team is incredibly proficient at their jobs, but if there is a stake out or some kind of op to be run, I like being there.”

“I’m grateful you understand.” Others hadn’t, and so the fact that Marcus is supportive of your need for work as well as your need for a family is very much appreciated. “And Sydney was joking about sending care packages to your stake outs if you wanted them, so I think your team is about to be very happy, too.”

“If she did, she would become an unofficial member of the team.” Marcus snorts. “They wouldn’t be happy with pizza anymore.”

“I’d have even more FBI agents on my doorstep,” you giggle at the image. “There’s already three of you, we’ll need to designate a dining room or something.”

“The Fed Room.” Marcus snorts, grinning at the idea. “It would never be empty.”

“Syd may have thrown a tiny bit of a fit when I told her I don’t want her to cater any of our wedding stuff,” you admit, cringing slightly as Marcus starts to open another round of containers from the picnic basket. “But she’s my best friend and will be my maid of honor. I want her there by my side, not stuck in the kitchen.”

“How about she can cater the engagement party?” Marcus suggests. “That way she’s involved but it’s not taking over her enjoying your wedding day.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about an engagement party.” The compromise makes you turn up your chin to look at him with wide, starry eyes. “It’s perfect. Just like you, love.”

“We have to have a party.” Marcus teases, kissing your nose. “The press can have the story of my proposal and the engagement party. That’s also a good way to keep our actual engagement to ourselves.”

“I’m so fucking glad you’re with me on this.” The honest laugh is stifled but full of relief as you lounge with him in the blanket. “I would never think of any of this and I’d just end up stressed out or going along with whatever anybody else planned to avoid having to think about it.”

“I will fix anything you ever ask me to.” Marcus promises. “But if you ever don’t like something, you never have to worry about me being upset by that.”

“And the same goes for you,” you promise him, with the same measure of seriousness in your eyes and honesty in your voice. “I hope you know that.”

“I know.” He picks up a grape to pop into his mouth. “You and I are very communicative.”

“I feel like I should apologize.” Your voice lowers slightly, the unsureness seeping through it.

“Why?” Marcus frowns slightly, not liking that comment at all. You have nothing to apologize for. He loves that the two of you are talking and planning your lives together.

“Past relationships…have not been as okay with my tendency to talk everything out at length.” It’s not something that you really ever planned on bringing up, since Marcus likes to dream and plan and plot like you do. But maybe it’s good that he knows, since it has slipped out without you meaning to. “I always felt like I was bothering them with it. And ended up apologizing a lot.”

He frowns even more, reaching out after he sets down to his wine glass and pulls you close. “Sweetheart, I want to talk things out. Even if it’s as mundane as brunch locations or if the entryway table should be moved.” He promises. “Please never feel like you should apologize. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

“You might regret saying that when I get going about the logistics of booking rooms for large parties.” It’s a decent attempt at a joke, even if it’s wry, and you lean into Marcus’s comforting warmth with a sigh. “I’m still getting used to the idea that you are as straight forward and wholeheartedly enthusiastic about this entire relationship as I am. It seems surreal but it’s too wonderful to be a dream, so I’m just doing my best to process the whole thing.”

“You process however you need to.” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll be right here to reassure you again. You’re my partner, my lover, and my friend.” He murmurs. “The most important person in the universe to me.”

______

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 @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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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hiraeth-ink · 8 months

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Could I Be Yours (a Joel Miller fic) Part 2

Pairing - Joel x Married Female Reader

Series Summary - You’ve been married for two years now to your long term man Marcus, but with your dwindling sex life and your marriage on the rocks, you came to an agreement. You're allowed to sleep with other men. The only rules? 1- You have to tell your husband about it. 2- No staying the night, you always leave after sex. And lastly, rule number 3, you can’t sleep with the same man more than once. These rules are in place to avoid feelings blooming, but what happens when you meet Joel, and end up breaking all of the rules? Will it break your marriage too? If faced with a choice between Joel Miller and your husband, who would you choose?

Read part 1 here

Chapter summary - One time with Joel was never going to be enough, questions rise in the week leading up to your second meeting and the aftermath. Will the second time be enough? And is it just sex? Or something more?

Warnings - mentions of, infidelity/open relationship(?), alcohol, protected p in v, ass play, oral (m+f receiving), overstimulation, Joel being a sweetie, Joel being a menace,

Word Count - 8.9k

a/n - I’ve tagged everyone that asked for a part 2, I’m definitely making this into a series so more to come! I’m so overwhelmed by the love the first part got, thank you so much.

You were dreading the moment your husband walked through the door, back from his work trip, expecting to hear what you had gotten up to while he was gone. Your mind raced with what you should tell him, contemplating whether you should lie altogether and say you didn't see anyone at all, or maybe tell him that you met someone but it wasn't anything special, or even just tell him the whole truth? Tell him that you met Joel, had the best sex of your life, stayed the night, agreed to see him again and haven’t stopped thinking about him the past two days. But how could you explain that? “Hey Marcus! I know we’ve been married for five years now and together for even longer, but I broke the agreement rules and now I’m waiting for a guy to text like a teenager with her first boyfriend!” You felt ridiculous, every time you picked up your phone you were hoping for a text from Joel, even a missed call would satisfy you, at least then you would be able to reach him.

