#the emotions across pike's face

[ansonmountdaily]

Well, I don't know about you... but I think that was quite a miracle.

STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS 1x04 "Memento Mori"

#star trek strange new worlds #strange new worlds #star trek #captain pike #christopher pike #anson mount #spock #trekedit #tvedit #spoilers #strangenewworldsedit #*edit #anson's acting in this scene <3<3 #the emotions across pike's face #all the guilt and the pain #my heart went out to him #his relief was palpable

[neptuneiris]

Behind the Scenes (03/05)

Behind the Negotiation

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: knowing that you can't run away from your past forever, you receive unexpected visitors in your home that make you fear for your son's future.

word counter: 8.9k

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warnings: angst, arguments, language,mention of abortion.

guys, I'm sorry for the delay, with this chapter a lot of unexpected things came across my way, but I've finally finished it and I'm satisfied with the result, although I'm not sure if you will like it, it might bore you but I don't know, please let me know :)

without more to say, enjoy it and thanks for all the support, really! let me know your comments too, I'll be waiting for them!

You still remember it all too well.

You remember how you accepted Aemond's terms, the terms of his agent Criston and also of his entire team.

You agreed to keep the existence of your child a secret, to hide in the shadows with him and to keep a low profile until it was "safe" for Aemond's career to publicly and legally acknowledge the baby.

But you only accepted to take that worry off everyone's mind and especially his, so you could run away. Although the reality is that you were scared.

At first, Aemond's power, influence and connections kept you paralyzed, thinking about the consequences of breaking all ties with him.

And running away from him, disappearing from his life along with your son was a decision you had to make carefully and then had to live with in fear and dread of being found someday.

And the fear of possible legal reprisals for your escape and uncertainty about the consequences were present at every turn. But you did everything to live in freedom, not to destroy Aemond's career and to protect your son from all public exposure.

You always knew that Aemond with his celebrity status possesses power, not only in the entertainment industry, but also in the media and social sphere, that was obvious, just like any other celebrity.

So finding you could be as easy as snapping his fingers.

So to prevent Aemond from tracking your movements so he could find you, you began by discarding any means of transportation that could be easily monitored or tracked.

You avoided airports and bus terminals, opting instead for small train stations and local buses, always paying with cash. You left King's Landing and the entire state, going all the way to the Iron Islands.

In Pike, with the money you had left over, you were able to rent a room to yourself in a cheap hotel, then quickly began to look around for a job in the surrounding area in search of an opportunity that could provide you with support and stability.

You knew you couldn't get a job like the one you had before, on a recording set with a big salary. So downtown, you found a job at a beauty salon.

Not only does she own a beauty salon, she also owns a few small apartments in the city and offered you one of them at a lower price, considering you were just starting out with a new job.

The owner of the place, Becca Waters, a kind and understanding woman, saw potential and also the need in you.

Knowing your condition and that you practically came to live in a place where you knew nothing and no one, she also offered you a place to live and be safe.

Mrs. Waters became a fundamental support for you, providing guidance, encouragement, flexibility and stability in your financial need and also in your pregnancy.

With her you felt completely safe and supported at a time when you needed it most. After all you had gone through to get here, leaving your life behind and pregnant, she was your reward.

But still nothing was easy after that.

Your pregnancy process was a roller coaster of emotions, challenges and moments. Facing motherhood as a single mom was an overwhelming reality.

On the one hand, even though the baby was unplanned, you were excited to know that you would soon be holding him in your arms, but on the other hand, you also felt fear and anxiety at the responsibility of raising a child alone with no knowledge of anything really.

The first few months of pregnancy were especially difficult.

You experienced pain, symptoms and discomforts that you had no idea about and had to endure, as well as a slight state of depression and anxiety about dealing with all of this on your own.

But through it all, Becca was your pillar of support at all times, who became your confidant, giving you comfort and encouragement in difficult times. And she was the one who helped you throughout your pregnancy and also the one who was by your side when you gave birth to your child.

And even though you didn't want to, being in a very vulnerable state, you couldn't help but feel lonely and miss Aemond, just as you missed everything you once used to be.

But remembering everything that happened the last time you saw him, even though the feeling disappeared, you also couldn't help but start crying.

And to protect yourself emotionally, you decided to stay away from news about Aemond.

You avoided social media and any content that could remind you of your past with him. Your determination was great to be able to raise your child alone, without relying on Aemond's presence or acknowledgement.

And the day your son finally came into the world, it was a moment of joy and wonder that could not be compared to any other moment in life, filling your heart with indescribable happiness.

However, the birth also brought with it a torrent of new worries and challenges.

Childbirth was exhausting and intense. Nothing you've ever experienced before. And in the days that followed, the constant care of the newborn, the lack of sleep and the adjustment to your new life were heavy challenges that pushed you to the limit many times.

But in spite of that, every smile, every little gesture of your son filled your world with immense love, as well as Mrs. James' help in guiding you in practical aspects of motherhood increased your unwavering determination to go forward for him, being your driving force.

Although also the arrival of your son into the world increased your fear in you.

The fear that Aemond and his team might find you and take your son away from you was a constant worry. But despite this, there were moments of uncertainty when you thought too much about it.

You wondered why Aemond would bother looking for you and your child. Clearly the baby was a risk to his career and he didn't even want to support you from the start, only accepting it later because that was your decision.

You knew he wouldn't but you were still afraid.

Would Aemond really seek you out after he initially supported the idea of abortion?

Would he really seek you out after he supported your decision even if he didn't want to but in the shadows, avoiding any public acknowledgement and hiding you and your son?

But just when you had gotten used to it, had found stability with a job and a permanent refuge in the beauty salon with Mrs. Waters, a few months after the birth of your son, Mrs. Waters was forced to close the salon due to unforeseen financial problems.

That place that had been your refuge and where you found support and friendship, suddenly disappeared, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness, uncertainty and nostalgia.

Mrs. Waters would have to leave town and although you didn't want to, you also decided to do the same, convinced that you would be safer with your son in a place you knew well, avoiding at all times the places you used to go with Aemond and where you knew you could meet him.

So after looking for a job, with your resume and previous excellent references, in the city where the entire film industry resides, you got a job as a makeup artist in a different recording studio than the one you had worked in before.

There was no way you could meet Aemond, or so you thought.

Previously the TV network was BBC, now it was HBO for whom you would be working on a new TV show, so you really had nothing to worry about, especially since the pay was very good and you could survive just fine on that for you and your child.

But right on your first day of work, life decided to surprise you.

And now you are here, in your new apartment where you were planning to live temporarily until you find a better one, but now with you running away on your first day it means definite dismissal for sure, so you have no idea how you are going to pay for a better one or how you are going to pay for this one next month so you won't get kicked to the street.

But you can't even think straight as you are still shaking, your emotions are running high, you have no idea what really happened, it was all very fast between talking and remembering the past.

And the only thing that gives you some peace in the midst of your own thoughts and everything you're feeling, are the sounds of Aenar's toys and babbling in the living room, playing on the floor and touching everything he can.

His silver hair shines from the sunlight coming through the windows and he giggles as his colorful toys bump into each other, showing a world of happiness and innocent curiosity, completely filling your heart but you still feel that sharp ache in your chest.

You move towards him with a soft sigh and take a seat next to him, keeping a small genuine smile on your lips but with some melancholy, when he starts showing you all his toys and asks you between babbling and giggles to play with him.

You move the toys back and forth, ask him questions in honeyed tones and he laughs, making you laugh too, but you continue with the tumult of your overwhelming thoughts.

You think about what you will do now, that you should probably look for a job at a new beauty salon, which is what you should have done as soon as you got back, find a subtle job instead of going back to what you were doing before so suddenly.

However the paycheck was what made you take it and you need it too much, so you'll have to look for other alternatives.

You find yourself thinking about it when you suddenly hear the sound of the door completely interrupting your thoughts and also your game with Aenar.

You look towards the entrance, confused, with a strange feeling growing in your chest, immediately giving you a bad feeling. For who would come knocking at your door?

No one knows you're back… except Aemond.

Oh Gods.

The thought makes you paralyzed, feeling your whole body tense up, your heart starts beating fast and fear invades you completely.

Could it be him?

You wonder, struggling to stay calm, even though there's no way he could have figured out so quickly where you're living.

Or has he?

The thought leaves you completely paralyzed, with a mixture of anxiety and fear flowing inside you.

The knocking on the door becomes more insistent and you carefully get up and leave Aenar still amused in his game on the floor, then walk towards the door feeling a lump in your throat and a growing uneasiness.

You reach for the doorknob and as you turn it to open, your heart skips a beat when you find Aemond's agent standing in front of you, Criston Cole.

A trace of surprise and confusion flashes across your face, feeling your body tighten further and the fear linger.

How did he know where you were?

What is he doing here?

Criston returns you a serious but understanding look, beginning to feel the tension between the two of you, while you feel the fear invade you again because of the old memories and being him one of the main reasons why you decided to run away.

His mere presence triggers a series of emotions that take you by surprise. With no trace of Aemond or anyone else around you, yet your mind races.

Nervousness invades every fiber of your being, while your heart beats faster and stronger than usual. A sense of discomfort invades you and you also feel alert, afraid, unable to control it.

"Y/N."

He pronounces your name with a slight nod. His tone tries to be reassuring, but confusion and bewilderment wash over you.

You say nothing for a few seconds, feeling unable to speak and unable to formulate any words, barely trying at that moment to process the situation. Anxiety creeps through your chest, as he gives you and respects your space, aware of your unease.

"I understand that you're surprised by my visit and I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I really don't. But we need to talk."

The confusion inside you increases and so does the fear, to watch him completely bewildered and on the verge of collapse.

"H-how—

You try to ask with your voice cracking in the midst of all your emotions, but he interrupts you in response, knowing what you're going to ask.

"My team," he lets you know, "They handled finding you."

He tells you seriously and with that touch of professionalism in his tone, but his response only surprises and puzzles you more, to which Criston notices.

You feel the questions pile up in your head, but you barely manage to articulate a word, besides all the emotions you're feeling, fear mainly.

"Aemond informed us of your return," he adds, "After he didn't find you again, he asked us to look for you," he tells you calmly, trying to make his eyes convey an attempt at empathy for you.

But you don't believe that one bit. Not after what happened the last time you saw him and his entire team.

You feel a surge of vulnerability wash over you, leaving you suddenly helpless before him. You don't have the slightest idea how you will be able to cope with that situation, how to get away from them again now that they have found you, especially him.

"What have you really come for?" you question, not hiding your distrust.

Criston keeps a serene attitude and look, seeking to soften the tension, but notices your demeanor and posture, of fear and alertness altogether.

"Just to talk," he tells you softly, "Believe me the last thing I want and Aemond too is to cause you trouble. We just want to talk and nothing more," he explains, but you are having none of it, "He was going to come himself, but he had to film some scenes. But he'll come as soon as he can."

This just adds more weight to the anxiety and nervousness you're already feeling, so it triggers an alert in you that makes you feel completely freaked out, definitely not wanting that.

"No," you try to retort with a firm tone, but your vulnerability shows in your trembling voice and nervous expression, "Please leave."

Concern flashes across Criston's face for an instant, unconsciously taking a step towards you.

"Y/N–

"Please," you plead, "Just go away and don't come back, none of you, not even him."

"Y/N, please, just let me—

"No," you interrupt him again, more desperate than before, "Please," you repeat.

The atmosphere is filled with a silence full of tension, where your words, full of desperation and longing to get away from the situation, float in the air, also asking for urgent distance and tranquility.

And Criston lets out a sigh.

"Just a few minutes," he says, struggling to find some control in the situation, "Just-let us talk to you, Aemond and me."

"If it's to talk about his career and his son, I'm not interested," you say firmly, but your trembling voice gives away your emotions, "We've talked about that before," you say with some bitterness and sadness in your tone, "You can go now. I don't plan on staying anyway."

Without having let go of the door frame, you try to close the door, ending all of this, but he instantly speaks again, stopping you.

"Please Y/N, Aemond is very worried and wishes to speak with you," he insists, "He hasn't been the same since you left, you should know that," he adds in a persuasive tone.

You let out a snort in disbelief and with some bitterness, as you look away from his gaze for a moment.

"I highly doubt that."

"Y/N—

The sound of Aenar's innocent laughter while playing with his toys catches Criston's attention, stopping his words, who unconsciously catches a glimpse inside your living room where Aenar is playing and also catches a glimpse of his small figure on the floor with his characteristic silver hair.

This immediately triggers your concern and increases your protective mode and you quickly close the door a little behind you, blocking his view, while your heart is pounding.

This is what you meant.

You don't want anything bad to happen to your son, in any way. And you will do anything to protect him, because they decided everything except to protect you and now you will not allow them to intervene in your son's life now that they know he is here.

"Y/N," he calls to you in a softer voice, watching you completely intently and desperately asking you with his gaze for a moment.

"Please don't," you plead with him, at the point of collapsing from worry and frustration.

Again you enter the apartment as you hold the door frame tightly to close it, but Criston stops you again.

"You must understand the gravity of what happened," he tells you seriously, "Your disappearance put Aemond's relationship with his son in danger. There are legal implications for you to consider, such as custody," he says and your heart flips, "I can explain all of this to you and resolve it in the best way possible," he looks at you in insistence, "But only if you let me in so we can talk."

And there they are again. Your greatest fears.

The word 'custody' repeats over and over in your mind, like a loop, causing you greater fear, worry and pressure than before, the gravity of the situation and the looming legal implications being clear.

The air weighs on you, heavy with uncertainty and intense tension, as well as you are overcome with the urge to cry because of your doubts and fear.

"Wh-what-" you try to speak in a whisper, your voice cracking and your heart in a fist, "Custody?" you repeat under your breath.

Criston watches you with some pity and understanding, then lowers his gaze, lets out a sigh and watches you with that sympathy and also a little expectant.

"May I come in?"

Try one more time and maybe it's because of his words that your mind is in a state of alarm that makes you recognize that you can't run away again or else things will get worse. And you don't want that. You are afraid for yourself and Aenar.

Feeling more of your anxiety, you finally allow him to enter and Criston at this thanks you with his gaze and moves carefully, noticing your visible discomfort and also your fear, not wanting to alter you any further with absolutely nothing.

And once the door closes, you immediately stand in front of Aenar with a weak and vulnerable posture trying to look strong, this catching his attention and feeling something warm in his chest at the presence of the little one.

But he also knows exactly why you react this way and he doesn't blame you for it, much less does it bother him because he understands you.

"I'm very honest when I tell you that we really don't want to create more trouble, Y/N," he tells you in a soft tone, "Aemond…. he really is very worried. And since he is my client, we don't want any legal implications or further conflict."

You try to keep your composure, but your thoughts are a storm of confused emotions. The very idea of dealing with legal issues, especially regarding your son, is overwhelming to you.

"Why now?" you ask in a trembling voice, your gaze searching for answers, "All this… why?"

Criston exhales slowly, trying to find the right words.

"The situation has changed, basically since you left. Aemond was wrong at the time and I admit I was too, so now he's willing to acknowledge your son, in every way possible."

You can't help but look incredulous and bitter once again.

"It's already too late for that, don't you think?" you ask him in a bitter tone.

Criston looks down for a moment, his expression one of compassion and understanding towards your perspective.

"Yes, we know," he nods to you, "And that's why we're here, trying to keep all this from becoming a bigger problem. But please Y/N, understand that Aemond doesn't want to hurt you or cause you any more trouble than he's already caused."

"And until now you say that?" you inquire sad, worried, fearful and indignant, "That's what I needed to hear before when I was scared, because I was scared too Criston, not just Aemond," you let him know, with tears in the corners of your eyes, "But you treated me like a problem you needed to get rid of, you and him."

Criston listens to your words with a gesture in his eyes that reflects the heaviness of the situation, just as you see shame and regret wash over him, suddenly seeing him as the vulnerable one and you as the strong one compared to years ago, the roles reversing for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. We didn't mean to make you feel that way," he says in a regret-laden tone.

"Sorry doesn't change anything," you say, fighting back tears.

You watch him with your hard stare and sad eyes, feeling several tears fall down your cheeks, making you remember once again.

And once again without letting it drown you, you force yourself to push those memories away, all your moments of uncertainty, fear and pain, to brush your tears away from your cheeks with a strong look of determination.

"I will accept any legal consequences if there are any," you say suddenly, trying to keep your composure, "If there are legal actions, I'm willing to face them. But for now, I just want to be left alone, please."

"Y/N," Criston calls you cautiously, "I just want you to understand that we want to do the right thing now. And what we want to do is find a solution that works for you and for Aemond regarding him," he points to Aenar with his gaze behind you, "Something that guarantees your privacy while not damaging his public image."

Then all the effect of his words completely disappear on you.

You feel a surge of frustration, annoyance and despair at the realization that still the main concern remains Aemond's career.

"Do you still think about his career?" you ask with disappointment and resentment in your tone.

"Y/N—

"The most important thing here is my son," you stand strong, "But he seems to be only one aspect of Aemond's image, doesn't he?"

"Even after all this time that has passed, Aemond's career is more successful and even promising than before, that is something that neither you, him nor I should forget, let alone ignore," he tries to explain to you, "Aemond wants to fix things but his career must also be contemplated, please understand this Y/N."

"Then why do you say you want to do things the right way now if that is not true?" you inquire.

"Yes it is true," he clarifies, "But within all of this, his career must still be contemplated."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to believe it.

"You say a lot of things Criston, but it's clear what matters most to you," you say with no emotion in your voice, "And sure, why shouldn't his career matter most to you? After all… you don't know what it's like to get pregnant, without support and go through the whole process by yourself, and then raise a child on your own, without the support of his father."

"I don't mean to—

"Please go away," you plead once more and this again alerts him.

"Y/N—

He tries to speak but the sound of the door echoes throughout the living room, drawing your full attention and Criston's as well.

The atmosphere again becomes heavier than before, as well as all your confidence disappears, already knowing who it is and you are confirmed by the fact that the person behind the door knocks more insistently, sounding desperate.

With your fearful gaze and your whole body tense, you quickly move towards Aenar, who is still playing completely oblivious to everything that is happening on the floor and you take him in your arms with haste but also care.

You hold him tightly against your body, as a way to protect him from everything outside and also from all people especially while trying to contain all your emotions.

And Criston, who also knows who it is, rushes to the door to open it.

And there on the doorway, the figure of Aemond comes into view, with all the desperation and longing in his gaze, the worry and anguish too, as you muster the courage to be able to look him in the eye again, holding Aenar a little more firmly against your chest.

But your son's body is visible to the eye and that's what makes Aemond completely paralyzed at the sight of you with his son in your arms.

Surprise is completely reflected in his whole look, immediately followed by a bunch of emotions that start to pile up in his whole being and want to come out, as he feels his whole body tense up and a feeling in his stomach invades him.

This leaves him and you in a state of momentary restlessness, where time seems to stand still and the silence is too loud. You, with your gaze fixed on him, try to keep your composure with a mixture of fear, insecurity and some determination to protect your son at all costs.

It didn't take long for Aemond's surprise to turn into a moment of awe and a surge of overwhelming emotions. The mere sight of you with his child in your arms triggers disbelief, pent-up longing and a feeling of suppressed joy.

"Y/N," Aemond calls your name in a whisper, his tone laden with surprise and visible regret, where his gaze can't tear away from you and Aenar.

You say nothing, just watch him back without saying anything, with all your emotions reflecting in your eyes.

The moment is just the three of you, so Criston turns away completely, not interfering and saying absolutely nothing, while you continue in your protective mode and Aemond is still processing this whole moment.

With excitement clashing against the surprise in his eyes, he tries to process the reality of having his son before him for the first time.

He searches for the right words to speak, but his stuck mind won't let him, nor will the lump in his throat and stomach as he continues to watch the scene in front of him; you with his son in your arms.

He tries to say something, but his lips barely half open and the words won't come out, feeling his heart beating too fast and hard.