You had spent less than 24 hours with Joel, but in that short time he had completely overtaken your mind, his taste was on your tongue, his name in your bloodstream, his face behind your eyelids. Not only was he the best you’d ever had, he wanted to get to know you, he wanted to see you again. You started to feel that you were only hung up on him because he had shown you some much needed attention, but this felt different. Joel made you feel as if you couldn’t say no, as if you couldn’t control yourself, as if it didn't matter what was best or wise. You had already decided you were going to see him again, you just hadn’t decided what you would tell Marcus.

—----------------------------

Marcus had let you know that he would be home later that night. In your guilt you had cooked his favourite meal, and as he walked through the front door you were taking the lasagna out of the oven, mentally cursing yourself for cooking for hours instead of deciding on what you were going to tell him. He shouted, “Hi, honey,” as he kicked off his shoes at the door, throwing his bag to the floor on the side, probably because he was expecting you to clean up, and walked towards you.

“Hi,” you answered with a forced smile, “how was the trip?” You busied yourself with plating up the meal as he walked towards you, unsure if you could face him yet. He stood behind you, wrapping his arms around you from the back and kissing your cheek, mumbling about it being fine, but boring. He detached himself from you as quickly as he approached you, something you would normally have been upset about, a clear sign you were not as close as you used to be, but this time you were grateful for his sudden coldness. You both sat down at the dinner table, he thanked you for the meal with a smile that didn't quite seem genuine and you ate in silence, like you usually did.

As you looked at him from across the table, you seemed to make the same realisation again, you came to the same conclusion, you and Marcus did not belong together. You should not be his and he should not be yours. But after 12 years by his side, catering to him, caring for him and never once leaving him, you were at a loss for what to do next. You had spent your whole adult life with the man sitting across from you, and although you were no longer in love with him, you had love for him. Of course you had love for him, you had been through life together for so long, it was impossible not to. But worst of all, it was impossible to make a decision relating to the fate of your relationship when your judgement was clouded by insecurity. You were scared of what would happen if you got a divorce, scared of what you would do, where you would go. But how much longer could you live in a loveless marriage? How much longer could you keep up this lie?

As you washed the dishes, Marcus stood next to you, watching you, before he asked, “So,” and just from that one word you knew exactly what was coming, your panic starting to rise, “how was Saturday night? Did you meet someone?”

Taking a deep breath, you prepared to lie to your husband, “I actually just went out for a couple drinks with Carrie, she called and said she had a shitty day at work so I wanted to cheer her up a bit.”

“Oh, baby,” he said in a low voice and you recognised the quick change in his eye, you had seen it countless times over you twelve years together, he wanted to fuck. You wished you could say that you wanted you, but you knew that wasn’t the case, he was just horny and he wanted to fix that. “So you didn't get your fill this weekend, huh?” he said as he walked towards you, turned off the water, grabbed your cheeks in his hands and kissed you. His kiss was soft, but not meaningful. It was gentle, but not affectionate. While he kissed you with excitement and arousal, his lips did not carry one ounce of love to yours, you felt nothing.

Because you felt nothing, Joel was quickly returning to your mind. You remembered the way you felt everything in his touch, in his kiss. It may not have been love, but it was more than what you felt now. His touch was tender, affectionate and meaningful. His kisses were full of interest, passion and lust. And you felt all of it. These thoughts of Joel only made you want to create space from your husband, it felt wrong to kiss him with thoughts of another man clouding your brain. As his hand trailed from your cheek to your breast under your shirt, you knew you couldn’t carry on. You moved his hand away and broke the kiss, whispering, “Not tonight Marc,” You created some distance between you and him as you continued, “I’m sorry, I’m just …I’m so tired.” He said nothing, only looked at you momentarily, turned around and walked away.

When you eventually got to bed, he left for the bathroom and upon his return you had crawled onto your side of the bed and tucked yourself under the covers. He got into the other side of the bed, but if you had not felt the bed dip beside you, you wouldn’t have noticed. He was lying next to you but he didn’t say a word. He was lying next to you but he didn’t pull you close. His lack of affection only made your mind circle back to Joel again, the way he had pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead, Joel’s tender touches extended into the night, his kisses extended past sex and arousal. Eventually, you fell asleep to thoughts of your time with Joel. While your thoughts of Joel were increasing, your guilt was slowly dissipating, you felt as though you couldn't feel guilty for feeling this way, you couldn’t help your feelings, you would just have to take action soon.

—---------------------------

The next day, you woke up to an empty bed, the sheets on the other side crumpled, messy and cold, much like your marriage. Rolling over to face your nightstand, you checked your phone, hoping to get ahead on reading emails before Monday morning. But before you could check your emails, you were taken aback by the top notification on your phone; a text.

The message read: Hey sweetheart, it’s Joel. Can’t stop thinking about you. Can I take you out on Friday night?

You read the message once, twice, three times. Your eyes fixed to your phone, sweeping over the words quickly before scanning them again, already wanting to read the words again, overwhelmed by the fact that you were on his mind, as he was on yours. Sitting up, you wracked your brain for a possible response and felt like a teenager again, not wanting to be too keen, to sound too desperate. Deciding to ignore these thoughts and answer how you wanted to, you sent a simple: Hi Joel, of course! I’ll be free after 6 :)

Fighting the urge to jump up and down and squeal in delight, you get ready for the day ahead. Your morning shower is full of loud, unabashed singing, your morning coffee paired well with contented humming. Your excitement doubled when you received another text from Joel on your lunch break: I’ll pick you up at 7, sweetheart.

And that was the start to your week, your week that was filled with thoughts of Joel and excitement to see him again, to feel him again. The week passed with minimal contact with Marcus, you were like two ships passing in the night, he started going to work earlier in the morning and coming home much later in the night. Most days he wasn’t home when you woke up and he was getting home just as you were going to bed. Truthfully, you had no idea where he was in the evenings, he was home early for the first time on Thursday night and claimed he was, “swamped at work,” but you weren’t sure if you believed him, although it could be your own lies that clouded your judgement of his honesty. That night, he explained that his weekly ‘guys night’ on Friday was at his friend Steve’s, and that he would likely stay over, telling you, “not to wait up.” As if you ever did anymore.

You awoke on Friday morning to an empty bed, again, but that was at the back of your mind. At the forefront of your mind was that night's plans, and Joel. Your day at work passed agonisingly slowly, you could barely concentrate on work with your excitement and apprehension beginning to flutter in your stomach, butterflies filling your chest, turning you into a restless, mind wandering mess. You were practically counting down the minutes until you could leave, and when you finally could you raced to your car, barely saying goodbye to your co-workers before rushing home. After applying light makeup and stressing over your outfit choice for what felt like an hour, you landed on a lilac dress that was tight on your torso and showed off the perfect amount of cleavage, and flowy at the waist, stopping at your mid thigh. Pairing with short, comfortable heels you felt good, genuinely good about yourself. You felt beautiful. Checking the time you exclaim a fuck seeing the numbers 6:58 on your phone, gabbing your purse and walking downstairs to wait for him. His texts throughout the week had been short and casual, with a quick text that morning to confirm that seven was a good time to come and get you. You heard the signature sound of the doorbell ringing before you reached the bottom of the stairs, Joel was right on time. You smiled to yourself at the prospect of Joel being just as eager to see you as you were to see him.

You took a deep breath before opening the door, and almost gasped when you saw

Joel on the other side with a bouquet of beautiful flowers in his hand and a smile on his face. He looked you up and down and let out a whistle, “You look beautiful, darlin’.” Hearing his voice again sent a shiver through your body, and seeing him again rendered you almost stupid, you barely had the brain power to say hello as you looked him up and down. He was wearing black jeans that were a loose fit but still tight where his cock rested. His black shirt was constricting around his shoulders and biceps, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and showing off his forearms. Your eyes stopped for a few seconds too long on his chest, where the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, allowing his chest hairs to poke out, leading up to his broad shoulders and thick neck that you could lick up and down. You were shaken from your thoughts as he said, “These are for you, wasn’t sure what flowers you liked so I guessed… I hope they’re ok I-”

“These are beautiful, thank you, Joel,” you interrupted, “come in for a second, I’ll put these in some water.” You ushered him inside, grabbing a vase and filling it with water, unsure what you’ll tell Marcus about the flowers. That thought quickly left your mind when you turned to face Joel and thought about the last time you had been given flowers. Marcus had not bought you flowers for years, he had done so in the beginning of your relationship but after he had won you over, he stopped.

“I can’t remember the last time I got some pretty flowers,” you said with a smile, your eyes flicking from the flowers to Joel, who was now walking towards you. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you towards him, before wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you slowly. You trailed your hands up his chest and wrapped them around his neck, falling all the way into the kiss, falling all the way into him.

Joel pulled away slightly, his face still only inches from yours.“That’s a damn shame, sweetheart,” he said in his gruff, Texan drawl, “I’ll make sure to keep that vase full from now on.” He pressed his lips to yours once more, and all you smiled against his lips as his hands came up to cup your face gently. Joel was proving to be some sort of an enigma to you, you were completely mystified by his ability to be a sweet, tender man who could get nervous asking to see you again or ramble about being unsure what flowers you liked, but also be rough and demanding, demean you and make you come harder than ever.

Joel kissed your forehead and then your cheek, and whispered in your ear, “we should go,” before gesturing to the front door with his hand, “The reservation’s for 7:30.” He gave your ass a quick tap as you made your way out of the door and to his car. The passenger door was opened and closed for you in true gentlemanly fashion, and Joel ran around the truck to the drivers side before stepping in and starting the drive to the restaurant.

“So, where are we going?” You asked curiously, only now realising you had dressed for the occasion without even knowing where you were going.

“This little Italian place that my brother recommended to me.” He wore a smirk on his face as he spoke, sneaking a glance over at you as he drove.

Joel stopped the car at a red light, “Did he say the food’s good?” You asked and he looked at you properly, his smirk growing into a full grin.

“Oh he didn't say anything about the food,” he said after a chuckle, “just that that’s where he takes all his dates.” You scoffed loudly and Joel laughed, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Well, if that's where he takes all his dates, the food must be pretty good,” you shrugged, earning another chuckle from Joel, the sound almost vibrating in his chest, placing a smile on your face as you watched him expertly manoeuvre the steering wheel, his upper arms tensing, causing his already tight black shirt to look even more constricting around his thick, muscular arms. He reached over to place his hand on your knee, caressing it slightly before moving to your hand and holding it in his.

“How was your week?” He asked as he brought your hand, that was still engulfed in his to his lips, placing a featherlight kiss to your palm, “You been writing at all?”

“Work was fine,” you answered, “just lots of emails, meetings and reading transcripts; the usual.” The fact that he remembered what you had said last weekend about wanting to be a writer warmed your heart, he was proving to be more attentive than your husband already. Not once had Marcus encouraged you to commit to your passions, to go after what you really wanted in life. It made you wonder whether he really knew you, if he knew who you really were. Did he not know you or just not care enough to acknowledge that you were unhappy, that you both were. “I haven’t been writing much, sometimes I’ll jot down some ideas but by the time I get home from work I just wanna eat and sleep,” you shrugged once more, unsure if this was the truth. “How was yours?”