And you with your gaze full of expectation, fear and caution, Aemond finally looks at you again, aware of all the emotional charge you feel, just like him, as well as your fear and distrust after everything that happened.

"C-can… can I come closer?"

He finally asks cautiously, his voice with a tone of longing and nervousness barely contained.

You hesitate at that moment.

Feeling the weight of the situation and the emotions that are triggered at that moment, despite everything, you feel very vulnerable and you also feel his vulnerability, also that longing to touch Aenar and hold him.

And despite the way he acted with you almost two years ago and also the way Criston and all his team treated you, you don't feel able to be as cruel as they were with you back then.

You don't want to be like them and also aware that this day would come sooner or later, you watch Aenar for a moment, leave a soft kiss on his forehead and again watch Aemond, then nod in his direction with a barely perceptible gesture.

You allow Aemond your closeness and he with extreme care begins to approach you slowly, as if fearing that a sudden movement could fade the magical and longing moment.

Aemond's heartbeat echoes in your ears as he finally stands in front of your son.

Aenar, completely oblivious to everything, senses the nearness of someone else and raises his curious gaze to Aemond, watching him with those bright blue eyes.

And upon seeing that man with the same hair color as his own, his eyes light up with a gleam of curiosity, lightly waving his arms and also his body.

With his teary eye, he watches you for a moment, to again focus on Aenar and with a mixture of excitement and awe, he extends one of his trembling hands towards his small, delicate face.

And when the touch of his fingers against his soft skin of his cheek makes itself felt, Aemond feels an unfamiliar sensation invade him completely.

A sad but honest smile full of melancholy appears on his lips as he gently and carefully traces his face, running his hand up to his silver hair, gazing intently into those blue eyes just like his own as Aenar watches him with that playful innocence but also just as curious as his own.

You, unsure of exactly what to feel or think, watch as he carefully reaches out both arms and begins to hold his body, feeling the warmth and weight of his small body now resting in his arms.

That unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling from before comes over him even more strongly as he holds his son for the first time, when Aenar lifts one of his hands and touches his left cheek, where his scar is.

The emotion makes his breath hitch as he struggles to hold back the tears of restrained happiness that will come at any moment.

It was a moment he had imagined countless times, but had never believed possible until this instant.

Aenar, captivated by the newness and warmth in the arms of Aemond, his father, laughs innocently, his eyes dazzling a happiness as he notices the familiarity in that new face above him. And at his gesture, Aemond lets out a choked laugh, completely captivated by him.

And unable to contain himself any longer, the first sob escapes his throat and the tears fall, instantly pulling his son's face to his chest, embracing him with gentleness and that security that makes him feel so vulnerable when Aenar settles perfectly in his arms.

Guilt, sadness, joy, emotion, everything invades him in that moment.

And he lets out more tears for the comfort that Aenar gives him in his arms, that feeling of protection and even… love, that makes him feel even more vulnerable.

And you are still there, close to them but giving Aemond his space, watching everything attentively with your heart in a fist and feeling sensations you had not felt before at the scene, with tears also wanting to slide down your cheeks.

After a few more seconds, Aemond slurps his nose and looks over Aenar's small shoulder at you with all the vulnerability in his gaze.

"I-I know I don't deserve this," he says with his voice cracking, trying to control himself but he can't.

And he is about to say something else but you watching his expression, a mixture of regret and deep sadness, you step forward to speak.

"In spite of everything, he deserves to know his father," you murmur with your trembling voice and teary eyes, "Aenar deserves this," you assure him, accepting it as you watch the scene of the two of them.

Aemond nods, unable to articulate words, still feeling the lump in his throat, his face reflecting pain, regret and a sadness you have never seen in him before, as his tears continue to fall as he embraces his son.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, unable to contain the emotion, turning to him and to you. "I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know how to face it…how to be there."

Silence again settles throughout the apartment, only being filled by Aemond's soft crying, as you silently weep and continue to watch the two of them.

A few minutes have passed since Aemond and your son met for the first time.

Aenar laughs with delight as Aemond plays with him with one of his toys. They are both immersed in a little world of fun where it's just the two of them, surrounded by Legos blocks, small plastic cars and puppets.

You watch everything, or almost everything, without interfering and giving them both their space, watching your son enjoy a special moment that on another occasion, could have been a daily routine with a different life.

Criston doesn't say or do anything either, he at all times stands in the corner watching the whole interaction, letting Aemond have his moment with his son, genuinely feeling happy for him.

And even though the scene makes you feel warm in your heart, being a scene you longed for before, you still still feel insecure, afraid and overwhelmed by this whole situation.

This doesn't really change anything. You have only given Aemond the opportunity to meet his son because your son deserves it, nothing more.

Inside you are still just as scared and in expectation that at any moment this whole 'beautiful' moment will fade away. And that's exactly what happens when you hear Criston's voice all over the living room.

"I wouldn't want to ruin the moment, truly," he says seriously and honestly, "But it's important that we talk about all this so we can resolve it properly."

This immediately catches your attention and also Aemond's, with whom you exchange a quick glance, again feeling your whole body tremble and out of the same nervousness you are overcome with the impulse to take your son in your arms to feel safe.

"It is important that we talk about the child, about what you are going to do now," he turns to Aemond, "Custody is important and all that goes with it."

"I don't understand why you keep talking about custody," you look at him nervously and annoyed, "I alone have cared for and raised Aenar all this time."

"I know this is complicated and sudden, Y/N," Criston tells you, "But we need to approach this whole thing responsibly."

"Responsibility?" you repeat incredulously, "What responsibility are you exactly talking about?"

"Y/N," Aemond immediately interjects, "Listen to me, please," he gets up from the floor leaving Aenar playing alone and walks towards you, "It's not my intention to take our son away from you, truly. But we must make sure we have legal rights to be in his life," he explains to you, "You were the one who ran away, who disappeared without a word. I didn't know what happened to you."

You look at him uncomprehendingly, with your hurt and desperate gaze.

"You talk about custody and rights when in the beginning that was the last thing on your mind, Aemond," you observe him incredulously, "And you keep reproaching me for running away when you know perfectly well that I did it so I could live and so I wouldn't ruin your career, which was all you were thinking about."

Regret again invades Aemond's face, as the atmosphere becomes denser, full of mixed emotions where fear and anger resurfaces with everything else.

Any trace of calm and peace, has ceased to exist, only being perceived by Aenar, who continues oblivious and innocent to all this in his games.

"I-I…" Aemond tries to speak, "I'm sorry for everything, Y/N. But back then...

His sentence hangs in suspense, not knowing what else to say, trying to find the right words without wanting to generate more tension, but that's what he involuntarily does.

"Back then," you repeat, your emotions running high, "Back then you were too busy taking care of your public image, supporting the idea of an abortion without consulting me, then supporting the idea of hiding me and my child as if we were a problem, which in fact we were and as if it was my only option, leaving me with no alternatives," you express with frustration and pain marked in every word.

Regret remains in Aemond's facial expressions, looking visibly affected by your words, grief-stricken and with a regret throughout his body that affirms to him that you are absolutely right, each word being like a dagger straight to his heart.

"Y-you don't know how much I regret and blame myself for all of that, Y/N," he tells you with vulnerability in his tone, "And I know I don't deserve it, any of this, not even that you allowed me to meet him and that I'm now in the same place as him," he says with regret, "But I want to find a solution that works for both of us," he whispers sadly.

The room is again consumed by silence, except for the sound of Aenar's toy movements, which is what catches Aemond's attention for a moment to smile a little more melancholy.

The situation becomes increasingly complex as your emotions continue to run high between anger and sadness, with the memory of past times still latent, but also with the uncertainty of the future.

And Criston, trying to keep calm, intervenes again.

"I understand that you both have different perspectives on what happened. But now we need to think about the future, of your son," he says seriously, "It's not just about custody, it's about finding a way to strike a fair balance, but… thinking about your career too, Aemond."

You let out a disbelieving, ironic snort again, shaking your head.

"His career,'" you repeat with a bitter tone, your voice a mixture of sarcasm and disappointment.

Aemond, watching you sadly and remorsefully, speaks in a calm but regret-laden voice.

"I don't want you to look at this that way, Y/N—

"That's just the way I see it," you interrupt him, serious and sad, "This is exactly why I left. This is why when I saw you again, I decided to run away again," you say hurt, "Now that you've met him, you want to be in his life, but you still prefer to hide us. This kind of life is the one you wanted to give us at the beginning and now you still do too."

Your revelations Aemond had already heard, but at that moment, again that sharp pain in his chest becomes present, as well as guilt, remorse and regret at seeing your sad face with such honest words.

"All I want is to come to an agreement, Y/N, please—

"You're not going to hide us," you interrupt him firmly.

"Aemond," he calls him seriously.

"No, that's not my intention—

He insists desperately but Criston intervenes.

"Don't," Aemond interrupts him instantly, turning serious and with an annoyed expression towards him, "We can't hide the truth anymore, Criston. Things must change."

"Look, I understand that this is difficult for you," he begins in a serious and cautious tone, "But still, we must consider the consequences. There's a lot at stake here, your career," he reminds him, "You have numerous job offers. Your show on HBO is the most famous show on the platform and the most watched show on television so far. How do you think people are going to react when they find out about your son?"

The room sinks into another silence, as you watch him with your hard, sad face, frustration, annoyance and irritation inside you, watching as Criston continues to treat your son like he's a problem.

And it hurts you.

Because Aemond doesn't even say anything.

"We can find a way to handle all this without putting at risk everything you have achieved, Aemond. And if you get a share of the custody, your son will be under your protection without harming your image," he proposes with an insistent look, seeking his approval.

You look away again, completely incredulous and with helplessness all over you.

It's not Aemond, it's Criston.

It is he who continues to manipulate Aemond to prioritize his career over his son, so that everything revolves around public image and fame, diverting attention from the well-being of your son.

And what can you really do there?

He is his agent, the person who has positioned him where he is now, making him famous, relevant, telling him what roles to take in movies or TV shows that are going to ensure one more success to his career.

"If you listen to him…" you begin to say in his direction with a trembling but firm tone, "If you do what he tells you, I swear I won't care what I have to do, even go into debt to get a good lawyer," you warn, "I will fight for the custody of Aenar and when I get it, I assure you that you will never see him again, ever."

Your words slip from your lips with a determination that completely surprises Aemond, surprise and concern visible on his face, watching you hurt for a moment, his mind a complete mess.

But it is not he who speaks, but Criston who takes the floor once more.

"If that's what you want, Y/N… that's fine," he tells you seriously, his gaze cold and calculating. "But let me warn you, we're trying to come to an agreement—

"The two of you or you specifically?" you snap at him.

"That doesn't matter, Aemond is my client and my job is to secure and protect his career," he tells you seriously, "And if you'd rather take this to fighting for full custody of Aenar, then so be it," he nods at you, "But I assure you, you're going to end up losing."

"That's enough."

Finally, Aemond's voice rises from where he stands, aimed directly at Criston, with a serious, hard stare that reveals a newfound determination.

"We are talking about our son, an issue that concerns her and me, this has nothing to do with you," he declares, his tone firm and his posture defiant.

"Your career has to do with me," he clarifies to her also serious, "You must think about what you are going to sacrifice. Your future, your career, the opportunities that await you-

"I said that's enough," he spits back at her, serious and annoyed, watching him with a hard stare, taking Criston by surprise.

And before he can say anything else, there is another knock on the door, drawing your full attention and making you feel completely alert, especially when Criston is the one who again goes to open the door, as if he knows exactly who it is.

And as you open the door, just like that day, Aemond's publicist, an assistant and the PR people enter your apartment.

Surprise flashes all over your face, watching with your eyes wide open the unexpected arrival of that group of people, whose intentions are not good.

"Thank you for coming," Criston tells them as he closes the door behind him.

"Of course."

Their eyes flick to you for a moment and then focus on Aenar, watching them back with curiosity in their gaze, while you feel confusion and fear completely take over you.

Despair, fear, your future, Aenar, everything mixes together in a horrible way that makes you want to vomit, letting out a couple of tears to quickly turn to your son and hold him in your arm, turning your back to them and starting to cry silently.

And Aemond, seeing your reaction, equally as surprised as you, quickly turns to Criston, his gaze full of confusion and annoyance.

"What is this? Why have you called them?" he inquires with his voice full of restrained anger.

And Criston, unabashed and uncaring of his actions, responds with a calm but calculated determination.

"We are not going before a jury to settle this, Aemond, it will be a waste of time and she will cause us more trouble," he says regardless, "This is necessary for your career, to address this whole issue strategically to protect your image, whether she likes it or not."

Aemond's expression transforms to one of frustration and helplessness.

But before he can intervene, his entire team begins to act.

"We need to establish an immediate plan, now," Criston says.

"Will the strategy be to minimize the impact on the media?" asks the publicity man.

"No, I want it hidden," Criston clarifies, "The approach must be careful and calculated. The priority is Aemond's reputation and career."

"I suggest we limit the exposure of Y/N and the child in public."

"We could create an alternative narrative to deflect attention by highlighting Aemond's professional accomplishments and minimizing the focus on his personal life."

"This must be handled with discretion. We cannot allow this situation to interfere with Aemond's career opportunities," Criston says firmly.

And so your entire living room fills with the sound of all those voices, each voice contributing ideas to control the situation, the problems, Aenar and you.

The tension intensifies, as everyone meticulously plans how to run the public narrative, completely ignoring Aemond's and your personal needs and concerns.

Tears slip down your cheeks silently as you hug Aenar tightly to your chest. This instantly catches the attention of Aemond, who steps worriedly towards you, placing his hand on your shoulder, positioning himself in front of you, but you abruptly pull away from him, watching him with an expression of pain and anguish amidst your tears and suffering face.

"Y/N—

"Why are you doing this? Why are you allowing this?" you ask in your broken, desperate voice.

"No, I swear to you I had no idea that he—

"I left, Aemond," you remind him with your voice cracking, "I left to save your career. And everything was fine, with you and me, our lives," you sob, "Why did you ask Criston to find me? Why do you care and insist on saying you want to be in our lives, when your career is still the most important thing?"

Pain and confusion echo in your words, lingering in the mind of Aemond, who in his gaze reflects a mixture of guilt, bewilderment, pain and sadness.

But everything hurts him more the moment you turn away from him, with a defeated gesture, turning your back to him and your whole body trembling in fear, Aenar in your arms being what gives you strength not to fall apart at that moment.

"We can prepare official statements to control the leaking information to minimize any negative impact on his public reputation."

"Rest assured that we need to maintain full control of this situation. We cannot allow any details to slip out," Aemond hears Criston's voice.

And that's when something snaps inside him.

Every repressed feeling bursts out in a whirlwind of emotions that were fighting to get out, your worry, the anger at himself and the guilt that invades him.

Everything explodes and ignites into a fury that he can no longer contain, seeing your state, causing him anger and feeling completely guilty.

Because everything is in fact his fault.

So without waiting a second longer, he walks to the center of the living room and with a hard, serious, completely annoyed look on his face and with his jaw clenched, he acts.

"Get out of here, all of you, now!" he exclaims, instantly drawing everyone's attention and yours as well.

For an instant everyone watches him and nothing else, slightly surprised and expectant, Criston too, unmoving and doing nothing, causing you a wave of despair.

"I said everyone out!" he exclaims in a firm voice and his gaze full of determination.

And it's only then that one by one the team finally leaves your apartment, except for Criston.

"What are you doing?" he inquires with a touch of disbelief in his tone, challenging Aemond.

"You get out of here too."

He orders him annoyed and with irritation, his voice charged with a frustration that has already reached its limit.

"Aemond, this is important, you can't just—

"I need to talk to Y/N alone," he interrupts her with his tone in a mixture of anger and determination, "I'm warning you, Criston. If you ever do anything else again without consulting me and interfering with this, I'm going to seriously consider firing you, which is what I should have done long ago," he shoots back at him with his defiant stare.

The pulse of the room beats with unbearable intensity as Aemond and Criston hold a duel of intense stares. However, in the face of Aemond's firmness, Criston finally resigns himself with a serious, annoyed look, full of frustration and resignation.

And finally he heads for the door, his footsteps sounding in the room as he leaves the apartment.

Aemond watches him leave with a mixture of relief and exhaustion, no longer feeling his shoulders tense. The silence expands once more as soon as the door closes and he turns to you with a gaze filled with a quiet, worried intensity.

The silence lingers for a few moments longer, a dense atmosphere charged with unspoken emotions. When he takes a step toward you, hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice ringing with sincerity and regret, "What happened, my insistence… none of this was my intention, much less to cause you pain and hurt you," he admits with his vulnerability again reflected.

And even though it's just you and him in your apartment, your fear lingers.

"P-please don't take my son from me," you plead between sobs, your voice filled with anguish and fear.

Aemond's heart contracts in suffering and worry at your words, his gaze instantly reflecting it.

"What? No, no, Y/N… that is not what I want to do, it is not my intention to take our son from you."

He tells you instantly insistent but in a serene and sincere voice, taking a few more steps towards you, placing himself in front of you, trying to reassure you. But tears continue to slide down your cheeks.

"This is why I left, so I wouldn't cause you any more trouble, so I could live and keep our son safe," you repeat with your voice cracking.

"I know, Y/N, I know," he tells you sympathetically and with a soft tone, "And you don't know how much I hate myself for having been the cause of you deciding to leave, for having hurt you so much to the point of having made that decision," he says sincerely, his eye beginning to tear up, "And this is not just about him, about our son," he tries to explain, "Yes, it is important, but it is also about us," he speaks with a longing, "Since you left, I never stopped thinking about you, and I-I...

He hesitates, unable to fully express his feelings, as he stands in front of you and wants to hold you, you and your son, as he faces his deepest emotions, feeling a tear run down his cheek and looks at you with all the sincerity and pain in his gaze.

"I love you," he finally says, in a completely vulnerable whisper, trembling, lowering his gaze, unable to look you in the eye, "Despite everything, despite my mistakes, despite my work, despite everything that happened…. I-I still love you," he declares in a whisper laden with longing and regret, "And our son too."

His words get stuck in your mind.

With your heart clenched by the surge of emotions, your eyes watch him back with a mixture of surprise, pain and longing. Aemond's sincerity and vulnerability... it's all too much and makes you feel completely helpless, definitely not expecting that.

You can't speak, your words get stuck in your throat, your heart fluttering with the intensity of the moment, your surprise.

And Aemond completely understands your silence.

"I understand that you don't love me anymore and that you can't love me again, I also understand that things can't go back to the way they used to be because of my job. But please… don't keep running away," he pleads quietly, "We won't fight over custody, there will be no legal repercussions, I'm not going to do any of that," he assures you, "Just…" he lets out a long breath, "Just get back to work and let's face this together."

He proposes with his voice full of fragile but hopeful determination, unexpectedly causing you to feel a relief and a warm feeling in your chest.

"I just want Aenar to be okay and let's consider his well-being as the most important thing," you say quietly, while Aemond listens attentively with his face full of longing, regret and understanding, "But we need time and patience. Also that no one else interferes."

Aemond nods, with a slightly more relieved expression, but keeping in mind that there is much to resolve, to heal and to build.

"I understand that and… I'm willing to do whatever it takes… for him and for you," he says sincerely.

You nod too, as silence takes over again, but this time it is permeated with a shared understanding and a determination to face whatever is necessary for Aenar's well-being.

And finally after so much, you feel calm and fortunately, this time with the support of Aemond, who hesitantly leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead and another on Aenar's forehead, taking him back into his arms.

taglist:

@imaegonstargaryenswife0 @bellstwd @gibbsgirl7 @toodlesxcuddles @imsoshygirl @croatianprincess @gemini-mama @a-little-roony-mara @mysteris-things @zenka69 @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @duds31 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @eternally-passionate @bellaisasleep @ttkttt @aemshaircare @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @noodle81937 @mooncalvin @queenofshinigamis @n4tforlife @vexladin @dixie-elocin @wotcherpeak @watercolorskyy @shiny-trashs-blog @strangersunghoon @elysian0612 @skzenhalove @iloveallmyboys

next part taglist:

@anehkael

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen angst #modern aemond #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell fandom #ewan mitchell characters

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 2

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: 12.6k 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* Mentions of sick loved ones, mutual pining, personal guilt, relationship turmoil. Summary: After only knowing Marcus for a brief time, you can already feel emotions beginning to build. Will that spell trouble for the relationship you've worked so hard to build with Sam, or will something else altogether begun to sow seeds of doubt? Notes: Once again I'm afraid I have to ask forgiveness in the edit of this chapter. I went away for a few days this week and ever since my chronic illness has been utterly kicking my ass. Hopefully I didn't miss too many errors here.