“Mine was alright, just the usual,” he began, “got an apprentice now, real young guy that has no idea what he’s doin’. Which is fine, he’s gotta learn somehow, but he’s almost injured me so many times this week.” He put the car in park and quickly got out of the car, running to your side and opening the door for you, “I’m shocked I have any feet left, with all the heavy shit he’s been droppin’.” You giggled as he held your hand, guiding you down and out of his truck, before walking towards the restaurant side by side.

Joel opened the restaurant door for you, gave the host his name for the reservation and held a chair out for you when you got to the table. “Well aren’t you a gentleman, Mr Miller.” You smiled at him as he took his seat across from you, “I’ve barely lifted a finger since you picked me up.”

The gentleman sent his signature smirk your way and simply said, “That's how it should be with an amazing woman like you,” and you couldn’t help but feel as though that was not only a compliment towards you, but also a dig towards your husband. Either way, you liked it, you had never been treated this way, and you were slowly coming to the realisation that your whole relationship and marriage, you had settled. Settled for less than you deserved, settled for the bare minimum, all because you were attached.

Before you could respond, a waiter was standing next to the table, asking what you wanted to drink. Joel ordered a bottle of wine, looking at you with raised eyebrows when the question of red or white was raised. “White, please,” you smiled at the waiter, flicking your eyes to the man across from you as he walked away with your drink order. “Is white ok with you?”

“Honestly, I’m more of a scotch guy,” he smiled, “but yeah white is good,” he winked at you as the waiter set the wine glasses down and carefully filled them, before placing the bottle in an ice bucket and stepping away from the table. You both took a sip of your wine and smiled at each other, you hummed at the taste of the wine while Joel took a large gulp before setting his glass down again, the stem of the glass disappearing within the confines of his massive hand.

After ordering your food, you decided to ask the question that had been on your mind for a while. “So,” you began, “I noticed all the pictures in your house, who’s the girl? Is she your niece or something?”

“That’s my daughter, Sarah.” He answered after a pregnant pause.

“Oh,” the word left your lips before you could prevent it, sounding more surprised than you hoped. You knew that he was older than you, but he still seemed young to have a non infant daughter.

Clearly taking your surprise as dislike he scrambled to explain, “I wasn’t trying to keep the fact that I got a kid away from ya’, it just never came up and it's been a bit of a mood killer in the past,”

“It’s definitely not a mood killer for me, Joel. I’m sure you're a great dad,” your sincere expression and words brought a smile to his face as he sipped his wine.

“I try my best,” his words were accompanied by a small shrug, as if it was no big deal. Before you could say more, your meal was placed on the table in front of you and you heard Joel's loud exclamation of gratitude for the food that looked amazin’.

—------------------------

Following the delicious food, wine and conversation, Joel paid the bill, only slightly annoyed that you had offered to pay half, before ushering you to the truck with his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. Reaching the truck, Joel pressed you up against the truck, your back flat against it and your chest flush with his, and kissed you roughly. His lips trailed from your lips, to your cheek before kissing your ear.

“Can I bring you home with me, beautiful?” he purred in your ear, his hands wandering your body, completely indifferent to the fact that you were in a public space. You could only hum and nod in response, your lip between your teeth as your eyes fluttered closed, focusing on the feeling of Joel’s wandering hands. He straightened up, now face to face with you and reached up to slowly pull your lip from your teeth with his thumb, holding your eye as he did. He smirked as you looked up at him, doe eyed and curious for what was to come. Not wasting any more time, he opened the door to the truck, joined you in the car and drove.

—--------—------------------

“I want a drink,” he said when you were both out of the car, wrapping his arms around your neck as you walked side by side to his door, pulling you closer to him so he could whisper in your ear, “and I wanna eat your pussy.” He nipped your ear before unwrapping himself from you and unlocking the door, ushering you inside. He instructed you to sit down on the sofa and wait for him while he made a drink. You busied yourself by looking around the living room, the pictures that adorned the walls of Joel, his brother and his daughter, Sarah. She was a beautiful girl, and you made a mental note to ask Joel to tell you about her. You picked up a DVD off the coffee table; Curtis and Viper 2, some action movie you hadn’t heard of. Joel walks back in as you were reading about the movie, holding a drink in each hand.

“I know you like margaritas so I got all the stuff to make em,” he said sheepishly, passing you one of the drinks, “never made em’ before so whether they’ll be good or not is a different story.” He smiled at you as you raised your glass to his, clinking them together and murmuring a cheers before sipping your drink.

“This is good, Joel!” You almost shout, overwhelmed by the fact that he not only remembered your drink of choice, but had gone out of his way to buy the ingredients to make one for you, and it really was a good margarita. The man looked at you with a look of disbelief, his eyebrows raised as he took a swig. “Seriously! I love it, thank you.” He let out a grunt which you assumed translated to, you're welcome, and took a seat next to you.

He gestured to the DVD still in your hand and asked, “Are you snoopin’ through my stuff?”

“Just wanted to see what kind of movies you like,” you giggled at his accusatory tone.

“I haven’t even watched all a’ that one, had to bail my brother out o’ jail halfway through,” the annoyance was clear in his tone, “on my birthday, no less.”