Game night will probably go down in the year's history as one of the best and most fun times that Marcus has had in a long time. He had laughed until his stomach hurt, his abs aching the next week for at least three days. He's gotten an open invitation back, but he doesn't know if that was a good thing, if he's honest with himself. His attraction to you is something that he's got to get ahold of if he's going to socialize with you more. It seems like everything about you just makes the heavens sing and the sun shine. It's crazy and he hates that, considering you are very happy in a relationship.

Eastern Market is his usual haunt on the weekend, preferring it to a generic grocery store, and he’s lost in thought enough that he doesn’t notice a familiar face at the florist’s stand across the way as he’s walking through the stalls. "Some peaches will be good." Marcus decides, looking through some of the fruits that have been trucked in from warmer states. "Peach smoothies." He decides, walking towards the gorgeous plump peaches on display.

If you were any other person in the world, it would be you who bumped into him and not the Secret Service agent contractually obligated to come along on your errands. As it is, when Agent Bailey defends you from being bumped into by the familiar figure of Marcus Pike, you’re the one who apologizes. “Oh! I’m so sorry, excuse u—Marcus?”

“Oh, hi!” Marcus shakes his head, reaching out and taking your arm. “I am so sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” He apologizes. “Was focused on getting some peaches and didn’t notice anything or anyone, obviously.” He flushes slightly, feeling that pull towards you and hating that he looks like a jerk, or maybe just thoughtless, in front of you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

"Not at all." The flowers in your hands and the canvas shopping bags on your arm aren't harmed either, and you find yourself smiling much more brightly than you were even a second ago. "No harm done to me or to Agent Bailey, not to worry. Is it errand day for you, too?"

“Trying to eat healthier.” Marcus admits, slightly upset by the prospect but he figures that just comes with getting older. “Figured the produce here would be better than in a grocery store. Are these for the inn?” He asks, looking at the flowers in your hands and immediately reaches for them. “Let me help.”

"I thought my apartment could use some brightening up." He's seen the organized chaos that you live in and you're not embarrassed by it by any means, but there is a small sting to buying your own flowers just a few days before Valentine's Day. Sam isn't a flowers guy and that's perfectly fine, but you're definitely a flowers girl. When Marcus scoops them up without a second thought and stays by your side, you can feel your cheeks heat up. "I, um—thank you.

“Of course.” He huffs, as if newly made acquaintances should always scoop up flowers from you. “You chose brilliantly. They are gorgeous. Have you already paid for them?”

"Yes, so don't even try." It's just a playful warning that comes with a waggle of your finger, but you really have a feeling that he would try to pay for them if you hadn't.

He grumbles at that slightly. “Well, okay.” It’s almost pathetic that he takes note of what kind of flowers you like and he smirks. “So which flower is your favorite in this?” He asks.

"These," you point out a geometrically fascinating flower with petals that seem to spiral endlessly. "They're called camellias. We called them Winter Roses when I was growing up, but I've always loved them." The intimacy of the question goes straight over your head, just excited to have something pretty to split amongst the small vases in your little space.

“Camellias.” Marcus repeats the flower, filing away the information even though he shouldn’t use it. “They are beautiful.”

"Not everyone has them, so I tend to get my flowers here just to make sure they're in the mix." Barely aware that you're standing in the middle of a bustling market with people trying to move all around you, you have to shake away the warmth settling in you that is definitely not due to any kind of attraction. Nope. Not even a little. Not at all. "You, um..." you gesture to the next stall, where he was originally headed when the collision happened. "Peaches?"

“Peaches? Oh right, peaches.” Marcus laughs at himself and shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, I’m – I forgot.” He snorts. “I was thinking about fresh peach smoothies.”

"Ooooo, that sounds incredible." All of a sudden it's the best idea you've heard all day, and you grin mischievously. "It's not exactly standard, but the next time you're craving a sweet after having Indian take out? Make a peach smoothie. It's got that same vibe as a mango lassi but it's slightly sweeter, and it's the most refreshing thing ever."

“I was actually thinking about having Indian tonight.” Marcus admits with a grin. “To reward myself for eating healthier.”

"Best reward in the world." You agree easily. "I told myself I was going to cook tonight and make sure there were leftovers for another day this week, but I am teetering dangerously close to just calling for take-out as well."

"Well..." Marcus almost doesn't offer, because of the fact that you have a boyfriend, but he is truly meaning this as a friendly offer. "If we went to have Indian together, it wouldn't be as bad as ordering it as take out, would it?" He ventures, raising his brows in offer.

You should say no, You should absolutely say no. Not because the invitation is improper in any way — after all, he's a friend. But because of the way your heart bumps and skips at the offer like you hope he means it as more. He doesn't, and that is a good thing. In fact, Marcus and Sam got along fairly well at game night. But you can't help the way your cheeks burn pleasantly. "DuPont Circle?" You ask, confirming that he means he was intending to order from the same place you were. When he nods, you do too. "That sounds really nice."

"This way..." He's immensely happy you are agreeing to come to eat with him. "We can order the samosas and pakoras and not feel any guilt what so ever." He tells you, grinning at you.

"No guilt, but definitely extra time at the gym." His smile is dangerous, but apparently your self-preservation instincts aren't nearly as good as you think they are, because the only alarm bell going off in your head is the one that says Don't Let It Become a Date! which you just brush off. Surely that won't even be a possibility. It can't, because you and Sam have a good thing going. "Although, you're not masochistic enough to have my little brother as your biweekly gym buddy, so your trips are probably far less traumatic than mine," you offer with a laugh.

"Nope." Marcus chuckles. "I just torture myself by running around the Mall during my lunchbreaks instead of spending it in museums or at the food trucks." He snorts. "I just get to smell them just off the Mall."

"Have you lived in DC for three years without doing any of the food trucks out on the Mall?" That might be the most appalling thing you've ever heard in your life, and you nearly drop the peach that you had just picked up to add to your basket.

"Oh no." He laughs at that. "First six months I was here, I fucking lived off food trucks." He admits. "I was undercover and my contact checked in with me through the food trucks."

"Oh, thank God." The both of you laugh as you wipe imaginary sweat of your forehead as though it had made you nervous. "If you had never had Julia's Empanadas, I might have had to drag you down to the Mall right now."

"Then I wouldn't have room for Indian." Marcus groans, rolling his eyes at the thought of how many empanadas he would try to fit in his stomach if you went to Julia's Empanadas. "And I'm really craving Indian."

"I am too." Although, now you're going to be thinking about empanadas for ages. Maybe you'll have to try making some. "How has your week been?" Making small talk is easy with him, as you poke through the fruit bins to find peaches, apples, and pears to snack on this week.

"It's been alright." He shrugs slightly. "Depositions for a few upcoming cases. So I've had to revisit case files and work with the district attorney's office to make sure that there aren't any surprises."

"Paperwork and meetings," you nod in understanding. "I get that. Being my own boss is a hell of a lot more paperwork and meetings than I ever thought it would be."

"Ordering supplies, creating events to drum up interest. Balancing budgets." He nods. "I can imagine that it feels like it's hard to get a free moment for yourself."

The way you nod is tired but proud. Every ounce of hard work that you put into that inn is worthwhile, and you do it with straight shoulders and as much determination as you can possibly summon. "Today is my first day off in...two or three weeks? It's...a lot. But it's so worthwhile. And it means that Syd has her place, too. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"So how did you come to have the inn?" Marcus has been curious about that. "Was it always your dream? Or something you fell into?'

"I really, really liked throwing parties when I was younger." That's the easy way to start, as you both move to the line to pay for your bundles of fruit at this particular stall. "That grew up into loving to have guests over all the time. And then dreaming about running a hotel. So I took my sociology and history double major and got a job a hotel in Philly after college, putting myself through a hospitality degree while I started learning the ropes. It was a lot of years of working my way up, but eventually I got hired as the manager for the Inn at Jones Point under the old owners. They were struggling to keep up with new technology and losing clients because of it, and then..." Your eyes flick up to Marcus, almost apologizing for telling him the whole story. "We found out the reason Anita was having so much trouble learning the new technology was early-onset dementia alongside a sizeable brain tumor. I bought the inn from them when they made the decision that a comfortable end to her life was the most important thing they could do. Michael – Anita's husband – he comes around once a week for dinner and to check up on the place now that she's gone. He likes to keep an eye on it for her."

“That’s….” Marcus softens so much at the background story. “Beautiful. You are maintaining their legacy while adapting it to the new realities of time. Weathering time.”

"That farmhouse has been standing since the 1700s. We're just part of its legacy, not the other way around." The pair of you step up to be next in line, with Agent Bailey standing mere feet away managing to look imposing and nonchalant all at once. "The best part is that it could give Sydney her restaurant, and Juan a way to find himself in all the event planning. We didn't know what a team we'd be until we got going and now it's...it's just amazing."

“That’s incredible, and the fact that the place runs so smoothly is a testament to your hard work.” Marcus praises. He’s read some of the reviews and they are all positive, even the ones that had events beyond your control.

“That’s very kind of you.” Kind is an operative word for Marcus. As are sweet, funny, intelli— Nope, stop it, you’re getting dreamy again. Even the momentary distraction of having to pay for fruit is a welcome one if it gets your mind off that track.

Ouch. Kind is such a word that lands him in the friend zone. Which is where he has to be with you, but it still hurts. No longer edgy or cool like he was when he was in his old band. “What else do you need to get?” He asks, swinging his head around at the options available.

“I’m almost done actually.” It didn’t escape you that he flinched slightly when you were trying to be grateful and at least a little complimentary, and suddenly your stomach flips in fear that he might not like spending time with you are much as it seems. Or that you’d done something wrong. “I just wanted to get some fresh bread. But…I don’t know how much more you have to do.”

“Nothing.” He promises, shooting you a grin. “The least I can do is carrying things. Since you are saving me from a night of trying to cook.”

“Never learned to cook or just never got good at it?” There is a difference, after all, and it isn’t about want. Some people find cooking to be an incredible challenge. He gives you a look when you take your parcel of fruit from the vendor and accepts it on your behalf with thanks. Like a damn gentleman, you think with a pant in your chest.

“Never really had the time or the inclination.” He admits. “It’s hard to be enthusiastic about cooking for one, you know what I mean?”

“But that’s when you get to experiment!” Maybe it’s years of being friends with Sydney, whose world revolves around her tastebuds, but cooking has always been an outlet for you. It’s one of the only things you dislike about your apartment —the teeny tiny kitchen. “You can test out new things and weird combinations, and if it’s not great then the only person who knows is you. But if it’s awesome?” You grin up at him like you’re unveiling some kind of ultimate secret. “You become a rockstar at the next office potluck.”

Marcus chuckles. “I’m a rockstar anyway.” He jokes. “I’m the one who brings in the pizza and Chinese for the late nights in the office.”

“Okay, actually, that does count for a lot.” Walking in the direction of the bakery where you get all of your sweet treats and fresh bread, you readjust your shopping bag on your arm and try to glance around the place to survey your surroundings the way Agent Bailey has been teaching you. A comprehensive knowledge of your surroundings, she calls it. “I can’t really cook for my staff much when they have Sydney’s kitchen nearby, but I leave baked goods in the break room from time to time as a thank you. They work so hard.”

“There’s nothing better than snagging a muffin or a cookie when you’re rushing around.” Marcus agrees wisely.

“Or a slice of pizza.” It sounds like he works hard to keep his team in good spirits the same way you do, and you have to commend that in someone who works in such a dour field. Even art crimes — being less violent in nature, according to what you looked up the other night out of sheer curiosity — can’t possible be all sunshine and roses.

“Exactly.” He nods. “Sometimes we have all night surveillance or going through the evidence when something is time sensitive. My teams work better when they are well fed, and know how much they are appreciated.” He shrugs slightly, “everyone could benefit from know that every now and again.”

"Sometimes the weddings we run are just...they're insane. Or last year we had an entire family reunion take over the grounds for four very long days. I can't imagine it's half as stressful as what you deal with but the days can be really long and busy in their own right." For what it's worth, at least, you do love your job. And it's obvious that Marcus feels just as passionately about what he does.

“Oof.” He winces. “I bet the staff wanted to break out a bottle of bubbly when they were checked out.” Marcus jokes, chuckling slightly. “Yeah a lot of people don’t understand that when you love your job, the long hours are worth it.”

"Yeah." A tinge of regret breaks your smile, barely twitching in the corner of your mouth, and you barely nod. He can't possibly know what kind of a nerve he's hit — hell, you barely know yourself and you're the one feeling it. It just...it stings.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asks, immediately concerned when your smile seems almost sad.

"No." You reassure him much too quickly, and flinch in your own right when he looks skeptical. "It's just...not everyone thinks what I do is as worthwhile as, say, something like what you do. A—and that makes sense. Running an inn and upholding the law are—they're not the same. I'm not saying they are. It's just...that important to me. That's all."

“Whoever believes that is wrong.” Marcus insists wholeheartedly. “Running an inn is absolutely crucial. Maybe not to everyone, but to the people who need a little escape, a retreat to relax and revive themselves, your inn is a haven to them.” He is speaking passionately because he believes it. “When I’m out of town on a case, I hope that I can book a little inn. Something more personable than a Holiday Inn, so when I come back, it’s like a little slice of home.”

“I appreciate that. Really. It’s—I guess it’s a sore spot at the moment and I didn’t realize it. That’s all.” And you are absolutely not going to allow yourself to indulge in the image of Marcus coming back to the inn for you. Your place is not his ‘ little slice of home’. Even if you’re wondering what the would feel like if it was real.

“Well, you can always gripe and complain if you need to.” He promises.

“No, that’s—that’s not it.” It’s a little embarrassing, if you’re honest, but that’s only because you’re fighting being attracted to the man beside you. Otherwise you would just be chatting to a friend. “I just…don’t get to spend as much time with Sam as he would like. That’s all. Because we both have busy jobs.”

Marcus winces. “With the job he has, it would be hard unless you didn’t work.” He murmurs quietly. “But what counts is that you make the time you do have together special.”

“That’s what I said. Making the most of our time it’s what is most important.” The topic had come up again in conversation when you and Sam had talked about next steps — through the odd avenue of discussing your commute. His house to the inn isn’t a prohibitive drive, but it will warrant either having a lot of work done on your car or getting an upgrade. Right now you have no commute whatsoever, so you’re barely using your car outside of town.

“My favorite thing to do with my ex-wife was to curl up and watch a movie.” He admits. “Or work on a crossword together.”

“Those…” You laugh quietly, almost self-consciously, and shrug with the air of someone who is just about to give up. “Are the things I do with my good friend Agent Bailey, here. Though she kicks my ass at the Times Sunday crossword every single week.”

He rolls his eyes at himself. “I know it’s an old person’s activity, but I was normally exhausted from the academy.”

“Don’t you dare besmirch the Times Crossword.” A waggles finger and disapproving tsk seems to amuse him and it makes you smile, too. “That’s a mandatory topic of conversation at my mother’s dinner table.”

“Your mother enjoys the Times Crossword?” He asks, grinning at you. “She would get along with my parents. They have two subscriptions just so they can each do their own.”

“I’m keeping that in mind for Dad’s birthday this year.” It’s a brilliant idea. They would love to make a competition of it. It would be the highlight of their week.

“My parents got it as a wedding present and they enjoyed it so much, they kept it.” He tells you, smiling fondly at the memory of the two of them arguing playfully over their crosswords.

“That’s incredibly sweet.” There is a crowd at the bakery, as to be expected, so you and Marcus step into line to wait your turn. “I love the idea of being able to share small things with your partner. They’re every bit as important as the grand gestures, if not more.”

“Sometimes the smaller gestures are the most meaningful.” He admits with a grin. “I love cherry Danishes, and so did my ex. We would find these combo boxes of assorted and she would get the cherry one.”

“Giving up your favorite Danish flavor is not small.” An attempt at lightening the already light and sweet conversation is maybe…just trying to keep your own mind off of things. But that somehow doesn’t keep you from admitting the truth before you can stop yourself. “I have yet to meet the man I would give up my lemon poppyseed muffin for.”

“That’s only because you’ve never traded for a raspberry crumble muffin.” Marcus vows, smirking at the way you look stingy, even though he knows for a fact you aren’t.

“You’re on, Pike.” The smirk on his lips spreads to yours as effortlessly as breathing. “But lemon poppyseed is pretty impossible to unseat.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever had a raspberry crumble then.” He huffs, looking offended at the idea. “But I don’t think this place has them. I get them from a little bakery near the Bureau. I’ll have to bring you one.”

“I’ll get you a lemon poppyseed from the coffeeshop I go to in Old Town.” Even as its coming out of your mouth you know it sounds like flirting, but the fact is that you just feel so naturally comfortable with him. There is nothing flirtatious about muffins, you tell yourself. Nothing at all. “We can compare notes.”

“That sounds like a plan to me.” Marcus is extremely happy that you would like to make plans with him, any plans. Even if it’s just a friendly wager. “I’ll get the raspberry crumble. I say we each get two. And if you like the other one so much, you have to give up both.”

“Deal.” You put your hand out to him, willing to make a friendly bet on almost anything. That’s gotten you and your brother in trouble before, but this is harmless.

Marcus grins as he takes your hand, imagining that lightning bolts are shooting up his hand. Winking, he laughs, “just don’t be disappointed when you break that little rule of yours for me.” He boasts.

“We’ll see.” The tone of the thing really tries for teasing, but you end up so taken aback by the electricity in shaking his hand that you fluster — which is only compounded when you end up next in line and completely forget the word for ‘sourdough’ in the process.

“I, uh, I want-“ you seem completely out of it, and the bored looking boy behind the counter seems to be getting annoyed with you. “Can we have just a second?” Marcus asks, pulling you back and allowing another couple to go ahead of the two of you. “I’ve completely forgotten what I wanted.” He takes the blame, not wanting to embarrass you.

“Bread?” You manage to supply, feeling like a world class idiot for clamming up on something so routine. If being around him is going to be this big of a problem, you need to get yourself in order.

“Yeah, bread.” He nods, wrinkling his nose slightly. “What’s that type that I like?”

At this point he could mean him or he could mean you, or he could even just be speaking in theoreticals, but you have you head in straight enough again to blow out a breath and remember yourself. “Sourdough. I forgot the damn word for sourdough.”

“Thats it.” He snaps his fingers and looks back at the boy. “Could we get some sourdough bread?”

“Sure.” The kid looks at the both of you like you’ve gone insane but turns around to bag a loaf of freshly baked bread without a second thought for his strange customers.

Marcus pays for the bread, even with you huffing beside him and guides you towards the clearing. “That wasn’t that bad.”

“Only because you saved me from sputtering like an idiot.” It’s beside the point that he is also the reason you were sputtering in the first place. That doesn’t matter. It’s the fact that you couldn’t keep it together that bothers you. “Thanks for that.”

“Not at all.” He waves off your thanks. “Everyone has those moments.” He promises, smiling at you.

There is such a moment of relief when you exhale again that you have to make light of it or else you’re in danger of feeling far more grateful than is probably necessary, and that makes your chest ache in a dull and insistent kind of way. “That’s either very sweet of you or a complete placation, but either way I appreciate it.”

“No placation, I promise.” He crosses his finger over his heart and smiles at you. “Anywhere else?”

“That was the last thing for me.” Even though you have plans to have dinner with him that night you still can’t help feeling a little disappointed that the impromptu shopping trip has come to an end. “Unless you needed something else?”

“Well…” Marcus looks around, not wanting to let you leave just yet. “Maybe I could find a plant to kill?” He asks. “Something to brighten up my place?”

"Bit of a black thumb?" The excuse to not say goodbye yet is welcome, and you end up smiling more broadly than you mean to. "Let's see what we can do about that."

“More that I forget to set up someone to water my plants when I go out of town and they die miserable, thirsty deaths while I’m away.” He flashes you a guilty grin. “I’m a murderer.”

“Very rude of you to do to your plants.” The wholesome, straight-faced nod that you cry for cracks on a giggle, though, and you nod in the direction of an entirely different florist stand than the one you were at before. “What you need is a succulent.”

“That sounds a little dirty.” Marcus admits, not even realizes how flirtatious that sounds.

It does. And you didn’t mean for it to. You were just talking about the type of plant he could get. But then there’s that grin on his face and it’s so fucking puckish and * handsome* that you practically groan about how unfair the whole damn thing is. “Whoops?” You offer, obviously not apologetic in the least.

He snorts and winks at you again. “I don’t mind. Sometimes being a little dirty is a good thing.” It’s borderline inappropriate, so Marcus doesn’t say anything else.

“Sometimes it’s the fun of an otherwise boring day.” But since you’re genuinely afraid you might say too much if you go ahead with this line of thought, and since Agent Bailey is steadily avoiding your eyes like an older sister trying not to bear witness to your trouble making, you clear your throat and change the subject. “I think I snake plant would work for you. They’re really easy to care for and great for beginners or busy people.”

Marcus takes your lead and nods seriously. “I’ll take some advice. Any advice.” He shrugs slightly. “I wish I had the time for pets, but I don’t and it’s wrong to do that to them.”

“If I could have a dog, I would have a little corgi or a Yorkie in a heartbeat.” It comes with an almost wistful sigh, but you feel the same way he does. It would be cruel to the animal you’re supposed to be taking care of. “But since I have no concept of work-life balance? I have plants.”

“I’ll start with plants.” Marcus huffs. “If I can keep one alive? Maybe I’ll move on to cats? They are low maintenance.”

“Cats are fantastic. Sydney and Anna Leigh always had a couple when we were growing up and they can’t be the sweetest animals in the world.” There is a florist that specializes in succulents and potted plants further into the market and you head that way, chatting as you go. “I just always said I would want my kids to grow up with a puppy.”

“Puppy, a swing set in the yard and dinner together.” Marcus adds wistfully, having his own version of that same dream. “Every kid needs a puppy pal.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” And the knot in your stomach tells you that that isn’t a coincidence — that the future you’ve dreamt about probably lines up with the one he wants in so many different ways.

“We had my dog for nearly twenty years.” Marcus tells you. “He was my best friend and the best soul I’ve ever met.”

“I got Alex instead of a dog,” you giggle, silliness tinging the edge of his sweet nostalgia. “My little brother.”

“Isn’t a younger brother the same thing?” He asks with a grin.

“Very much so. And Alex is as much Golden Retriever as he is human.” If he were here, he’d give you so much grief for that comparison, but you stand by it. “What kind of dog did you have?”

Marcus chuckles. “A golden retriever.” He tells you without skipping a beat. “I’ve got a picture of him, wanna see?”

“Absolutely!” They say you’re either a kid person or a dog person, but you’re definitely both. Anything cute and squishy is right up your alley.

Digging out his wallet, it might be a little old fashioned to carry a physical photo of the favorite family pet, but he likes looking at it sometimes. He’s holding his dog, Hansel, in the picture. The white around the dog’s snout indicative of the older age of the golden retriever. “Here he is. Hansel.”

“What an angel!” If you could jump right through the photo and squeeze his beautiful face you would — the only problem is that you don’t know if you mean young Marcus or the dog.

“Wasn’t he?” Marcus hums happily. “He slept in my room growing up. Hated me leaving for college, although I hated being apart from him too.”

"How could you possibly leave that face? Look at him!" Yeah, it's definitely the dog that you're talking about. At least right now.

“Yeah.” He smiles down at the photo, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the canine face with happy memories flooding through him. “He was the best.”

"So would you want another Golden Retriever?" Looking between him and the photo, you think you might be able to guess the answer yourself. "Or will no other Golden ever live up to him?"

“Probably not.” Marcus shrugs. “He was from a litter of puppies at the shelter. It was just a coincidence that he was a pure Golden.” He frowns slightly. “I would want to adopt. It’s the best way to give a loving home to an animal.”

"Adopting is the only way." On that, you can firmly agree. But you point to the florist stand up ahead and touch his arm gently in an unconscious moment of casual comfort. "First, let's get you a plant to adopt."

“Yes, I would prefer adopted over nursery grown.” Marcus jokes, trying to ignore how easy it is to be with you. You can just be a friend. It’s possible and it’s possible he’s lying to himself.

"Wild, orphaned plants wandering the lonely roads with all their belongings tied up in a little bandana on a stick," you tease, conjuring the image of a cartoon orphan as best you can. To the girl behind the counter, you turn your full attention and the best conspiratorial smile you can conjure. "We're looking for something he'll have trouble killing," you confide with a chuckle. "Something like a snake plant, maybe? Or if you have a better recommendation we're all ears."

“It’s best to start them out with a plant before having pets or kids, isn’t it?” She asks with a grin, eyeing Marcus in amusement. “But he seems like the trustworthy type to me.”

"A fine, upstanding citizen if ever I saw one." The smirk you offer her is playful, and you glance up at Marcus beside you. "Plus, I'll be keeping an eye on the situation. For the good of the adoptee, of course."

“Of course.” She nods seriously, even though there is a definitely shaking to her voice, like she’s holding back laughter. “Let me show you the best options for a recovering black thumb.”

It's several minutes of back and forth with the florist who parries your playful banter well, and you end up leaving her stand with not just a lovely potted snake plant for Marcus, but an identical one for your apartment as well. "I had to!" You coo, when Marcus laughs at the little plant that you're cradling like a newborn. "It's so precious! And they're twins! I couldn't just leave it abandoned."

“Well, we have to name them.” Marcus decides. “Twin names.” He grins at you, “what do you think?”

"Luke and Leia," you joke right away, because that will always be the first pair of twins you think of in any situation. "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum? Oh, do the creepy girls from The Shining have names?"

Considering The Shining was his first foray into horror when he was younger, it was also one of his favorites. "No, they were just called Grady Daughters one and two." He tells you. "But..." He whips out his phone. "They are Lisa and Louise Burns, in real life."

“So are the plants Grady and Burns, or Lisa and Louise?” Either way they’re exceedingly silly choices, and you’re going for it.

“Either one works for me.” Marcus laughs. “It depends on if the plants are male or female.” He jokes.

“I think we probably get to pick,” you joke right back, making a show of rolling your eyes at him even though you’re laughing.

“Hmmmmm.” He pretends to take a closer look at his plant. “I’m going to surprise you.” He decides. “My plant is female.”

“Oh, that’s no surprise to me.” The smirk you shoot back at him is probably the lightest and most carefree you r felt in ages, and just for the moment you’re not going to second guess it. You’re just going to revel in the moment. “All my plants are female.”

He snickers with you and then tilts his head. “Lisa or Louise for you?” He asks, before he answers. “I bet you want the name Louise. You’ll pretend it’s for Thelma and Louise.”

“I—how—” Staring at him in utter confusion does not help matters one bit, but you still don’t have any clue as to how he could possibly have guessed that about you after only having met you two whole times. “So?” You ask after a second, realizing you’re laughing with the absurdity.

You have the most beautiful laughs Marcus has ever heard, and he loves that he caused it. There’s a flash of guilt that comes with the thought and he decides to reel it back into the scope of reality. You are becoming a friend, nothing more. “Who wouldn’t?” He asks, still chuckling. “They were the greatest female duo in modern cinema. In my opinion.”

“They line up against Idgie and Ruth from Fried Green Tomatoes.” You’ll stand by that pairing until the day you die, but the way warmth is spreading through your chest and your fingers ache dully from wanting to reach out for him is a special, damning sort of agony. “And I will die on that hill.”

“I had completely forgotten about Idgie and Ruth.” He admits, hanging his head in shame. “Forgive me.”

“Just this once.” There is still a teasing grin on your face when your phone goes off in your pocket. Sam’s name splashed across your caller ID and guilt crawls through your veins immediately. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing up at Marcus. “Just give me one second.”

Marcus catches a glimpse of the name and it’s like he’s doused with cold water. “Of course.” He murmurs politely, turning towards a little book stand to give you some privacy, beating himself up for flirting with another man’s significant other.

“Hey honey.” The second you pick up the phone with a plant in your other arm and your groceries weighing on your shoulder, that is the second you feel most self-conscious.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice comes over the line and he has a straightforward attitude, jumping into the reason for his call. “I’ve had a dinner invite tonight, some potential donors.” He tells you. “Can you make it?”

“I—” It’s not like it’s an unusual request. If he has a work event tonight then the best possible person he can have at his side is you. The idea of having dinner with Marcus had been so uplifting, and now cancelling on him makes you feel awful. But this is your boyfriend. “Yeah. Yeah, I can make it. Where and when? Is there a dress code?”

Sam rattles off the address and dress code. “Thanks honey, I knew I could count on you.” He tells you before he murmurs to someone else. “Hey, I’ve got to go, I love you.” The line clicks off immediately.

“I love you too.” It’s said to the silence, and you look down at your phone for a moment before pocketing it again. Marcus has stepped away to give you privacy, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other before walking back over to him. “I’m really sorry,” you murmur, actually looking as apologetic as you feel. “Can we postpone dinner tonight?”

“Oh….yeah, of course.” He hates the way the feels rejected, but you have priorities, ones that aren’t him. “That’s no problem at all.” He nods quickly and looks around. “Well, we should probably get your things to your car, right?”

“I—I’m really sorry.” Repeating it just makes you feel worse. But both of you feel worse, unbeknownst to you, and you walk in the direction of your car with Agent Bailey her usual two steps behind. “Something came up.”

“Not a problem at all.” Marcus promises you, plastering on a smile as you turn to him at your car. “I understand. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of things come up.”

"It was really nice to run into you today." There is no word of a lie or even exaggeration in that, and you take your flowers from Marcus's arms carefully, loading it into the backseat with your other bags and Louise the snake plant.

“Yeah, it was nice seeing you. Marcus holds up his plant. “Thanks for the help.” He hums. “Hopefully I won’t kill Thelma.”

"If you do, try to make it as spectacular as possible." Offering him a half smile, you realize that you just wish you could give him a big hug, but that would be totally out of line. So instead all you can think to do is shift your weight awkwardly again before opening your car door. "I'll see you around, Marcus."

“See ya.” He nods and turns around to walk to his car. He doesn’t turn around, knowing that it would look weird if he did.

Once you’re in the car with Agent Bailey and focused on getting back home to put everything away and make a cup of coffee before you have to start getting ready for the night, you sigh softly and sit back in your seat. You can feel the curiosity of the Secret Service agent beside you and you wonder if you look as guilty as you. “That was a nice surprise.”

“Yes.” Agent Bailey hums. “Special Agent Pike was quite a surprise.”

“He’s nice,” you defend, very aware that you’re defending yourself and not him.

“He’s very nice.” She agrees. “And exactly who he says he is.” Of course a background check had been done on the agent, which she was glad of now that he had popped back up on radar. Not quite sure what to make of the interaction at the market, it’s also not her place to judge it.

"Well, that's a comfort." The drive back to Alexandria won't take long, but you twist your hands around the steering wheel a few times before pulling out into traffic. "Unfortunately, tonight will be the opposite," you tell her with a dramatic sigh that cushions the blow of having to attend an impromptu event. "Sam asked me to come to a dinner party tonight. Last minute invitation, I guess somebody had a seat they needed filled and asked him."

“I see.” Now she has to find out where you are going to be, who is on the guest least and it means overtime tonight. She doesn’t sigh, but she wants to, much preferring to go to small Indian restaurant over some political function. “I’m sure it will be a lovely evening.”

"I know you have to vet everything." The process seems exhausting, but you would never question the agent's ability to get her job done. "It's a private party at Arthur Connesby's house. The aerospace tech guy? Apparently it's a party for his wife, but everybody invited are Sam's constituents. I have a feeling they're going to spend the night trying to pitch their own interests to him, but if nothing else they might donate to his next campaign if they feel like they got to be friendly with him." It sounds like it will be a fairly boring night of overly rich old men feeling self-important, but Sam asked you to be there and that's why you're going.

“Noted.” The agent is immediately firing off a text to her support team, letting them know about the change of plans tonight.

"I know it's not what we had in mind." The night has gone from staying home and watching a movie and maybe playing cards, to dinner out, to an entire party. It's a lot of jumps in not much time. "And I appreciate you being flexible. Truly."

“It’s my job to protect you no matter what.” She reminds you softly. She enjoys you, has gotten to know you and thinks you are lovely, but you are Hummingbird to her. The First Daughter of the President of the United States and her assignment. She would guard you regardless of what you were doing because it’s her job.

"Right." You nod slightly, eyes cast back out on the road, and try not to slump even a little as you drive. It's not necessary to be everyone's best friend. You know that on a practical level. Right now your energy is better served focusing on the night ahead. "Well, I can still be grateful. So thank you. For...being professional. An very good at your job."

She knows that you are disappointed, but one of the cardinal rules of the secret service is to not be emotionally attached to your assignment. It would be too difficult to make life or death decisions. “Protecting you has been my pleasure.” She promises.

"I appreciate that." For better or for worse, the Secret Service will be a part of your life for the rest of your life. So if you can't be friends, at least you can appreciate each other. For now, though, you ought to focus. A party with your boyfriend's constituents is no place to have your mind wander.

The dinner party is exactly what you imagined it would be. Self important people, boasting about how important they are as they fawn over ‘more’ important people. Or the people who could give them access to the power they wished to have. Sam was in his element, smiling and shaking hands. Listening to ideas with a feigned interest that comes naturally to politicians.

He's charismatic enough to keep their attention but has enough of his own heart left that he does seem to care about issues being brought to him. Unfortunately for these folks, they're talking about a whole lot of things that just one man can't change on their behalf. So all he can really do is listen and express interest in whatever plight it is they have.

You have found yourself in the rather unfortunate position of being inundated by the significant others of these men, and when the party turns to mingling after dinner they somehow manage to whisk you away to the garden where you aren't sure if they're planning on trying to get you to dance with various people, or maybe join their country clubs, You really can't tell which.

“You must tell me, how is living in the White House?” One asks you, under the impression that you are still living with your mother.

“I understand it’s very comfortable.” It’s almost a relief that these women seem not to know a thing about you beside who your mother is. Your greatest fear about the whole thing was being hounded through every day of your life — so far that hasn’t been the case. But it’s been barely more than a month. There’s time. “However, I chose not to reside there.”

“Oh, what a shame.” She hums, wondering why you wouldn’t want to call the most famous house in America home. “I hear that it’s haunted.”

“That is what they say.” And according to your little sister, it’s absolutely true. But an upscale party of relatively stuffy guests like this doesn’t seem like the place to spout tales of your sister taking her homework to the Lincoln bedroom. “And it’s certainly very beautiful.”

“I would love to take a tour sometime.” She tells you, hoping that you might offer to set it up for her. An intimate tour would be amazing.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” You aren’t the sort of person who would exchange favors, so the thought that this could mean a donation for Sam’s campaign in the near future. Instead, you just know it would be something nice. “I can have something put together for you if you like?”

“That would be lovely!” She exclaimed, sending you a warm smile. “You know, you and the congressman make a beautiful couple. Possibly even presidential one day.” It’s a fishing expedition, feeling you out for your thoughts on a possible run.

"Possibly." And two weeks ago, you might have beamed at that implication. At the idea of Sam moving through his career with such gusto and motivation that he makes it all the way to the White House. But seeing what your father contends with as First Gentleman, the idea of being First Lady sounds overwhelming to you. It's even less likely that you would end up in politics yourself. "Sam takes his work very seriously, and he has high hopes for the future of our country."

“And what about you?” She asks. “You made waves, positive ones in my opinion, during your mother’s campaign about your stance on soulmates.”

"I don't have any political ambitions for myself." Of that, you can absolutely assure her. "While I'm more than happy to support the people around me, I'm very happy with my own career."

“At least until Congressman Chase makes an honest woman out of you.” She hums. “Then it’s so hard to balance your own career while supporting the ambitions of your husband.” There’s a rueful chuckle on her part. “Believe me, I know.”

"I won't be giving up my career." This is always a topic of conversation amongst significant others, you've found, and a topic that your father has contended with on multiple occasions. As your mother's career grew, he became a stay-at-home-dad and raised three kids. Because it was something he wanted to do, not because it was forced on him. And that has always been the key to you. "I own a business. So it's essentially my first child already."

“Oh?” Her brows wing up in surprise. “My apologies. I must have misunderstood.” Her eyes slide past you. “Excuse me, I must go catch Mrs. Jackson before she leaves.” She cuts off the conversation and hustles away.

It's a bit on and definitely abrupt, but the conversation wasn't very enjoyable to begin with so you smile politely and just let it roll off your back. Whatever she 'misunderstood' doesn't really concern you. Some gossip article must have speculated on the next steps of your relationship with Sam and you try not to let that kind of nonsense get to you.

“Having fun?” Sam comes up to you, his hand slipping around your waist and he presses a kiss to your cheek. “You look amazing, especially since it was so last minute.”

"You always like this dress." The first time you wore it was the nominating party after the Democratic National Convention, and then again to a fundraiser in Chicago. That was the night you met Sam, and he had remarked even then that the dress was particularly beautiful. It seemed like the logical choice for tonight based on that alone. "It's a nice party." The food was predictable but tasty, and the drinks are flowing, just like the way you expected the night to go. "Do we think there will be birthday cake?" You ask conspiratorially, looking up at him beside you with a smirk. "Is that something people still do for fancy fiftieth birthdays?"

“Cake is universal.” Sam snorts and nods. “I have it on good authority the cake is a chocolate raspberry mascarpone cream cake.” He tells you, knowing it will be an idea you carry back to Sydney.

"I know exactly what Saturday's dessert special is going to be." Somehow your best friend will turn a classic cake into something elegant and thoughtful, and you know the entire restaurant will go nuts for it. They always do, when Sydney gets to show off. "Are you having a good night? I know you had high hopes for networking tonight."

“It’s going well.” He hums happily and beams at you. “How about you? Working the other side for me?” He teases playfully, aware you don’t usually like campaigning.

"Nothing that will get me in trouble with my Mom's staff." Not that he would ever ask you to do anything like that. Sam doesn't go in for most of the entitled bullshit that other politicians do. "One request for a White House tour that I'll put through the appropriate channels. Nothing too odd."

“Interesting.” Sam looks thoughtful. “Who asked for that?”

"Shelly D'Amario." The wife of District Attorney-turned-Superior Court Judge Raymond D'Amario was one of the few people you had recognized from press coverage of events supporting your mother's campaign. Her husband's politics were lined up with most moderate Democrats, and he tended to hand down verdicts with thoughtful conclusions at the end of each case. He's one of those people you wouldn't have minded at all sitting at this dinner party with, but unfortunately the Judge was not able to attend.

“Oh.” Sam nods. “I was at another dinner with her and the judge just the other night.” He tells you. “Picking his brain about Constitutional law.”

“She was very nice.” Though instinct takes over, and you chew on your bottom lip for a second before going on. “Did you guys talk…about me at all? About us, I mean? At your dinner?”

“Well, naturally you came up.” Sam admits with a slight frown, wondering if Shelly had somehow insulted you. “Not everyone is dating the daughter of the current sitting President. But I didn’t share any private details about you.” He promises. “Or your family.”

“I know you wouldn’t do that.” If he was the sort of person who went around sharing personal details with anyone and everyone, you wouldn’t have been able to trust him. Especially not under the condition you met in. Campaigns are cutthroat. “She just…said something that kind of confused me, that’s all.”