“What did he do?” you asked eagerly, your eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“It was a bar fight,” he explained, “apparently some guy was gettin’ handsy with the waitress so he stepped in and it got out of hand.” He shrugged after explaining, as if he didn’t care why his brother was arrested, just that he had to bail him out on his birthday, half way through the cinematic excellence of Curtis and Viper 2.

“So your brother’s a knight in shining armour, is what you're saying?” You asked teasingly, subtly moving closer towards him.

“Enough about my brother,” he smirked, knocking back the rest of his drink before continuing, “now that I’ve had my drink, I want a taste of you,” he said before kissing you, swallowing the gasp you released. He pulled away, asked if you were comfortable and reassured you that you could stop at any time, before continuing his invasion of your lips.

Joel was quickly stepping into his second persona as his desire grew, he was kissing you roughly, taking off your clothes and ordering you around. He stood up and, looking down at you said, “hands and knees.”

And then you found yourself in a compromising position with your clothes long forgotten. Your knees were on the sofa, your elbows resting on the back with your back arched, ass in the air as a fully clothed Joel massaged your cheeks, groaning at the view of your soaked centre as he pulled them apart, spreading you open.

He gives a light slap to your ass, and upon hearing your low moan he slaps the other side, a little bit harder this time. He kept going until your breath was shaky and you were letting out quiet whimpers at every slap, you were so needy you were ready to beg him to touch you where you needed him most. You let out a desperate, “Please,” and looked over your shoulder at Joel, whose eyes were glued to your glistening pussy.

“You want me to touch you, sweetheart?” He looked into your eyes and smirked, they told him that he had you exactly where he wanted you, needy and desperate for his touch.

“Please touch me, Joel,” you begged, breathless and impatient, wishing that Joel would give up the teasing and make your legs shake instead. He didn’t speak, but swiped a lonely finger up your slit, exploring your folds only for a few seconds, taking in your grateful sounds before removing his finger and going back to spanking you, hard. You could do nothing but let out surprised yelps following each sporadic slap, enjoying the sting of his palm on your skin, your wetness now dripping, spreading to your inner thighs. “Joel, please,” you begged again, feeling as though you were praying to a higher power for just a crumb, a morsel more of Joel, “I need it.”

“Oh, you need it, baby?” He asked innocently, clearly trying to rile you up as much as possible, wanting you to be completely desperate for his touch. You looked at him over your shoulder and nodded, your brows knitted together in frustration. “Words, sweetheart,” he said, “tell me how much you need it.”

“I need it Joel. I need it,” you said, begging urgently now, craving his touch, “need it so bad Joel, please touch me, I’ll do anything.”

Joel hummed while trailing his thumb through your folds before circling your clit slowly, earning a long moan from you, finally appeased after what felt like hours of teasing. To your frustration and disappointment, his thumb left your clit before you could even get close to coming, and trailed upwards, before sinking knuckle deep inside of you. You whimpered, loving that even his thumb stretched you out. He thrusted his thumb in and out of you once, twice before removing it and trailing it upwards, stopping at your other hole and gently circling it, his touch feather light and barely there. You gasped in surprise and the circling stopped immediately. “Is this ok?” he asked quietly, his voice reassuring and you knew that if you said no, he would immediately back down and wouldn’t pressure you into anything. While you had never indulged in ass play, your stomach flipped and your pussy fluttered with a delicious feeling of anticipation while your lips let out a hushed yes.

“Look at me when you talk to me,” he said, his voice a low growl which only made you wetter.

You turned around, looked him right in the eye and spoke in the most confident voice you could muster, “I want your thumb in my ass, Joel.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned at your response, the circling of your puckered hole resuming immediately, his eyes flicking back and forth from your face to where his thumb was caressing. His eyes found a home on your face when you let out a sigh at his touch, “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he brought another thumb to your clit, circling it in time with the circles on your tighter hole, making your eyes flutter closed, “so, so beautiful.”

His sweet words made your heart squeeze and your cunt flutter. How could he be so impossibly sweet at a moment so dirty? How could he have such a tight grasp on your heart in such little time? His ministrations were hurling you towards the edge, he had you gasping for breath and releasing throaty whines, all while looking back at him, looking straight at you. Until he stopped circling your clit and removing his thumb from your pussy, his other thumb was still working your ass. You were prepared to beg once more, but you clamped your mouth shut before the words could leave your lips as his tongue left fast kitten licks on your clit.

“Oh, Joel,” you moaned as he sucked your clit into his mouth and pushed his thumb into your ass slowly, the delicious stretch mixed with his mouth encasing your clit had you running towards the cliff edge, wanting nothing more than to fall off. His tongue flicked your clit as he sucked, his thumb now thrusting in and out of your hole, and you could no longer contain yourself. Your legs were shaking, your head fell forwards to rest on the back of the couch, no longer able to hold it up. Your mouth was open, loud moans and whines leaving your lips, the noise surrounding you in the air, joining the obscene noise of his mouth on your cunt, mixed with his throaty groans. As you came down, Joel removed his thumb, leaving you empty, before going back to leaving feather light kitten licks on your clit, until your hips were lifting away from his mouth, completely overstimulated. He chuckled, leaving open mouth kisses on the backs of your thighs, before getting on his feet and trailing more open mouthed kisses up your back, gathering your hair and pulling you up with it so your back was flush to his chest, landing a passionate kiss on your lips.