“What confused you?” He asks, trying to recall the exact details of the dinner with the judge and his wife.

Without wanting to imply that he might have said anything, you still glance around you to make sure that Agent Bailey is the only one close enough by to overhear you. “She seemed to be under the impression that I would be quitting my job if we ever have a family. And when I said that wasn’t the case, she said she must have ‘misunderstood’ something and walked away immediately.”

Understand dawns in his eyes and Sam shifts slightly. “Well, that’s not something we’ve talked about just yet.” He reminds you. “That’s a conversation we need to have.”

"Right." You couldn't agree more. "Which is why I was confused that she seemed to have heard an opinion about it somewhere before. But it was probably just some gossip article."

He hesitates and then decides to come clean, you don’t like liars. “I might have voice my hopes for our future.” He admits. “It’s not so unexpected, is it?” He asks. “I’ll be spending a lot of time at different events and I will want you by my side.”

"Sam..." There's disappointment in your voice that you don't bother to hide. Of course he's absolutely entitled to talk about hopes, as he puts it, but you can't believe that he would ever think you would give up the inn. "I own the place, honey. It's not like taking a smaller role in an office or shifting to part time somewhere."

“Yes, you own it.” Sam stresses. “But you can have someone else manage it.”

"But I don't want to have someone else manage it." It's really like you can't believe your ears. Sam has never voiced anything like this before within the dynamic of your relationship and he knows very well how proud you are of your work at the inn and how much it means to you.

By the set of your jaw and the frown on your face, Sam knows that he can’t argue the point right now. He shakes his head, smiling at you and taking your hand. “You’re right. I—I wasn’t thinking about how much you love your inn.” He admits softly. “Let’s just forget about it, hm?”

"O—okay." There he is again. Your understanding, supportive Sam smiling at you and taking the stress out of the situation. The man you started dating almost a year ago. Dependable. "Okay."

“Good.” He pats your hand gently and leans in to kiss you softly. “But I do still want to talk about moving in together.”

"After our date on Tuesday?" The Valentine's night you had settled on together is dinner at a small, family-owned restaurant in his hometown followed by a fundraiser screening of short films made by local high schoolers looking to update their school's resources with the proceeds. Community-oriented is the theme of the night.

“That sounds appropriate.” He agrees with a nod. “For now, let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening.” He looks towards your secret service agent. “Will you be allowed to come to my place tonight?”

"I think that can be arranged." The invitation means you'll be sleeping over at his place twice this week, which is definitely more than you've been able to do lately and maybe that's a good thing. Maybe you just need to refocus yourself. And stop thinking about Marcus, for fuck's sake. You slip your arm around Sam's waist and lean into his side. "I just have to let Bailey know. Her relief agent will have to be told to go to your place instead of mine."

"Of course." Even though it irritates him, he nods. Understanding that you cannot help it right now. After your mother's term, perhaps you will decline protection.

"I know it isn't perfect." He's bristled about lack of privacy before, and though you can't say that you really blame him? There's nothing you can do about it. Secret Service protect for the President's immediate family is mandatory. And hell, you have a Secret Service agent in your apartment every night. At least when you stay with Sam, your agent usually stays in the living room or their car like a stakeout. It's typically left up to them. But still, you do understand the objection. "I'm sorry. It is what it is."

"I know." He sighs softly, hating that the evening has been sidetracked from what he imagined. "I understand. I just don't like them be so close when we are alone." He admits.

"I know." The last five minutes have become increasingly uncomfortable, but you still stick close to Sam and continue smiling, aware that eyes at the party might be on you just like they are anytime you go anywhere outside of your little haven at the inn. "But better that, than someone breaking into your house."

He doesn't point out that he has a security system and his townhouse is in a gate community. There's no point and it would just further cause an discussion that is best left for the relative privacy of his bedroom - with a secret service agent parked outside in his living room. He sighs. "Shall we get more wine?" He asks, trying to change the subject.

"Sure." There are people starting to dance to the music being piped through outdoor speakers, but you're not really in a dancing mood. There's too much swirling around in your mind to be light on your feet. "Wine sounds like a good plan."

Sam leads you over to the bar, ever the gentleman and stands beside you to look at the drink selections. "They have a nice pinot grigio." He murmurs softly.

"Is that what you want too?" The bar is open, of course, but the catering company has allowed the bartender to put out a small and discreet tip jar for the reasonably large party tonight, and you have a few more bills in your purse that you're happy to add to the jar.

"I think I'm going to stick with the pinot noir." He tells you, holding up his almost empty glass.

You order both glasses without hesitation and tip the very pleasant bartender, handing Sam his glass after it's put on the bar top. Just something nice to get the night back on track. At least as far as the two of you go.

"So I think that we should drink our wine and then dance." Sam suggests. It would be a good visual and romantic as a bonus. He's not calculating, but he does understand that optics are important in politics. It's a good opportunity to romance you and look good for the discreet photographers that are roaming around.

"And at some point, eat cake." Trying to lighten the mood a little is really your go-to for diffusing tension in any situation, and the air around the two of you feels a little thick, so you offer him a big smile instead of getting serious again.

"Eating cake is always a good way to spend a night." Sam agrees, smiling back at you.

"Morning." You haul yourself into the restaurant's kitchen the next morning when you arrive bright and early for your eight-a.m. start time looking vaguely less drowsy than usual. The other member of your Secret Service detail — Agent Sisson — has music taste more in line with yours and you'd listened to Duran Duran on your way back to town this morning. That and a cup of strong coffee means that you're feeling okay but definitely in need of breakfast.

“Wellllllll,” Sydney’s grin is bright as she eyes you. “I see the walk of shame has taken on a festive air.” She teases, laughing as she moves over to pour you a cup of coffee. “I take it last night went well?”

“I have enough time to go upstairs and change before work,” you grumble, though you’re smiling and accept the cup of coffee gratefully. “Usual boring party, but I bring you home a new cake flavor combination to try, and it was nice to see Sam.”

She snorts. “Nice to see Sam.” She mimics. “It’s like you ran into him in the store.” She huffs at you. “This is your boyfriend. The man you love.”

“And that’s why it’s nice to see him more than just one measly night a week.” Given that you have a few minutes, you hop up on a stool at the counter beside her work station and groan in appreciation at the slice of sweet Italian brioche and carefully cut piece of frittata she plates up for you without hesitation. “Oh my god, thank you. All I’ve had so far is coffee. We overslept and both had to run out to get to work on time.”

“Overslept…” she rolls her eyes and rubs her stomach. “I wish I could remember what that was like.” She grumbles. “This one is giving me heartburn all the time and keeping my sleep short.”

“They just really want to make sure you remember they’re there,” you tease, picking up a forkful of frittata and not even caring what’s inside. Everything Syd makes it incredible. “Twenty-seven whole more weeks of this, Mama. Get excited!”

“I am, I promise. But the kid can let me sleep in a little, right?” She huffs playfully. “So how was the dinner? You came back from the market in a hurry so I didn’t get to talk to you. Did you forget about this or was it last minute?”

“It was last minute. He got a spontaneous invitation to a potential supporter’s wife’s birthday party.” Oh my god, spinach and artichoke frittata, so fucking good. “She got the gift of bragging rights that a Congressman and the First Daughter came to her party, and a very nice bottle of champagne.”

“Sounds like a ton of fun.” Sydney likes hobnobbing even less than you do, preferring to be on the service side of fancy events. “So you ate mildly bland catered food and drank way too much wine?”

“Exactly. Which is why this tastes even more incredible than usual.” You point at your plate even while scooping up another bite. “So did you and Juanito ever decide what you’re doing tomorrow? I know you scheduled yourself for the dinner rush, but you’ve got to do something.”

“My husband is amazing.” She promises, beaming in delight. “He actually got us reservations at St. Regis for the Valentine’s Day Afternoon Tea.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet! It’s so utterly romantic I could barf.” The momentary flash of jealousy is nothing, and you’re genuinely happy that they’ll be able to get out and do something. They work so incredibly hard and never complain for a second. “It’s perfect, Syd. I want a full report.”

“I’m excited.” She admits, biting her lip and fiddling with her practical silicone wedding band that she wears in the kitchen. “I’ve also been promised a very relaxing massage and a few orgasms.”

“All things which you deserve very much.” You raise your coffee cup in salute to her and grin.

“At the very least.” She huffs, her own grin one of pure happiness. “I am growing Badillo’s baby.” She reminds you, as if it isn’t common knowledge at this point. She’s so proud of being with her soulmate and she cock her head at you curiously. “Have you given any more thought to that tattoo?” She pries gently.

“Yes and no…” It’s much more yes than no, if you’re honest with yourself, but the fact is that it’s probably not good to think about it as much as you have. It’s like a never-ending loop in your mind and you absolutely can’t shake it. “I just don’t know what good it would do to bring it up. Or who I would even bring it up to.”

“You know who you should bring it up to.” She huffs.

“Who?” You challenge, feeling like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place without doing so much as being awake this morning. “My boyfriend of almost a year who asked me to move in with him and wants to start planning our future? Or the guy I barely know who invited me to dinner yesterday when I ran into him at Eastern Market and looked so hurt when I had to ask him to reschedule that I still feel like I kicked the world’s cutest puppy?” Clearly it’s been on your mind, and Syd is really the one person you can talk to about any of it. But admitting that you’ve been thinking about Marcus feels like cheating and you have always despised cheaters deeply. Being cheated on will do that to a person.

“You ran into Marcus?” Her eyes widen with the new information and she immediately sets down her spoon and walks around the counter to hug you. “Oh honey, talk to me. What happened?” She asks softly. While she might be pushing you to at least ask if you might be soulmates, she doesn’t want you to be upset.

“It wasn’t a big deal…we ran into each other and we finished our shopping together.” It’s such a relief to have a space to talk about it, and yet you know you’re blowing it out of proportion in your head. It was just a coincidence that you ran into him. Not fate. “We were both talking about wanting Indian for dinner so he asked if I wanted to go to the restaurant with him. We were just going to hang out. Then Sam called.”

“And of course you said yes to Sam.” Sydney doesn’t exactly approve of the way Sam seems to think that you wait for his call and will drop everything to accommodate him, but she doesn’t say anything. “How did Marcus take the change of plans?”

“He said he understood and that it was fine.” Which is, technically, what happened. So when you shift your eyes away from hers, Sydney makes a noise and you cave. “He seemed disappointed,” you admit, throwing up your hands. “But I’m probably just projecting that.”

“Anyone would be disappointed to not spend time with you.” Sydney defends immediately, always the best cheerleader for you. “Maybe text him and reschedule?” She suggests. “Friends have dinner, it’s not cheating. You aren’t going out on a date.”

“I know it’s not cheating.” Syd knows better than anyone why you hate liars and cheaters. “I texted him on my way in this morning to reschedule, but I don’t…I don’t know if he’ll respond. He was probably just being polite asking in the first place.”

“I doubt that.” Sydney had seen the covert looks that each one of them had given the other when they weren’t looking during game night. Both of them were curious and she is interested to know about that hummingbird tattoo, it’s not common, despite what you might say.

“Then it’s because I’m best friends with his friend’s soulmate,” you reason instead.

“No, it’s because Juan said that Marcus was trying to be polite but that he was interested in you.” Sydney tells you.

You feel the blood drain from your face shamefully fast, and your eyes dart up to meet your best friend’s. “He said that?”

“Yes.” She isn’t going to lie to you, Juan had told her that. “But, he also said that Marcus respects relationships and he’s not the type of man to make a move on you if you’re in a relationship.” She knows how you feel about that kind of thing and she agrees with you.

“Well…I mean…that’s good? Isn’t it? That just means he’s respectful.” Still , you find yourself sitting on the idea that Marcus likes you and being halfway between mortified and grinning. It feels ultimately childish and yet like your chest is filling full of something very much like joy.

“According to Juan, Marcus Pike is the best man, the best person that he’s ever known.” Sydney acknowledges with a nod, deciding not to comment on your giddy expression. “Even though he was busy with training at the academy, he was always helping with housework or running errands to take care of things.” She shrugs. “His ex-wife was a med student. So I guess she’s a doctor now.”

“It’s just a coincidence.” This mantra of yours is going to get old quick, but you have a partner. A long term one, even. One that until a week or so ago, you had thought you had a future with. Now that resolve is waning and you don’t really know how you started to question yourself so easily.

Sensing that you’ve dug your heels in, she backs off, giving a small shrug. “I’m sure it is.” She hums. “So what are your Valentine’s Day plans with Sam?” She asks. “Did he plan something romantic?”

“We’re going to dinner and then a community fundraiser in his district.” It doesn’t sound romantic, you will admit that, but anything too luxurious you did can be perceived in a very wrong way by the general public if it gets out. A Congressman and the First Daughter going to a spa getaway or the symphony would be seen as being out of touch with the people. “He…wants to talk about the future.”

“And you don’t sound like it’s a conversation that you are eager to have.” She sits down, her own herbal tea in front of her and she frowns slightly.

“I’m…not sure, honestly.” Without hesitation and without filter, the explanation about your conversation with Judge D’Amario’s wife and what Sam said at dinner with them comes tumbling out of your mouth and you can’t help but cringe to yourself when you get it all out in the open air. “Am I overreacting? Please tell me I’m overreacting.”

Sydney winces and gives you a small shrug. “He has known from the beginning that you aren’t the type to want to be a typical politician’s spouse and give up your career.” She reminds you. “Remember that night out in Alexandria? Where we were bar hopping? I had a very frank conversation with him about that.”

“You did?” Your forehead scrunches as you take a sip of coffee. “Then why would he think I would be willing to have someone else manage the inn?”

“I don’t know if I can answer that.” She admits quietly. “But I think he gave them his true ideal. You quitting and being by his side for all his accomplishments.”

“It’s not that I’m not proud of him.” Some would argue that that is what it signals, but you and Sydney are not those types of people. “He’s doing such good work, and I do want to have kids and a house and all that domestic stuff. I just…I don’t want to give up working. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life standing behind a podium waving politely. I’m—I want to be me, not an extension of my partner.”

“I know that.” She reaches out and takes your hand. “But does Sam? Really? I think that he can convince you that it’s what you want.” She huffs. “I know he’s a good guy, but is he the right guy?”

“Not everybody finds perfect,” you remind her quietly, knowing that that is exactly what she has with Juan. Their version of perfect is about support, respect, and unending silliness, and you’ve always craved the same. But there aren’t many men in the world like Juan. Not many at all.

“That doesn’t mean you need to settle.” She tells you, squeezing your hand gently. “If you are happy, I’m happy. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“To be honest?” Closing your eyes for a second to swallow a sigh, the best you can do is shake your head. “I didn’t think I was settling. But now I can’t help but wonder…”

“Then you owe it to yourself, and to Sam, to make sure before you commit any further.” She suggests, knowing that you would feel horrible about divorcing later on.

“How?” It’s an honest question, since the situation is tangled up in guesses and implied maybes. “Break up with Sam because Marcus might be my soulmate? What happens if I’m wrong and I regret the whole thing? Sam would never take me back and I would deserve it.”

“Ask Marcus to show you the tattoo.” She hums. “That’s not cheating. It would be no different than seeing him in swimming trunks.”

“If he ever responds to me.” Which you sort of doubt. You sort of did just drop plans with him the second your boyfriend called. But you are the kind of person who makes your relationship a priority. You always have been.

“And if he doesn’t….” She shrugs. “You just deal with that.” She frowns. “But I would be upset if you had done the same to me.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t have a right to be upset with me.” Marcus has a right to feel however he feels. He’s human, after all. “This whole thing is just so out of left field. Especially after spending all of last year talking about freedom of affection and being happy with a partner who isn’t your soulmate.”

“Except you had never potentially met your soulmate.” She pauses and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter, if you don’t want to pursue it, don’t. Juan won’t say anything and I’ll just encourage him to hang out with Marcus on a guys night.”

“I don’t know,” you admit honestly, poking at the remains of your breakfast with a frown. “First let’s see if he speaks to me again. I gotta go change my clothes for work.” A heavy blanket of tension works on you that wasn’t there when you came home, and you drag yourself off the stool with a swallowed sigh. “Thanks for breakfast, honey.”

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs, wishing for a moment that Juan hadn’t run into Marcus. Hadn’t mentioned a tattoo that was throwing you into a spin. “I’m here whenever you need.”

“Thank you.” Coming around the counter, you wrap your arms around her tightly and inhale, trying to remember your yoga and let the stress roll off your shoulders and not carry it into the work day. “And I’m always here for you. No matter what.”

“I know.” She grins into your shoulder. “You’re my best friend, bitch.” She teases. “I will go to war for you, bury bodies and not even think twice.”

"No hesitation." You link your pinkies together, the same way you have since you were little kids. "I really have to go change now. But thanks for listening to me ramble and fret."

“Anytime.” She scoffs, waving away your thanks. “You’ve listened to me plenty.” Lately it’s been about being a good mother and not completely wrecking Baby Badillo, but she understands the need to just vent. You’re there for one another, both of you, through thick and thin.

______

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

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

[daddy-dins-girl]

Playdate - Chapter Nine

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

AO3 link

pairing: Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 9.1k

Notes: All the feelings in this chapter... I'm so sorry everyone. I swear I have an end goal in mind and I'm gonna make it better... just not YET.

Chapter Warnings: (skip if you don't wanna be spoiled, if you've made it this far in the series, you'll be fine). 18+ MDNI. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Confessions of infidelity. Dry humping. Oral Sex. 69 sex position. Unprotected p in v. Creampie. Daddy Kink. Rough sex. Breathplay. Daddy!Marcus. Dom!Marcus. Aftercare. Consensual somnophilia. Lots of feelings. Severe lack of Dave York (I'm so sorry, I'll make it up to you I swear).

HUGE thank you to @janaispunk for beta'ing and letting me talk her ear off when I get an idea in my head and helping me work it out lol. And also for calming my anxiety every time I go to post a chapter :P

You woke up to a bed that seemed suddenly too large and missing the warmth Dave’s body heat provided it with. Marcus was sleeping soundly next to you and you’re not even sure when that had happened or when he got in but clearly it was after you had passed out.

But where was Dave? Did Marcus walk in and find you and him in bed together and an argument ensued? Surely that would have woken you up so you quickly shake that notion from your head. Maybe everything was fine and you were freaking out preemptively over nothing. Dave had probably just gone down to the lobby again for coffee and when he came back the three of you could sit around and hopefully have an honest and open conversation. That sounded, to you, a logical reason for his whereabouts as any so you decided you weren’t going to begin to fret about something without any warrant and snuggled up to your husband to wait, but when nearly half an hour had passed and he didn’t return, you decided to pull out your phone to send a text in your group chat.

Your throat nearly dropped into your stomach at the words that greeted you when you opened it.

Dave York has left the group.

Without giving it a second thought you quickly scroll through your contacts until you find his name and hit the call button but after a single ring it goes to voicemail. Unsure what exactly that means you try for a text instead. Simple, direct, to the point.

Hey, are you ok?

The blue bubble pops up on your screen and you wait, however neither the “delivered” or “read” notification appears underneath it and that’s when it hits you.

Dave has blocked your number.

Confused and hurt, you toss your phone over to the nightstand where it clatters to the surface, skids across the smooth wood and then falls to the carpeted floor with a light thud, though you couldn’t be bothered to care right now. The commotion however rouses your husband who, lying on his stomach, quickly pushes himself up onto his elbows and glances around the room before his gaze lands on you.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, voice groggy with sleep.

You don’t answer him right away, because, how could you. Everything. Fucking everything was the matter! What you had done last night, it all comes flooding back to you in an instant and you suddenly feel overwhelmed with emotions and you have no choice but to burst into tears, your knees coming up to your chest as you wrap your arms around them and bury your face, shoulders shaking with every sob that leaves your body.

“Honey! What…” Marcus sits up in an instant, panicked. His arms immediately envelop your frame and his voice frantic as he pulls your whole body into his lap and holds you close to his chest. “Hey, hey, hey, shhhhh. Sweetheart tell me what’s wrong” he tries, fear still lacing his tone as he attempts to appear outwardly calm, holding you to him and gently rubbing a hand up and down your back.

You feel so absolutely wracked with guilt that you can’t even find words to even begin trying to explain yourself to Marcus so instead you just bury your face further into his throat and let him comfort you, though you know you don’t deserve it. The moment he hears what you have to say for yourself you fear he’s going to be putting as much distance between the two of you as possible so you need him to just hold you a little while longer before that happens. It’s selfish. You’re selfish. But at this moment, you don’t care. How could you have done this to Marcus? And for what? For Dave to just leave you both like that? Like these months have meant nothing to him? You want to believe that’s not true, but what choice has he left you with?

Marcus worries endlessly as he holds you in his arms, honestly surprised you’re even allowing him to hold you but he’ll take it for as long as he can get it. Dave must have told you what he’d done yesterday while you were asleep and now look at the problems it’s caused.

You both lie there in each other's arms, taking in whatever comfort you can get from one another. You’re openly sobbing while Marcus’ tears are more subdued, but definitely still there. You can feel them on the naked flesh of your shoulder as he buries his face in your neck and the two of you clutch onto each other, terrified of the other letting go. What you don’t realize is that you’re both fretting over the exact same thing.

After several long minutes of just holding each other your words echo each other as you both let them out at the exact same time into the heat of each other’s flesh.

“I’m sorry.”

The words cause you both to stiffen momentarily and then slowly pull back, finding each other’s watery gaze as you both stare, confused.

The murmured apologies eventually turn into a good hour of confessions from both of you. You take turns spilling everything about what happened last night without the other present all while failing to hold back the flow of tears. Marcus admits not only to his indiscretions in the shower with Dave, but how there was no work emergency last night and he’d lied to you because he was too scared that he’d ruined everything. He tells you how absolutely horrible he’d felt, leaving you on your birthday like that but he felt so confused after what had happened, he couldn’t even bear to have you look at him knowing what he’d done and was keeping from you. The admission about what he and Dave had done in the shower nearly had your eyes bugging out of your head, though you tried your absolute best not to outwardly react too much, you didn’t want to make Marcus uncomfortable or have him hold back anything so you kept quiet and mostly just nodded your head, though your brain was working a mile a minute trying to process everything. You’d decided near immediately that you weren’t upset at him for it. The only thing you were upset about in that scenario is that you hadn’t been there to witness it; though you keep that admission to yourself for now. You were upset, however, that he had left. If he would have just stayed maybe you all wouldn’t be in this position now. Maybe Dave would still be here. You know though that Marcus isn’t the only one to blame and it’s not fair to put this all on him. The fact was he did leave, and you did what you did afterwards, knowing full well how it could affect things.

You tell Marcus how Dave had originally left but had come back and that the two of you had slept together. Your tears turned into sobs as you admitted the last part. You knew it was wrong, you felt in your heart that it was cheating, regardless if Marcus saw it that way or not. He’d tried to quickly shrug it off at first, to make you feel better, reminding you that “you’d slept with Dave lots of times” but when you responded with a quiet “yeah, but not like this…” and were unable to look him in the eyes, you could see the moment the realization dawns across his sad, handsome face and he lowers it to look away, gently nodding in understanding.

Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat but wrapped his arms around you and held you tight to his chest, peppering kisses to your hair and ensuring you over and over that he loved you.

It only made you cry harder.

Eventually the tears subside and Marcus drapes the bedclothes over you both and pulls you into his side, gently petting your hair until you both fall back asleep, it was barely 7am after all and you didn’t even know how late Marcus had got in. You still had a lot to discuss but you were both exhausted, physically and emotionally. Your head was pounding from the amount of tears you cried and you just needed to shut out the world for a little while longer, held safe in the comfort of your husband's arms until you fell back asleep.

When you do wake up again, barely an hour later, Marcus is already out of bed and wandering around the suite, freshly changed into a new set of clothes and shoving his old ones into the suitcase you had already packed. There’s a takeout coffee cup waiting for you on the bedside table when you open your eyes and you sit up, wordlessly taking the simple peace offering and taking a drink.

You get through a few sips but your stomach is doing somersaults. All the anxiety and emotions of the last twelve hours or so wear heavily on you so you place the cup aside and climb out of bed, holding the sheet tight around your frame as you head over to the dresser where Marcus had kindly laid out your last clean outfit for you.

You barely speak a word to each other as you both get ready to leave this room behind. Occasional questions like “did you remember to grab your toothbrush” or “is this your lotion or the hotel’s?” as you putter around the room and prepare to leave.

Finally everything is packed, you're both dressed, the room is mostly back in one piece and you’re ready to go. You meet Marcus at the door and you both take a breath, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as your shoulders settle and you reach down and slide your hand into his. His fingers interlace around yours and for the first time all day you finally feel grounded again.

“Come on, let’s go home” he says, pulling the door open with his free hand and guiding you out.

The first week that you’re back home goes by in a blur. You both had to go back to work on Monday and you manage to settle back into your usual routines easily enough but there’s still a strain between the two of you. You know you need to talk more but had both decided you needed time to just let everything sink in and process. You missed Marcus immensely, despite the fact that he still slept in your bed every night and kissed you goodbye every morning, things were far from how they were before your birthday weekend happened.

Perhaps fortunately or unfortunately for you both, your work lives were very busy. Typically Marcus left before you because his commute was longer and you both worked long shifts most days so your time together at home while you were both still awake and functional was limited. Some nights you managed to both be home to eat dinner together, but this week it was a pretty quiet affair. You’d ask each other about your days, small talk mostly, and then if you weren’t too exhausted you’d cuddle on the couch and watch a little tv before bed and start the process over again the next day. Despite the rift, you still wanted to be close to each other. Neither of you were angry at the other; more so at yourselves than anything. That, and you were confused. It was hard to have a conversation together about all the feelings you were having when you hadn’t quite sorted them out for yourselves. And with Dave AWOL it made it even more confusing and hurtful to navigate. It was difficult to figure out where the three of you stood when there were only two of you willing to talk things out.

Your mind often wandered to Dave, particularly when you were at work and would have a few minutes of downtime. You pulled up your private message chat with him every couple of days too just to see if your single text to him ever got marked as ‘delivered’ or ‘read’, wondering if he’d unblocked you, but nothing. What was so frustrating is that you know it wasn’t one-sided. It couldn’t have been. You know what he felt with you that last night together because you felt it too. Perhaps the real reason he left is because of his loyalty to Marcus, he didn't want to be a burden on your marriage, but the truth was Dave just enriched it. And you had a feeling Marcus might feel the same way, you just needed him to admit it to you. You hoped the two of you would have a good chance to talk this weekend, you felt like it was time.

Saturday evening was finally upon you and you lay on the couch after a simple dinner, wine glass mostly untouched on the coffee table in front of you as you half paid attention to the movie playing on the TV. Marcus had had a busy day, having to work for a couple hours from home in the morning and then running some errands for his elderly father that he typically would do on a Saturday. Today took a little extra long due to him being away last weekend for your birthday so by the time he got home he was exhausted so you had offered to cook and now the two of you were laid out on the sofa, Marcus behind you with his back to the cushions and you on your side snuggled with your back to his chest and laying your head on his arm.

You attempt to focus on the movie playing in front of you because you know how tired your husband is, but he makes it difficult when the fingers of his right hand trail absently up and down your side where your shirt slightly rides up, the delicate trace of his fingertips leaving goosebumps on your flesh in their wake. You shift slightly and in doing so the fabric of your shirt catches a little more on the seat of the sofa and rises up further, and Marcus’ hand reaches a little higher too until his fingers are at your ribs. You let out a little whine at the contact. He’s barely touching you but it's more than you’ve had all week and you’re missing him so desperately so you give up the facade and turn fully onto your back, causing his hand to slip even higher until it rests just underneath your breast.

You hear his breath hitch slightly and he turns his head down to look at you, your soft, wanting gaze boring into his. Wordlessly you reach your hand up to rub at the side of his neck and turn your body again so that you’re face to face. He moves his hand voluntarily, finally, splaying it across your breast and giving it a gentle squeeze, his breath catching in his throat when he sees your eyes fall shut and your lips release a hum of pleasure.

“Marcus” you whimper, your voice barely a whisper. “Please”

It’s all Marcus needs to hear. In a moment he’s got both his hands going underneath your ass and hauling you up on top of him, positioning himself on his back with your full weight resting on him, hands still on your ass and pushing downwards to grind you against his already stiffening length. You surge forward, sealing his mouth with yours. The kiss is sloppy and desperate and filled with pent up sexual desire and you’re both moaning into it, reveling in the dominant dance between your two tongues.

“Do you wanna go to bed?” he asks breathlessly a few moments later when you’re forced by lack of oxygen to pull apart.

“Mnnnm mmm” You shake your head before your mouth latches to his again. “Need you” you mumble against his lips. “Take me right here”

“Fuck” he groans, both hands squeezing roughly at your ass as he continues to ground you down into him, his own hips thrusting upwards to meet yours. “God I fucking missed you” he confesses, mouth trailing down the side of your throat now instead as his hands reach up to the waistband of your sweats and push them down along with your underwear.

You help him free you of the confines of your pants, kicking them down your legs and finally flinging them off to the floor while Marcus grabs for the hem of your t-shirt and pulls that over your head. You're grateful at this moment that you had foregone a bra tonight, dressed for a comfortable evening at home. Marcus, on the other hand, is far too overly dressed in your opinion, still in his jeans and a long sleeve Henley. Though you find it hard to complain at the delicious friction the unforgiving denim gives to your now bare core and it's no secret to Marcus either, the way you moan and writhe against him.

“Baby, please” you whine, hands desperately grasping at the buttoned enclosure of his jeans. The button pops open and you manage to drag the zipper down but before you get any further he’s growling into your throat and shaking his head, repositioning your body until you're straddling on just one of his thighs.

“Need you to cum for me first” he demands, already sounding wrecked and breathless and you think he needs you to for his sake as much as your own, probably trying to extend this experience for longer than it would have been were he to push inside you right now like you both so desperately want him to. You let out another moan, eagerly obeying his wishes as your hands go to his chest and you push yourself upright so you’re sat on his muscular thigh and begin to rock back and forth against it, the delicious drag of denim against your weeping cunt creating a wet patch on his jeans that neither of you could be bothered to be embarrassed or care about. His large hands come up and each grab hold of a breast, expertly manipulating and teasing the soft mounds of flesh, thumbs and forefingers coming down to pinch and squeeze at your nipples until they’re hardened peaks under his touch.

“Oh fuck,” you cry out, head thrown back as you continue to ride his thigh, amping up the pace as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm that is just within reach.

“That’s it baby,” Marcus encourages, his own pupils blown wide with lust as he watches you arch your back and grind desperately against him. His hands leave your breasts and go to your hips, helping you reach that point of long awaited bliss. He bares his teeth as he watches your features contort into what can only be described as pure ecstasy and growls out the words that have been lingering on his tongue since he actively took charge of your impromptu makeout session just minutes ago, “Good girl, come on, you’re gonna fucking cum for your Daddy now.”

“Fuck!” His words, along with the relentless rocking pressure of your cunt digging into his thigh sends you flying over that edge with a screamed curse leaving your lips, your arousal pooling out of you, body trembling and spent but Marcus doesn’t let up, continuing to drag your folds along the strong muscle and it’s too much, you try to push off of his chest with your hands but his grip is strong and fierce at your hips, ensuring you get every last drop of pleasure from your prolonged orgasm.

“Fucking soak me baby” he groans and you look down to see the own wet patch he’s created in his boxers that are peeking through his partially opened jeans. It doesn’t appear to be enough that he’s finished and he’s still visibly hard as steel underneath the soft cotton, but he’s certainly gotten himself worked up to the point where the precum is eagerly flowing from him.

Evidently satisfied with you as you slow the rocking of your hips to indicate the waves of pleasure have subsided Marcus repositions you again so you’re lying back fully on top of him. He pushes his jeans down to his thighs but leaves his boxers in place as he gently ruts into you from underneath, the strained fabric of his boxers rubbing against your oversensitive sex, causing you to whimper and tremble.

“Let me suck you baby” you breathe against the hollow of his throat where your face is currently buried. Not only does your cunt need the reprieve but he’s got you so turned on you feel like you might just combust if you don’t get him inside of you in some form or another.

“Yeah? You wanna suck my cock, dirty girl?” Marcus growls and lord help you if it doesn’t send another pool of wetness right between your legs. Marcus was not normally like this. Sure the two of you could get a little kinky sometimes on your own but he’d never been like this before and it was driving you crazy with want.

You both knew what he was doing, filling a void a certain someone had left behind. Something you both craved without having to admit to each other. You both needed this, and so, you went along for the ride.

“Please Daddy, want you in my mouth, please” you beg helplessly, your lust-filled brain reduced to complete mush and barely able to string a sentence together and Marcus audibly groans at your submission to him.

“Turn around, want you to sit on my face while you do it” he breathes against your cheek and then slides his hands down to grab at your ass and squeeze firmly. His hands release you but he gives you one sharp swat to your left asscheek that has you crying out and arching into him before he helps you reposition yourself so you’re kneeled overtop of him with your knees on either side of his head and bent over his body so your face hovers above his pelvis. He pushes his boxers down to meet his jeans at his thighs then brings his hands to your hips to lower you down to his mouth just as your head retreats to take his leaking tip between your lips.

The groan he lets out into your cunt as you fully envelop him in your mouth has your lower half spasming, your thighs involuntarily squeezing his head as your hips chase the pressure of his tongue.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out, mouth falling away from him as you crane your neck back to try and get a glimpse of the feast Marcus is making of what’s between your legs. It doesn’t last long however because his hand comes up and swats at your ass again, reminding you without words what you’re supposed to be doing and you quickly oblige, turning back and doubling your efforts on sucking him off, taking him as deeply down your throat as your body will allow and swallowing down before you ease back up and repeat the action. Your hand soon joins your mouth, wrapping around the base of his shaft and stroking it in time with each bob of your head and he hums and groans his approval of your actions into your core as he continues to lick and suck and prod at your clit and hole with his talented tongue.

When he feels your thighs trembling again and his own release too rapidly approaching he goes for what knows drives you crazy and will easily pull another orgasm from you and sucks your clit into his mouth, relentless and unforgiving until your mouth rips off of him and you cry out, your hand pumping him furiously as wave after wave of your orgasm crashes around you and you ramble out little mewls of pleasure and praise at how hard he’s made you come.

He lets out a content, satisfied sigh as he slows the efforts of his mouth, gently bringing you back to earth with slow licks and prods of his tongue until you're shaking and trembling begins to subside and your rocking against his face finally slows. Your hand wrapped around his length has also slowed to barely moving, not having brain capacity or muscle coordination to simultaneously pleasure him and ride the aftershocks of your own orgasm but Marcus is thankful for the reprieve, needing to be inside you before he finishes.

“Up,” he gently demands, tapping lightly against your hip and you pull away from him with a long drawn out groan, your limbs feeling like jelly as you attempt to get control over them again. Marcus chuckles a little but is quick to help you, gently raising your hips and then pushing you forward as he manages to snake his own body out from underneath you until you’re on hands and knees on the couch and he’s behind you.

“Lean forward, just relax” he instructs, pushing lightly on your shoulders so your elbows collapse and you slowly slide forward, knees still bent and kneeling on the couch but your face now buried in the seat cushion. “Yeah, just like that” he coos, fingertips tracing down your spine and you arch at his touch, desperate and ready for him. He lets his hand trail further still, over the swell of your ass until he’s between your legs and he gently plays with you, fingers gliding through your slick folds and up to circle at your clit before they slide back down and prod at your entrance.Your body keens at his touch, back arching, ass up in the air as your arms stretch out in front of you, not unlike a cat waking up from a long nap in the sun and Marcus lets out a little chuckle.

“Yeah, this is where you need me, hmm?” He rasps, voice low as he teases at your entrance with his fingers. “Poor baby needs her pretty little pussy filled up?” His hand leaves you only to go to his own mouth so he can wet his fingers with his own saliva before he brings them back between your legs and presses two inside of you, curling them just right and sliding in and out of you a few times before he adds a third. It’s so much, feels so good, and yet still not enough.

“God, Marcus, please. Please fuck me” you cry out, desperate and needy, hips beginning to rock back and forth against his hand, anything you can do to get some relief.

He gets up from the couch suddenly to rid himself of the rest of his clothing before positioning himself behind you again, grabbing hold of his hard, leaking member and guiding it between your legs. He groans when his naked flesh finally makes contact with yours, his smooth length pushing back and forth between your wet folds, coating himself in your slick and the tip of his cock teasing at your clit. You whimper unintelligibly at the contact that stimulates every last one of your nerve endings, your whole body keening with delight.

Marcus marvels at how soaked your folds are as he slides through them with ease. “Yeah you’re nice and ready for me, hmmm? Gonna be my good girl?”

“Yes, please, take me. I fucking need you so bad.” You’re not above begging at this point, especially if it gets you want you want, need, crave.

With your desperate pleas still lingering in the air Marcus lines himself up at your entrance and presses forward, filling you completely on the first push of his hips until he’s buried to the hilt, his hands gripping tight around your waist, thumbs digging in deep to the meat of the top of your ass.

“Holy fuck” he groans as he takes a moment stilling inside you, needing a second not only to let you adjust, but to resist his own temptation to let go and finish before he’s even begun. It’s only been a week but it somehow feels like an eternity since he’s last had you. He’s done his best to distract himself with work and other obligations but not a minute of the day has gone by where he hasn’t thought about you, about how much he missed you, how much he needed you. It had taken everything in him not to beat himself off in the shower every morning this week, the only thing holding him back was knowing how much better it would feel when he finally gets the relief the way he wants it; being inside of you.

After a few long moments and steadying breaths, Marcus manages to collect himself and center himself back into the moment. His hands grip you a little tighter and he finally begins to move, pulling back with a slow and delicious drag of his cock against your walls until he’s almost fully out before he slams forward, driving himself back deeply inside with a single snap of his hips that sends you lurching slightly forward, something between a gasp and cry punching out from your lungs.

“Marcus! Oh my - fuck. Baby, fuckfuckfuck” You’re a mewling, writhing mess underneath him as Marcus keeps up his steady pace, fucking into you with reckless abandon, hips pistoning back and forth, fast and hard.

“Yeah you like that” Marcus grinds out through clenched teeth before he lifts his right hand and lands a sharp smack to your ass, causing you to jolt forward again. “Can feel you fucking trying to squeeze me out baby, choking my cock. Good girl. Good fucking girl” he groans, railing into you even faster and you’re reduced to just mumbled cries and gasps into the couch cushion your face is still buried in.

“I can’t hear you” he suddenly growls, one hand leaving your hip to grab your hair and force your head to tilt up and oh fuck if Marcus pulling your hair doesn’t do something to you.

“I fucking love it!” You cry out, breaths coming out hard and fast. “Love taking your big cock Daddy, don’t stop”

“Shit… baby, shit I… fuck!” Marcus curses, not faring much better as he ruts into you like a man possessed. He lets go of your hair and repositions to your hips, his fingertips digging into your sides so desperately that you know come tomorrow you’ll be bruised but you don’t care. You want the reminder, you’ll welcome it even.

“Take me. Takemetakemetakemetakeme” You chant breathlessly, the words punching out of your throat timed perfectly to each of his rough forward thrusts.