He broke the kiss but didn’t fully pull away, his lips were still only a breath away from yours. “I want your cock in my mouth,” you said against his lips, reaching your hand down to grab his hard cock from underneath his jeans, squeezing lightly, making Joel groan into your mouth. The resolve he had held so far was breaking down, the cards he held close to his chest being shown as he started grinding his cock into your hand, clearly just as desperate for your touch as you were for his.

Joel picked up a pillow from the couch and placed it on the floor next to his feet before helping you up and off the couch and to your knees on the pillow. Now looking up at him, you watched as his thick fingers removed the button of his jeans and undid the zipper agonisingly slowly. You were craving the heavy weight of him on your tongue, craving his taste, craving his low groans. As he stepped out of his jeans and boxers, you looked up at him, his cock heavy between his legs and begging for your attention, begging for your touch. Reaching up, you held it at the base, making Joel hiss at your sudden touch. You reached your other hand up to his torso, touching his soft tummy underneath his shirt. “Take this off,” you whispered, “I want to see all of you.”

He quickly obeyed your request, taking off his shirt and granting you the beautiful view of Joel Miller in his glorious, naked form. He looked down at you, grabbed the base of himself, tapped his tip against your lips and said, “Open up, sweetheart,” with a smirk playing on his lips. You encased your mouth around the tip and sucked lightly, swirling your tongue around the tip at the same time, revelling in the sight of Joel’s head falling back and the appreciative grunts leaving his mouth. You gripped him at the base and squeezed, before quickly stroking what you didn't have in your mouth. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, his voice almost as low as a whisper, but still deep and sultry, “your mouth feels so good.” His praise made you want to take more into your mouth, to go faster, harder, whatever he needed to get there. You looked up at him to find him looking down at you as you worked him over, and he smiled before asking, “You think you can take all of me baby?” His voice made your pussy throb, and you realised that he could say anything to you, tell you to do anything in that voice and you would do it happily. You took him further into your mouth, trying your best to breathe through your nose and stop yourself from gagging. This effort was fruitless as Joel groaned and thrust his hips, his cock pushing into your throat and making you gag around his length, “Fuck, I’m sorry darlin,” he looked down at you apologetically.

Spit was falling from the corners of your mouth as you responded, gasping for breath. “Keep going, Joel.” He looked at you with his eyebrows raised as if to say are you sure, but you had already taken him back into your mouth, garbling what was meant to sound like I’m sure.

He groaned again and moved the strands of hair that fell in front of your face, gathering your hair again and holding it softly before fucking his cock into your mouth. “That’s it, atta girl,” he muttered in his low drawl, his eyes rolling back once more before landing on you again. “You look fucking beautiful with your mouth stuffed full o’ me, baby,” you were a slobbering, gagging mess, your mouth stretched wide around his cock, spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth, it was dirty, and messy and you couldn’t help but moan around his cock. Joel groaned at the sensation, muttering a, “good fucking girl,” under his breath before lifting your mouth off of his cock. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that, sweetheart.” You looked up at him as if to say that's the point. “I wanna come in your pussy, not your mouth,” he responded to your wordless rebuttal, pulling you into a standing position by your elbows before gripping the backs of your knees with one hand and lifting you into his arms, carrying you bridal style up the stairs. You were a giggling mess the whole way up to his bedroom, unbelievably turned on by his strength and ability to navigate his way up the stairs while kissing you the whole way, with only one or two bumps on the way.

He threw you onto the bed and swiftly turned you over so that you were lying on your stomach. “Hands and knees, baby,” he demanded, one that you obeyed in a heartbeat, arching your back and looking at him over your shoulder. He rolled a condom over his length and gathered the wetness from your cunt, lathering it over his cock before slapping his tip against your clit, making you jolt and moan in surprise. You opened your mouth to tell him to just put it in already, but a breathy moan left your mouth instead, as he pushed all the way inside of you in one, smooth thrust. With his hips flush to your backside, he groaned out your name, “you're so tight,” as he pulled all the way out, before thrusting all the way back in again, “so fuckin’ good.”

You moaned loudly, feeling every inch of him, every ridge and vein of his cock against your inner walls was amazing, but you needed more. You needed him fast and hard, you needed him in an animalistic way, in a way that you're sure you had never needed anyone else. “Please, Joel,” you whined while looking back at him, “I need more, I need it harder.” Giving into your whining, the man chuckled and sped up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you in earnest with his hands on your hips.

“Is your lil’ hubby not fucking you right, sweetheart?” He growled out after a particularly hard thrust and you couldn’t help but moan at his filthy words. It turned you on that he said it, it turned you on even more that he was right. “Is that why you come to me, soaked through your panties?” His words made your walls tighten around his length involuntarily, his words were filthy and salacious. His words were also true and incredibly sexy. “Answer me,” his demand was accompanied by a hazard slap on your ass. The only answer you could give through the speed and depth of his thrusts was a loud, strained chant of yes yes yes. He bent over until his back was flush to your chest, pulled your face towards him and kissed you messily, before placing his middle finger in front of your lips and instructing you to “suck, baby.” You took his finger into your mouth, sucking on it as he told you to. You heard a whispered, “atta girl,” in your ear, the loss of his finger in your mouth quickly following the words as he straightened up, speeding up his thrusts again. You soon felt the now familiar finger of his finger circling your puckered hole, letting out a low, animalistic moan as he began to slowly push it in, revelling in the stretch of his finger in your ass. You felt so incredibly full, and it was a delicious fullness, you never wanted to be emptied of this fullness. His finger was now settled fully inside you, and your groan mixed with Joel’s, “I wish you could see what you look like right now, baby,” he muttered, his voice sounding almost like a whimper, “my filthy fuckin’ slut.”

You were sobbing and moaning, eyes watering from the intensity of your impending orgasm, unsure if your body was made to take this much pleasure at once. Deciding it definitely wasn’t, you try your best to speak. “I can’t take it Joel,” the words come out in a cry as Joel begins quickly rubbing tight circles into your clit, the finger in your ass now thrusting in and out at a fast pace. He knew you were close, and he was determined to get you there.

“Oh, yes you can, baby. Look at you, you're taking it so good,” he praised, his breathy voice making you drip. “C’mon, be my good girl and take it all,” he could tell that his filthy words were having an effect on you, your pussy closing in on his cock when he called you his good girl.

You came with a long cry, your arms no longer being able to handle the weight of your body, your front collapsing on the bed, your cheek hitting the mattress as he continued using both of your holes mercilessly, his fingers not stopping their attack on your clit.

Feeling you clench around him, he grew closer and closer to coming and started babbling incessantly, “that’s it baby, that's all you gotta do, just take what I give you.”

No longer able to hold off his orgasm he came with a low grunt, his hips smacking into even harder than before as he rode out his high, still praising you filthily, “my good little slut, you take it so good.” He gave a few shallow thrusts before pulling out, making you whimper at the loss, now feeling empty. Joel threw away the condom, gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead and disappeared to the bathroom.

Hearing his footsteps returning, you rolled onto your back. Joel softly spread your legs,

wiped your centre and inner thighs with a warm rag and, lying beside you, pulled you so close you could hear his heart beating. “So,” you began, unsure if you should bring this up, thinking that if he wanted to talk about it he would have now. Deciding to ask anyway, you continue, “is Sarah’s mom in the picture, or….” you trailed off, unsure how to finish that question. Regretting the question as soon as it left your mouth, you quickly added, “It’s ok if that's something you don’t want to talk about…. I’m just,” you trailed off again, worrying you’d crossed a line with your questioning.

It was silent for a minute or so, save for Joel’s steady heartbeat in your ear from where your head rested on his chest, and Joel’s sigh as he traced circles on your shoulder with his fingertips. “She left when Sarah was a few months old….Just took all her stuff, left me a note and I never saw her again.” His voice was as steady as always, it was such a horrible thing to experience yet his voice held no pain, as if the pain had once consumed him so fully he never had the capacity to feel it again.

“I’m so sorry she did that, Joel, I hope she’s sorry too.” This was the only thing you could think to say in the moment, but then again, what else was there to say?

“If she knew anything about Sarah, she’d be pissed she spent the last fourteen years away from her,” his smile grew as he mentioned his daughter, “she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. It was hard, you know, being eighteen and a single dad but I got help from my brother. Wouldn’t change anything now.” The smile that inhabited his face when he spoke of his daughter was infectious, you had never met her, but you felt it would be a privilege to, merely based on Joel’s smile.

“Can you tell me about her?” You asked, no longer feeling there were any boundaries or lines to cross between the two of you, and you were glad, because you wanted to know everything about him. Seeing him again and hearing him open up to you only deepened your interest, you felt a connection that you could barely explain.

Joel turned his head to look at you and shifted slightly, so he was facing you properly, “She’s um, she’s smart as hell. Always readin’, you two would probably get along with your books and stuff,' you interrupted him with a chuckle, delighting in the fact that you meeting his daughter crossed his mind, no matter how fleeting the thought. “She loves soccer and she's really good at it too. She's funny, always making jokes about my age and my back….. Sorry I'm rambling,” he trailed off, his cheeks growing red as you looked at him with a wide, toothy smile. Seeing this side of him, the side of him that was a caring, devoted father was new to you and you and you liked it, more than you felt you should.

“You're not rambling, it’s sweet. I like listening to you,” it crossed your mind that you never learned his age, and so you asked with a curious tone, “how old are you exactly?” with a teasing smile. He responds with a smirk and a low chuckle, “Thirty four, darlin’. Why? That too old for ya’?” It was his turn to throw you a teasing smile as you shook your head, “And you?”.

You smiled, “Twenty nine.” he nodded, his fingertips tracing a trail down your arm from your shoulder, passed your forearms and down to your hand before interlocking your fingers with his. It made you smile, this show of physical touch, it made your heart race as you looked between your hand in his and his face, still looking at yours. While looking at his hand your eyes trailed down to his wrist and noticed that the band of his watch was escaping the buckle. With the hand that wasn’t being swallowed by his massive one, you fed the band of the watch through the buckle properly, ensuring it was tight enough to avoid falling from his wrist.

“And you know, she fixed me this watch for my birthday,” he nodded his head towards the watch, “sure, she stole the money out of my drawer to fix it but she knew I wouldn’t do it myself. She’s like that, she’s thoughtful and kind, even if I’m always busy with work and ….not as present as I should be.” His eyes saddened as he finished speaking, his voice straining slightly. It was hard seeing a man who had fathered a child with no help from the mother for the last fourteen years, work full time to provide for her and still feel bad about his parenting skills. His love for her shone through his words like sunlight beams through blinds and his fear of shortcomings was only another piece of evidence of his love for his daughter.

“You provide for her, you care for her and you love her, Joel,” you said while moving your hand up to cup his cheek, forcing him to look into your eyes as you tried your best to reassure him that he did enough. “I’m sure Sarah appreciates everything you do for her.”