Somehow despite you being fucked into a near stupor, you find the wherewithal to sneak a hand underneath yourself and reach between your legs, fingers desperately rubbing fast and furiously against your aching and needy clit. It only serves to empower Marcus, seeing how desperate you are to climax again and despite the less than comfortable position he’s got himself into kneeled on the couch he takes full advantage, leaning down slightly to wrap an arm all the way around your throat so it’s caged in by his bicep, the other gripping the back of the couch to get as much leverage as he possibly can from the position and he doubles his efforts. He pushes harder and faster until the room is filled with the debauched sounds of wet slaps of skin and heavy breathing and moaning and within a few short moments your vision goes white behind your eyelids and you cry out a shuddering gasp turned moan and your hand falls away from your now oversensitive sex as your orgasm takes over, the effects of it gushing out of you and coating Marcus’ length, dripping down to his balls and surely leaving a mess on the couch that you can’t begin to care about right now.

“God Baby, you’re so fucking good, fucking soaking me” Marcus manages, voice faltering along with the steady rhythm of his hips as he bucks into you sloppily now, the sheer force of your constricting walls inciting his own release and with a few more pushes of his hips he begins to paint your insides.

“Holy fuck” he reiterates, body spent and breathing heavily as he slowly continues to rock in and out of you. You whimper and moan underneath him, the overstimulation bordering on too much as you wait for your trembling to subside.

Marcus’ grip on your throat loosens significantly so you can fully catch your breath and he brings his hand up to run soothingly down your back instead, still fucking into you deep and slow and honestly you don’t know how he’s found the stamina or managed to stay hard but you’re not about to complain, he feels that fucking good.

“You want me to stay inside you?” He asks, though you both know he already knows the answer.

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth and manage to mumble an affirmative “mmmhmmm” into the couch cushion.

“Fuck you full of my cum, you like that baby?”

“Yes, fuck,” you tear your face away to the side so your words are no longer garbled into the couch cushion, you want him to hear you. “Fucking me so deep Daddy, holy shit it feels so good.”

Marcus hums his apparent satisfaction at your words, his hand that was gripping the back of the sofa coming to join the other to soothe up and down your back and sides, occasionally smoothing over the globes of your ass before they come back up and make their way up towards your shoulders again. He manages to keep going for another minute or so until he physically can’t, his cock softening inside of you eventually slips out and you both groan at the loss but his hands don’t stop touching you. When his spent dick leaves your swollen sex he leans down and places little kisses all over whatever inch of flesh on your back and shoulders he can reach until finally he pulls away, standing up from the couch and offering his hand to you. You take it, and with a groan (and Marcus’ help), manage to pull yourself up from the sofa. His fingers interlace with yours when he grabs your hand and he wordlessly leads you out of the living room, up the staircase to your bedroom.

Once inside he guides you immediately to the ensuite bathroom and turns you to rest with your back against the countertop while he busies himself grabbing a fresh facecloth from the linen shelf and turns on the hot water, wringing the cloth out a few times before turning off the taps and turning to face you. To your surprise, and a night and day contrast to how he was acting just minutes ago, he sinks to his knees on the unforgiving marble flooring and gently pries your thighs apart and then stares up at you, holding your gaze as he gently cleans up the mess between your legs. Your hand comes down to push through his hair, pushing it back past his forehead and a smile pulls at your lips. Once he’s finished cleaning you up he rises to his feet again, tosses the cloth in a nearby hamper and then his hands go straight to your hips, a gentle barely-there hold and he looks down at them, murmuring under his breath at the little discolored indents on your soft flesh, “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

It catches you off guard, the question. He seems unsure and maybe even upset with himself and you frown, reaching for his face and forcing his gaze back up to meet yours.

“Baby, no, of course not. You could never hurt me”

“Promise?” he asks just to clarify, soft, round brown gaze boring into yours.

“I promise. Marcus, that was… thank you” is all you can think to say. He seems to accept your answer, leaning forward and capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, hands leaving your hips to come up and cup your face as his tongue parts your lips and slips inside to entangle with yours. When he finally pulls away you’re breathless and lean your head forward to rest on his shoulder, arms going around his waist.

“I just love you so much” he whispers against your hair. “I’d do anything for you, you know that?”

“I know” you murmur. “You do do everything for me Marcus. I love you too, more than anything” Your arms tighten a little more around his middle and you bury your face in his neck, unable to hold back the few tears that spill out. Marcus nuzzles at the side of your face and you can feel his own tear stained cheeks as he holds you close in the quiet serenity of your bathroom. You both take a minute to just let the moment settle over you before finally Marcus heaves a little sigh and pulls back, quickly wiping away at his face with the back of his hands.

“Come on, let me take you to bed”

You spend the night in his arms. The steady beat of his heart where your ear lays pressed against his chest lulling you into a peacefulness that you hadn’t felt in days.

Sunday is a whirlwind. The first time you wake up it’s to Marcus with his head between your legs, slowly lapping at you like a cat with a bowl of cream. He’s not hurried or frenzied or even seemingly trying to work towards an end goal of an orgasm for you, he just needs to be close to you, taste you. He lazily licks and kisses and sucks at you while you gently writhe your hips against him, hands lost in his soft hair and fingernails occasionally scraping against his scalp, which you know he loves. He murmurs little sweet nothings into your heated core while he pleasures you for what seems like a small eternity, never tiring or complaining, just reveling in the closeness. You end up orgasming twice during his time down there, which you’d guessed to be about an hour, both coming on quick, strong and sudden and from seemingly nowhere. Your hand fists in his hair and your hips arch upwards and still as he works you through each one and then he continues on. By the time your second orgasm has fully settled you gently push at the top of his head and he takes your wordless request, single digit slipping out of you and mouth moving away from your over sensitive sex to kiss and lick at the insides of each of your thighs, the top of your mound, and eventually making his way up your body until he’s lying on his side next to you.

He’s being his soft, sweet, gentle self this morning, you think it’s his way of making up for last night. Not that he has anything to make up for, at least in your mind.

“Baby,” you sigh, right hand coming up to cup his cheek.

“I love you” he says, in a way that makes it seem like he needs to remind you, like he’s saying it for the first time and needs to ensure you hear him.

“I love you too” you assure him.

He opens his arms and you crawl into them without question, letting him hold you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders and you half draped over top of him with your face resting on his chest. He gently pets your hair and places little kisses to the top of your head while he holds you and you let out a content little sigh, snuggling deeper into his chest. You feel the unmistakable hardness of him between your two bodies but he seems to be trying to ignore it so you do your best not to grind against him like your body’s instincts want you to.

“We should talk” he murmurs against your hair and you gently nod your head in agreement.

“We should”

“How do we start?” He wonders honestly and you shrug your shoulders a little.

“I think first and foremost we need to be honest, no matter how hard it is to say or how hard it may be for the other person to hear”

“I agree” he says quietly, heaving a sigh.

A long silence stretches on before you realize you’ll have to be the one that starts this conversation.

“I miss him” you decide to start with, straight out of the gate. You agreed to be honest, after all, and that was the first thing on your mind, and it’s been on your mind all week. Your voice is quiet, meek even, but loud enough you know he’s heard you.

“I do too,” Marcus confesses, his arms tightening a little more around you, like he’s afraid you’ll be upset with his response.

You do gently pull away from Marcus’ hold, but only because you want to be able to look him in the eyes while you have this conversation so you gently push back and raise yourself up a bit so you’re fully on your side facing him. You settle his nerves by quickly wrapping both your hands around one of his and giving it a firm squeeze, bringing it to your lips to place a kiss on it.

“Why do you think he left?” You ask next, unable to hide the hurt in your voice.

“I don’t know” Marcus sighs deeply, his free hand coming up to scrub over his face. “I thought, at first, maybe you know it was me? Like what we did… he… didn’t like it or regretted it or something”

“Did you like it?” You flip the question back to Marcus. You assume he did, but you two really hadn’t had much of a conversation about it. He’d told you what they did, but didn’t dwell on it or how he’d felt about it.

“Um,” Marcus turns his face slightly away from you and you can see the tips of his ears turning a brighter shade of pink.

“Hey,” you say firmly, hands dropping his so you can place one on his cheek and force his gaze back to you. “Honesty, remember? There’s nothing you can say that will change how I feel about you, ok? Ever”

“I know, I’m sorry” he closes his eyes and takes a breath before opening them again and his gaze finally settles on you. “I… I mean, yes, ultimately. It was amazing. I came like… really fucking hard” he admits with a laugh to cover his obvious nerves and you offer a reassuring smile, nodding your head for him to continue. After a moment, he does. “I don’t know though, like I’ve never done anything with a guy before, or ever wanted to, so I think it was more so because it was Dave, rather than what we were doing? If… if that makes sense?” He tries, trailing off and unsure of how to articulate himself.

And it does make sense. At least to you. Because what had started between the three of you was supposed to be Dave offering you both something different, new, but then last weekend you had been with Dave in a similar way that you are with Marcus and you’d loved that too. And last night how Marcus was with you was everything Dave typically brought to the table and you loved that as well and yet, you still missed Dave. Not just the way he grabbed your hair when your mouth was around him, or the filthy words he’d murmur against your ear when he was deep inside you, or how his hand would tighten around your throat and release just moments before your orgasm inevitably crashed around you, but you missed him. You missed Dave.

“No, I get it” you finally say out loud, gently nodding your head. “Last night was… God Baby, that was fucking amazing” you admit, grin stretching across your features as you tilt your gaze back up to look at him and his own smile tugs at the corners of his lips like he’s elated to hear you say that.

“Yeah?” He questions with uncertainty in his tone.

“Yeah” you affirm with a solid single nod of your head. “But that’s kinda my point. Last night you gave me everything I could’ve wanted before and you did it so perfectly but…” you trail off, wanting to make sure you choose your words carefully but then you don’t have to because Marcus picks up on it immediately.

“But you still miss him”

“Yeah,” you shrug, your voice soft and you bring your gaze down to your lap, fingers absently picking at the sheet covering you. “Is that okay?”

Marcus heaves a sigh, pulling you close into his chest again and you go willingly, snuggling in his warmth and letting him hold you.

“Of course it’s ok”

There’s a long stretch of silence until finally Marcus murmurs into your hair, barely above a whisper but you hear him clear as day, “do you think you love him?”

Tears instantly well in your eyes and you turn your head to bury it in your husband's neck, bringing your own arms out to wrap around him and keep him close. You don’t give him any type of verbal confirmation or denial, because you haven’t really figured that out for yourself, but the non-answer is perhaps an answer enough itself for Marcus. He knows it the moment he feels the hot tears on his skin and he hugs you tighter, large hand splayed across your back gently smoothing up and down your spine and whispering quiet little affirmations about how it’s ok as he holds you in his arms.

You don’t need to assure Marcus that you still love him, or that your feelings for Dave in any way take away from what you feel for him. He knows, because deep down inside in a place that he hasn’t allowed his head or heart to go yet, he knows has similar feelings for Dave too but that it doesn’t change a single solitary thing he feels for you.

“I know, I know” he gently soothes, slightly rocking you in his arms as your tears begin to flow freely.

He continues to hold you, letting you cry until finally he hears you sniffle a few times and he knows the tears have begun to subside before he speaks again.

“I uh… went by his office. This week”

That gets your attention. You gently push away from his chest, quickly swiping at your wet face with your hands before you lean back enough so you can look at him again.

“He wasn’t there” Marcus quickly offers, before you get too invested. “But I asked around and someone eventually told me he took a sabbatical. I guess he was due for one for a while and never took it but Monday morning he came in and put in the request and told them it was urgent so they let him take it” Marcus finishes with a shrug.

Your heart sinks even further as Marcus tells you this. You had no idea it was this bad that Dave would rather abandon his job just to avoid seeing either of you. You still don’t understand it all, what happened. You wish he would just come back and talk to you, explain himself. Even if it was to officially end things, at least you’d know where he stands.

“Wherever he is, I hope he’s OK” you sigh, snuggling further into Marcus. At least you still had each other. Your mind doesn’t want to wonder whether or not Dave has someone in his own bed to help ease the pain away. Not that he doesn’t have every right to, but it hurts your heart too much to even consider that he might.

“Yeah, me too” Marcus echoes your sentiment, bringing his lips down to press to your forehead.

You spend the rest of the day naked in bed together, making love for hours. It’s slow and sensual at first as Marcus explores every inch of your body and you of his, re-cementing your bond through every touch and kiss. You both need this. When more urgent needs arise your pacing and breathing picks up but what doesn’t change is the way you hold each other's gaze the entire time, refusing to look away even as you both reach your climaxes and your eyes beg to squeeze shut. As the day drags on and the sun begins to set outside your bedroom window you’ve lost count of your combined orgasms, only taking breaks when you need a refractory period during which one of you will patter off to the kitchen to get something easy to eat in bed along with some water and bring it back for you both to refuel your energy.

You talk more too, in those in-between moments when your bellies are full and your libidos are taking a much needed rest. Eventually you even get into hypotheticals, what you would have done had Dave not left that night, how it would change things for your relationship going forward. You both agreed you wouldn’t mind him being a more permanent fixture in your lives,if that’s what he wanted. And not just for sex. You wanted to have dinners with him, and lazy Sunday mornings in bed. You wanted him to come over after a long day at work and all cuddle up on the couch together, or for him to let the two of you take care of him in whatever capacity he needs whenever he needs it. You just wanted Dave. Both of you did.

You realize though that talking like that only makes it hurt more, knowing Dave clearly didn’t want the same thing. Maybe you and Marcus had gotten too familiar with him, too close, and that’s why he left. He never signed up to be part of your marriage and maybe what you’d thought you’d felt that last night with him was just delusion on your part. If he’d felt what you felt, how could he have just walked away?

You both ultimately resign to the fact that it’s over, whatever you had with Dave, and you mourn the loss together and make the united decision to put all your efforts into building your marriage even stronger than it had been before. The two of you need each other more than ever to fill the Dave York sized hole that was left in both your broken hearts.

Less than a couple hundred miles away the man in question sat at a small dining room table in the overly priced and blandly decorated vacation cottage he had rented for the summer. The sound of his children laughing and playing in the front yard brought a smile to his face just as he lifted his coffee cup to taste that first morning sip. He’s thankful in this moment to his ex-wife for allowing him to take his girls on an impromptu summer getaway to the quaint little beach town just one state over in Delaware. He missed them, of course, and always wanted more time with them, but really and truly he needed an escape from his life. He knew it was only a matter of time before you or Marcus would come looking for him and knew that Marcus could easily get access into his office building with the credentials he had so he felt he had no choice. He couldn’t face either of you right now, it was too painful. He knew if he didn’t stop seeing you now, he’d never want to stop, and that’s not what either of you had signed up for. It was easier for everyone this way, he’d let you get back to your lives and he would rebuild his own into what it was before. Quiet, solitary, comfortable.

Over the two and a half months he was away he would occasionally pick up his phone and check on your social medias. Neither of you posted a lot, but when you did you always looked happy. Marcus with his arm around you at an outdoor music festival, cocktails on a patio somewhere at sunset, a picture of Marcus in a sharp suit at one of your work fundraiser events standing next to the coat check with a slightly crooked smile on his face and holding your purse for you with your cute little caption that read ‘name a more perfect husband, I’ll wait’. Marcus had ‘liked’ and replied to the post saying “anything for my perfect wife.”

And they were perfect, Dave mused with a heavy sigh, clicking off his phone and tossing it across the table before burying his face in his hands. He needed to stop this, it only made it harder instead of easier. His children were a great distraction during the day, but at nights when he was alone in bed, his mind and his dick always betrayed him and thought of the two of you. He’d wrap a fist around himself and close his eyes, picturing the way you looked up at him on that last night together when he stood broken and desperate at your doorstep. Or Marcus sinking to his knees in front of him in the shower, or the way he felt when tremors racked his body as he came with Dave’s strong arms wrapped around his wet body.

God he missed you. Both of you. And unfortunately for him his sabbatical was coming to an end and the school year would be starting for his kids again and he had to go home, face reality. It was ok though, he doubted you still thought of him or would even bother to come looking for him after all this time. He could go back to the way his life always was. Dave had always been good at compartmentalizing and he could do this, too, he thinks. Washington was plenty big for the three of you, what were the odds he’d even run into you?

He didn’t know it at the time, but he was about to find out.

Likes/comments/reblogs mean the world to me and encourage me to keep this wild ride going so thank you in advance for your love 💜 I really appreciate it!

Taglist (if you want to be added - or removed!, lmk!) @senaar-ika @suzdin @boliv-jenta @prolix-yuy @vabeachazn @seasonalobession @pedroshotwifey @nerdieforpedro @chronically-ghosted @macabremads @survivingandenduring @theywhowriteandknowthings @axshadows @iamasaddie @vickywallace @lincolndjarin @its-nebuleuse @janaispunk @missladym1981 @heareball @staywildflowahchild @guelyury @anotherpedrolover @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @runningmom94 @yorksgirl @harrington-thedad @missyorkswhore @disassociation-daydreams

#pedro pascal cinematic universe #dave york #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #dave york fanfiction #marcus pike x dave york x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #dave york x reader #marcus pike x you #dave york x you #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff

[say-al0e]

Choices

rating: m - this is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Marcus has seen the aftermath of your work more often than you could count. You often worry that he'll grow tired of picking up the pieces after a particularly rough case but he's here to remind you that he'll always choose you. Warnings: Vague mentions of injuries/bruising, darkness associated with working for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), anxiety, stress, worry, unprotected PinV. If there's anything else, let me know! Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!Reader (BAU Agent [Criminal Minds] Reader) Word Count: 3.4k 

The feelings that tended to linger after cases were, in your line of work, rarely ever good. Occasionally, you found yourself elated - happy to have reunited a family or saved a life in the nick of time - but more often than not, there was only sadness. Most cases weighed heavy on your chest, dark and haunting, and this one was no different.

It seemed as if the other members of your team felt the same as the elevator remained silent. Soft breathing and the grinding of gears filled your ears as you slowly ascended to the sixth floor and you weren’t surprised. Six long, grueling days had passed since you last stepped foot in this elevator - bag packed and ready to head to Oregon, Spencer spouting fact after fact as you headed for the jet - and every one of you was exhausted.

Despite the late hour, however, a light illuminated the bullpen.

Marcus sat at your desk, a case file of his own spread across the top. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt, a far cry from his work attire that let you know he’d driven to the office just for you, and you imagined he’d been sitting there since the jet landed.

That, coupled with the overwhelming emotion the case had drudged up, made your eyes sting with tears you refused to shed in the bullpen.

Marcus met your eyes the moment you stepped out of the elevator and his face fell, heartbreak clear in the curve of his mouth, as he took in the glassy look in your eyes. He stood as you crossed the threshold into the small office space, focus solely on you, and waited patiently for you to come to him.

Morgan gripped Marcus’ shoulder as he brushed past him, offering him a look that spoke volumes despite his silence, while the others nodded silent greetings. Everyone began to disperse, each trudging wearily through the bullpen to grab any items they might need, as Marcus gathered your already packed bag from beneath your desk.

“C’mon,” he urged, voice a soft whisper as he took the go-bag from your hand and replaced its weight with the warmth of his palm. “Let’s go home.”

No words were shared as you descended to the parking deck but Marcus made it a point to keep his hand in yours. You could feel the weight of his gaze on your skin, warm and reassuring, but this had grown almost routine.

Bad days seemed more common than good these days - cases seemed to end with more bloodshed and fewer happy endings - and you wanted to apologize. You hated that Marcus was the one seeing the aftermath, the one left to help you pick up the pieces time and time again, but his grip on your hand gave you hope that he at least understood.

That thought kept repeating as you drove home in silence. The worry that one day, all of the darkness you found yourself surrounded by would infiltrate your life - destroy it in the same way it had destroyed Hotch, the same way it burdened JJ and Emily and Rossi and Morgan and Reid - echoed so loud you feared Marcus would hear it.

Even as you wandered through your night routine on autopilot, Marcus lingering near but giving you enough space to not feel overwhelmed, you worried.

The job was one you loved, one you appreciated the chance to do, but there was a reason everyone you knew had such miserable personal lives. The nature of your work made it difficult to feel human sometimes, especially when your other half often seemed to beautifully human - so bright and full of love and understanding and kindness - and you wondered if Marcus regretted choosing you as you finally settled into bed beside him.