Joel said nothing, he only held his hand up to your cheek and kissed you, a soft, meaningful kiss. A kiss that said thank you, and expressed all the emotions he felt but didn’t think he could speak. The room was silent for a while after that, you both did nothing other than hold each other close, steal kisses in the moonlit room and savour each other's innocent touches.

The silence was eventually broken by a quiet question, “Are you happy?” You had no idea where his question had come from, or what he meant by it.

“What do you mean?”

“With him. Does he make you happy?” You felt almost paralysed with shock at his question. Although you knew the answer to his question, hearing it from Joel made you unsure how to answer. Of course you weren’t happy with him, if you were you wouldn’t be here right now, in Joel’s house, in Joel’s bed, in Joel’s arms. But you had always heard that it wasn’t that simple, that marriage was full of ups and downs, that it took work, that you wouldn’t always be happy.

“It’s not that simple, Joel,” you said while averting your eyes from his, looking down, not wanting to see his face when he realised you were staying in a marriage you weren’t happy in.

“So you're not happy with him?” He did not sound accusatory or judgemental, only empathetic, and you were unsure which one you would have preferred. You didn't answer, you couldn't answer him. You only looked at him, and he held your gaze, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest. Your heart melted at his attempt to comfort you, an attempt that was successful as soon as you were enveloped into his warm embrace.

“You deserve better than that, deserve better than to be unhappy,” he muttered into your ear while stroking your back softly. It had been so long since you had felt this kind of warmth and affection, since you’d felt this comfortable and safe.

“I know, but I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice quiet and trembling as he listened intently. It surprised you how comfortable you felt with Joel, you barely knew him, and yet you felt comfortable bearing your true, innermost thoughts and feelings to him. Your marriage problems were a subject you hadn’t fully revealed to anyone, not even your closest friends, yet here you were, practically bearing your soul to Joel, the man you only met a week ago, and hoping your naked, true form wouldn’t scare him away.

“We’ve been together for twelve years, Joel. I might not be happy anymore, I might not even love him anymore but my whole adult life has centred around him.” You expelled a sigh before continuing, “The thought of being alone for the first time in twelve years is terrifying and…I’m just not sure if I can do it.”

“Being alone is scary, but would you rather be alone and happy, or miserable with him for the rest o’ your life?” He kissed your cheek before continuing, “Besides, you’re not totally alone without him, you know that right?” His words were enough to bring tears to your eyes, your cheeks quickly wetting with the streams of your teardrops running down them. Joel kissed them away, pulling you closer, though it didn't feel possible before.

“I kind of have a …. confession,” you hesitated, you wanted to tell him the whole truth of the situation but you were worried about his reaction, worried he would pull away from you. His look of confusion only added to your apprehension. “I haven’t been completely honest about the agreement I have with my husband.” He craned his neck further from you, allowing him to look at you head on as you spoke. “I can sleep with other men but we have rules too, and I've broken the rules with you.”

“What are the rules?” He asked with his brows furrowed, patiently awaiting an answer.

“I can’t stay over after sex, I can’t sleep with the same guy more than once, and I can’t do it behind his back,” you stated, unconsciously avoiding his eye, “I’m meant to tell him everytime I see someone, but I didn’t tell him about tonight. I didn’t even tell him about the last time.”

“Why not?” The furrow in his brow had not relaxed, you couldn’t tell if he was confused or angry, his face concealed the exact emotion he felt.

“I didn’t want to tell him that I’d had the best sex of my life while he was on a work trip.” Your explanation caused the return of his smirk, but only momentarily.

“So, is that why you saw me again? Because of the sex?” His voice was small, he sounded shy as he asked the question, the question you had wanted to ask him.

“No,” you said quickly, “not just the sex.”

“So why break the rules for me?” His question was a loaded one, a gun full of bullets, and your answer would pull the trigger.

“You’re different,” you tried to explain, “I’m not sure I've ever felt so connected to somebody in such little time. I’d be an idiot not to see you again.”

Joel smiled and kissed your cheek, “I like that answer,” was the only response he gave to your explanation before murmuring a quick goodnight and closing his eyes, effectively ending the conversation and leaving you completely bewildered. You had pulled the trigger and he had dodged the bullet.

—--------------------------

The next morning, you left Joel’s house in a hurry, you politely refused his offers of coffee, breakfast and a ride home, claiming you had things to do and needed to go. Your confusion had kept you awake until late last night, your wandering mind refused to rest. Your confession had changed everything and you felt like an idiot. Of course he didn't say he felt the same way! This is only the second time you’ve met the guy and you’re already talking about how strong of a connection you feel.

On your way home, you couldn’t help but try and pinpoint exactly what you felt for Joel. You knew it wasn’t just sexual, although the sexual connection was certainly alive and well, you felt more than that for him. You had feelings for him, although you were unsure what the feelings were, the presence of feelings was undeniable, for you, at least. Joel’s response last night made you feel as though he was only looking for sex from you, despite his actions saying differently. You were so taken aback that he had opened up to you last night, and closed off not long after. “I like that answer,” didn’t confirm if he felt the same way and you were sure that if he did feel the same way he would have said so. You thought that you shared an unexplainable connection, currents running between you, drawing you together. But now, you were unable to resist the voice in your head that told you it wasn’t like that for him, that to Joel you were nothing but a fuck, or that he liked thought of fucking someone else’s wife. Maybe he saw you as a trophy on a shelf, the unhappy, married woman.

Thank you so much for reading!!

Read part 3 here

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