Even as he shifted closer, always so eager to offer whatever comfort he could, you felt a sort of guilt needle at your skin. With anyone else, he would be happy - unburdened by their work, in addition to his own - but you selfishly reveled in the glow of his light as he draped the duvet over your legs.

“What do you need, sweetheart?”

Marcus did little to hide the desperation in his voice as soft brown eyes searched yours. The instinct to blink, to hide your face from him and retreat into yourself, was strong but you resisted. There was never much he could do - the very nature of your job meant that this was your reality, that it would happen again and again; you wanted it to happen, to remind you that you could still feel, despite all you’d seen - but that never stopped him from trying.

This was a moment you both needed. You ached for the comfort Marcus provided and he wanted to feel helpful, if only for a moment. It made the pain a touch more bearable for you both but it still made the tears you’d been fighting for hours begin to fall. Marcus crumbled in that same moment, soft eyes widening as he took in the quiver of your bottom lip and the stutter in your breathing, as the weight you’d been carrying finally made you bend.

Soft fingers caressed your side, a featherlight touch that warmed your skin and helped you shake the desperate cold that latched onto you the moment you stepped off the plane, as Marcus made quiet noises of comfort. He shifted even closer, lifted one hand to cup your cheek - fingers careful as they delicately wiped away the few tears that lingered - and your eyes slipped shut as you attempted to relax into the feeling.

It was difficult to keep the flashes from appearing in the darkness - images from the case, faces from the seemingly infinite cases you’d handled over the course of your career - and Marcus seemed to understand what was happening as your eyes flew open with a soft gasp.

That worry that you were burdening him, that you were difficult to love, that you were selfishly clinging to something you didn’t deserve, nestled deep in your chest but you could’t help yourself as you reached for him.

“Make me forget,” you begged, fingers clutching his bicep as you met his eyes. “Distract me, please.” The whispered plea came out broken, thick with tears as you bared your aching soul for Marcus to see so plainly. And his answering sigh made the ache in your chest that much stronger.

“Anything you need, sweetheart.” It was a promise you’d heard a thousand times before, one you always believed but never dared dream you deserved, and inhaled sharply as he brushed away the few tears that managed to fall. “Lie back and let me take care of you.”

Marcus’ soft urging saw you lying back, nestling in the too-soft plush of your newly shared bed, but you willed yourself to focus entirely on him.

The soft curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the downturn of his lips as he frowned thoughtfully, the warm brown of his eyes as he searched your skin for any new bumps or bruises or scars; every inch of him devastatingly familiar and comforting in a way you feared you would lose with every case that took you away from home.

Careful fingers traced the curve of your cheek, trailed down your neck and brushed carefully over the pulse point you knew would betray your rapidly beating heart, but Marcus made no comment. Instead, he continued his slow descent of mapping skin you knew he was more familiar with than his own.

There was rarely any hurry in moments like these. Marcus knew you needed grounding, a return to the safety of your home - of your love, of his embrace - just as you knew he needed reassuring. He took his time searching for any evidence of the difficulty of your work, never failing to press soft kisses to the wounds he could, and your heart clenched as his eyes closed upon lifting the hem of your t-shirt.

A smattering of bruises covered your abdomen, ran down your side and disappeared into the waistband of your shorts, and you knew Marcus immediately imagined the worst. It had been bad and you planned to answer any questions he had, but the injury was of little surprise. The pain had yet to fully sink in - the stiffness, the ache every time you so much as shifted - but you’d seen worse and so had he.

“You should see the other guy.” The joke sounded weak in your own ears, half-hearted and hollow, but Marcus dutifully played along. 

As he carefully pulled the fabric over your head, he hummed. “I wouldn’t want to be him.”

Marcus leaned in then, careful to rest as little weight on you as he could manage, and pressed his mouth to yours in a soft kiss. There was a tentativeness to the kiss that he only showed in moments like these, a hesitance that reminded you of that very first date, but it lasted for only a second.

When your hand lifted to the back of his neck, fingers pressing into his skin to pull him closer, Marcus sank into you.

Every emotion he’d felt over the course of the week poured into the kiss. Each ounce of anguish, of worry, of relief bled through the embrace as his hand fell to an uninjured spot on your hip to ground himself. There were worries he’d never speak aloud - fears he kept to himself as he knew they’d only further your own anxiety - but in moments like these, you felt them clearly.

A sort of desperation gripped you, had you pulling him close despite the ache settling deep in your bones, as your fingers pressed hard into his skin. Your focus fell to him entirely, blocking out the darkness that threatened to overwhelm you more often than not, and you were grateful for his presence as he nosed at the hinge of your jaw.

Deft hands trailed down your warm skin, dipped beneath the band of your shorts and brushed at the fabric covering you. This was never truly about pleasure - not in the way it so often seemed to be with Marcus, a partner who truly understood what you needed, what you wanted. This was about connection, grounding, a moment to remind you both that you were home, safely tucked into the sheets at his side once more.

Despite that understand, Marcus was a giver. He never failed give his all and you were reminded of his generosity as his fingers dipped beneath the fabric of your panties.

Warm, featherlight kisses trailed over your jaw, down the column of your throat, as practiced fingers traced your slit. “Focus on me,” he urged, touch teasing but purposeful as he tipped his head to steal a glimpse at your face. “Just feel.”

With fingers still trembling, you lifted your hand to his chest and placed your palm over his heart. Marcus hummed encouragingly, a reminder of the first time he made that request, and you willed your own heart to match his rhythm. Steady and strong, just as he always seemed to be, helped you relax into his embrace as his thumb found the small bundle of nerves.

When he managed to draw a soft sigh, Marcus smiled. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Soft murmurs of praise filled the room, warm and husky in that tone he reserved just for you, as his fingers pressed into you. With every swipe of his thumb, with every insistent press as he worked you open, you felt yourself returning to the moment at hand. Each flutter of your lashes grew easier, less daunting, and you marveled at his ability to capture your attention so wholly as the dark began to fill with visions of him.

Deep brown eyes, marveling at the way your lips parted and your chest heaved; soft lips, swollen from kisses and the way his teeth sank into them when you writhed beneath him; strong arms, desperate to wrap around your frame as you fell apart beneath him. Visions of Marcus steadily filled the void and warmed you from within, drawing soft moans and eager cries of his name as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

The only pause in his ministration was to tug the soft fabric of your shorts down your legs, eager to slip between your spread thighs in the way he so often did. However, before he could throw you over the edge with a talented tongue and eager eyes watching your every move, you gripped his bicep.

“Not tonight. I just…” It was soft, a careful plea that almost seemed brittle in comparison to your usual requests, but Marcus seemed to understand. With a deep breath, eyes stinging with unshed tears, you shook your head. “Just want you close tonight, please.”

Marcus acquiesced, always so eager to give you what you wanted, and you swallowed the pang of guilt you felt at the position you so often put him in. He deserved more - deserved stable, happy, soft, warm - but you refused to dwell on that thought as he shifted.

A careful hand lifted your leg, littered in more bruises you knew he’d catalogue later, and wrapped it around his waist to press impossibly closer. He nudged his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock before notching the head at your dripping entrance.

The stretch of him always hit you hard, captured your attention fully and made it impossible to think about anything other than his touch, and Marcus used that to his advantage as he leaned in to press his lips to yours. He eagerly swallowed the soft noises that left your lips, the sighs and moans that escaped as he buried himself to the hilt, and left only an inch of space when you both needed air.

With his forehead pressed to yours, those dark eyes always so observant, Marcus set a pace that had you clinging to him. He pressed impossibly deep, hitting the spot that saw stars bursting in your field of vision, and gave in to your insistent tugging as he leaned more of his weight onto you. You knew he’d move as soon as you both finished, eager to keep from hurting you, but you took all he was willing to give and comforted yourself in his presence as he wound you tighter and tighter.

Every snap of his hips, every soft press of his mouth to your rapidly heating skin, every whispered word of praise chipped away at you. Piece by brittle piece, Marcus broke you apart. He would spend the next day putting you back together again but you thought little of anything other than the heat of his skin pressed to yours.

The beat of his heart hammered beneath your fingertips, climbing ever higher with every snap of his hips - with every swipe of his fingers, of his mouth over your heated skin - and you reveled in the break in his voice as he urged, “Come for me, sweetheart. Let go.”

With a cry of his name and clinging to him, you came. Marcus swallowed every noise, lips ghosting over your own, and followed shortly after. And while he would’ve ordinarily allowed you to keep him pressed close, weight resting atop your body, he’d seen the state of you. He’d already pressed closer than he intended and pulled away the moment you both began to come down.

Marcus settled in beside you, pulled you into his chest and gave you space to shift until you were comfortable, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. In the silence of the bedroom, you listened as his breathing evened and debated speaking for a long while.

But as the darkness settled, the silence oppressively loud, you couldn’t stop the words from escaping. “I’m sorry.”

The apology lingered in the darkness for so long that you began to wonder if Marcus had fallen asleep. You knew him better than that, however, and swallowed your own sigh as he made a comforting noise.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” His voice was soft, comforting, but there was a certainty in the way he spoke that made your heart begin to hammer in your chest once more. There was a finality, a promise that made you realize he knew exactly what you were apologizing for, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck as he lifted a hand to cradle the back of your head.

“None of this is on you, sweetheart,” he reminded you gently, voice quiet in the still of the room. “You see such terrible things every day. You’re constantly faced with the worst humanity has to offer but you keep going. You’ve helped so many people. I know how bad it hurts that you can’t save everyone but think of all the people you have saved. This case was hard and the next one probably will be, too, but you never have to apologize for needing help carrying that weight. We’re partners,” he stressed, a reminder you’d heard a thousand times before, “that’s what I’m here for.”

“I know. I just…” Marcus waited patiently, fingers careful not to press too hard to your skin as he brushed nonsensical patterns across your back. “You deserve better,” you settled for, voicing the one concern you held so close to your chest aloud. “My life, it’s just darkness. There’s never any guarantee that the darkness won’t follow me home, that it won’t come back to haunt me, that it won’t come back to haunt you because you love me. There’s no guarantee I’ll come back from the next case or the one after that.”

With a shuddering breath, you shook your head as best as you were able held so close to his chest. “You’re such a good man, Marcus. You’re so kind and loving. You give so much of yourself and ask so little in return. The least I could do is give you an easy love but I’m not… I’m never going to be that.”

“Sometimes, what’s easy isn’t worth having.” Marcus shifted away from you then, turned to the side to flicker on the bedside lamp, and met your eyes in the soft glow. “I don’t want an easy love,” he promised, so certain you felt your chest begin to ache. “I want this love. I want your love.”

When you blinked, tears threatening to fall, Marcus sighed quietly. “I worry. Every single time you leave, I’m afraid that I’ll get a call that you’re coming home with stitches or a cast or that you’re stuck in some hospital somewhere. I’m afraid I’ll get a call that you’re not coming home at all. I hate worrying about that because I know you’re capable and your team is amazing but I’m going to worry because I love you. Every time you come home, I see you doing your best to hold it together and I hate seeing you so broken but I’ll be sitting there, waiting, until you tell me to stop. I hate watching you look over your shoulder after the worst cases, never afraid for you but always afraid for me, but I’ll keep looking with you. You love this job and you do it well. This is your life and I knew what I was signing up for. None of this was a surprise to me,” he reminded you, gently. “I chose this, I chose you, and it was the best choice I’ve ever made.”

The tears began to fall then, both of relief and immense sadness, and Marcus abandoned his attempt to keep you physically comfortable in an effort to bring you the closeness he knew you craved. He pulled you in tight, arms wrapping around you, and held you to his chest. You both knew that this would happen again, that there would be another case and another bout of doubt, but you knew that Marcus would be there to reassure you again and again.

Just as he’d chosen you, you chose him. And it was the best choice you’d ever made.

___________________________________________________________

Author's Note: I'm in a Pedro mood. Let's capitalize on this and knock out a few WIPs and get to work on a Frankie fic. :) I have a job interview this week so fingers crossed it goes well and I get the offer!

Tag List: @peoniarose, @karie-me-home, @rachelwritestuff, @stardust-galaxies, @deliciouslydisturbed365, @a-louise-juliane, @ben-is-a-hoe, @weasleywinchester, @crowfootwrites​, @winchestershiresauce​, @kesskirata​​, @lyr1ssa, @viyasstuff, @negansnympho89​, @im-just-a-mississippi-girl​,  @kirsteng42​, @balekanemohafe​, @avengers-fixation​, @buckybarneshairpullingkink​, @nintendhoe8​, @luciferiorbxtch​, @jettia​, @xoxabs88xox​

#pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike x you #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic #v's fics

[trulybetty]

Art Gallery

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 939 Warnings: Just Marcus Fluff™️, art galleries, talking about feelings, holding hands and all that sweetness that comes with the fandoms cannon for Marcus Pike. Summary: You and Marcus have been dating for a while and surprisingly it's the first time he's gone to an art gallery with you. It's also an afternoon for another first...

Art Gallery

The cool, air-conditioned atmosphere of the art gallery provided a much-needed respite from the sweltering heat of the Washington DC summer. The high ceilings and expansive white walls were curated with carefully chosen artworks that spoke their own stories and emotions. It was an atmosphere Marcus, an FBI Art Division agent, thrived in. He had an inherent understanding and deep appreciation of it all, many thanks to both his degrees in Art History and Fine Arts.

It was a familiar scene for him, yet somehow, today, it was different. Today, Marcus had you by his side.

He’d held off bringing you to an art gallery, thinking it inherently too cliche given his life was steeped in art, from chasing art thieves to unravelling the mysteries behind missing masterpieces. But you had suggested it, and he would be hard-pressed to turn you down.

As you strolled along, quietly discussing each piece, you could feel Marcus's gaze on you. It wasn't a new sensation, Marcus had a way of looking at you that made you feel seen and understood. This time, though, it held a kind of intensity, a warmth that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Turning to face him, you caught Marcus mid-stare, his steaming coffee from Sweet Janes—a newfound favourite from Georgetown—paused halfway to his lips. His expressive eyes revealed a mix of emotions before he quickly looked away, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

“How's your coffee?” you asked, taking a sip of your own.

“It’s good,” He held the cup up to look at the delicate logo that appeared hand stamped on the sleeve, “I’d go back again.”

You hummed in agreement as his free hand found yours, fingers interlacing as you continue your stroll through the gallery.

Yet, for all his knowledge and appreciation of art, Marcus was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve. A hopeless romantic at his core, he had a tendency to dive headfirst into his relationships. Though now, his past experiences, especially his last one, had left him more guarded.  He had told you that he had plunged headfirst into his relationship with Theresa, who he thought was 'the one', but ended up being a one-way road to heartbreak when she chose another man. So this time, with you, it was different. He didn't rush in, throwing caution to the wind. Instead, he took his time, letting his feelings for you grow and evolve naturally. Though the depth of his feelings was evident in his every look and touch.

He cleared his throat and motioned towards an exquisite piece depicting two lovers lost in a passionate gaze from across a crowded room. His voice, usually filled with confidence and authority, was now softer, almost reverent. "You see this painting?" He asked, his southern drawl more pronounced, a telltale sign of his heightened emotions. "It reminds me of us."

The statement caught you by surprise, the genuineness in his eyes made you hold your breath.

"The way they look at each other, the intensity, the love... that's what I see when I look at you," he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. His admission hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. "I love you."

Those three words, something you had suspected was coming, something you had heard him whisper in the quiet nights he stayed over, when he thought you were asleep. Now, hearing them from him with the intention of you hearing the words directly, they held so much more weight, a depth that made your heart skip a beat.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice carrying the conviction of the emotions swirling within you. You saw the relief in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders melting away.

Releasing your hand gently, Marcus allowed his fingers to wander up your bare arm, their touch light yet electrifying, eliciting a shiver that cascaded down your spine. He curled his hand around the nape of your neck, his touch warm and grounding.

You licked your lips instinctively, the anticipation building as Marcus leaned down, his tall frame bending to meet you. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes holding your gaze captive. The bustling art gallery around you, once filled with echoing voices, seemed to fade into the background. It was as if you and Marcus were the only ones there, locked in your own intimate world amidst the stillness of the art.

A chaste kiss landed on your lips. It was soft and slow, a tender press of his lips against yours that was in stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. Yet, it held an undeniable passion, a promise of love and commitment that left you breathless.

Marcus pulled back, his gaze lingering on you, tracing the contours of your face as if trying to commit this moment to memory. A small smile played at the corners of his lips, a silent acknowledgement of the magnitude of his admission. In his eyes, there was an undeniable tenderness, a light that spoke volumes about his feelings for you, and it filled you with an exhilarating sense of warmth.

You returned his smile, a quiet gesture that spoke louder than any words could. As your fingers entwined once more, you found comfort in the familiar grip, and without a word spoken between you, you both continued your stroll through the gallery. Stopping every so often to offer a remark on a piece that caught your eye, but mostly to witness the smile that had not left Marcus’ face since you told him you loved him too.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[chronically-ghosted]

✨ happy new year! ✨

it's not yet 2024 where i am but it is where my love @ravensmadreads is, so happy new year already enjoying january 1st!

i usually overthink around my birthday as i march towards death but you lovely people have really made me think about 2023 as it comes to a close. i feel weird talking about myself (unless im drunk and we haven't started drinking yet so hold onto your butts for that possibility), so i'm just going to say this:

You all changed my life.

there, that's it. if you read this and you think it doesn't mean you, yes it does. not a day goes by where this place, this community does not bring me joy and warmth. i hope you get that job you wanted, or you get that fur baby adoption you've been hoping for, or you get accepted to that school you wanted to, or you graduate with all the honors, or you create the thing you've always wanted to, or you get the baby you've been hoping for, or the person who makes you heart flip says i love you. i'm nervous about next year because it truly feels like a year where anything can happen 🤍

now to the fandom stuff:

i've never done a fic rec list because inevitably, i'm a fucking moron and i leave someone out. i know it hurts when i'm left out of a fic rec list so i never want to do that to anyone here. what follows is a list of fics that spoke specifically to me. the old saying goes is that you don't write fanfic for yourself, you write it for the five freaks on discord that can't write coherent sentences after you publish -- and it's true. fanfic isn't about numbers -- i would much rather write for my five freaks on my discord (where my work has deep, emotional impact for them) than try to write for a large crowd that i will never ever manage to please all at once.

my wish for you in 2024 you all find your freaks. and i hope i'm one of them.

side note: there are a couple fics not on the list because i wanted to highlight fics that i didn't see much on other end of the year rec lists. but @iamskyereads 's Compulsion should be read in graduate programs and @whatsnewalycat already knows i'm going to name my first born child after her for her Psychomanteum. yall rock my goddamn world.

so without further adieu . . . these are the fics i read this year that tickled me pink.

God is a Woman by @wheresarizona the way arizona writes max is entirely unique. i love her descriptions of how cold he is and how he doesn't breathe. i read this and had to rethink everything i ever wrote for max

the impaler by @kiwisbell the dracula x johnathan x mina vibes in this are spectacular. this is a pairing i never thought i'd see much less enjoy so thoroughly. why is older tim being seduced by a younger max so hot??

night one by @haylzcyon this is one of the first fics i read by hayley and she pretty much set the standard for all marcus pike fics moving forward. his endless patience, his flirty attitude, how he see things the reader won't admit, and then the sleeping bag -- god i'd read a thousand more fics about this dymanic

blood & tinsel by @morallyinept so if i tried to list all of my favorite jett fics, we'd be here all night. but this one stands out to me because it's so well built. the description of the vampire "trance" or "glamor" or "compulsion" without using any of those words is INCREDIBLE. plus max is face-meltingly hot in this.

the world turned on its side by @idolatrybarbie this was a surprise that came outta nowhere, but it hit me like a fucking train. bea weaves a story that sticks with you and creates a frankie that makes my entire soul sing.

heat by @wordywarriorwrites okay, listen. the beauty of fanfic is that you can have insane, animalistic smut AND literary level writing. this fic is both. i have yet to come across another frankie abo fic that makes the dynamic more than a reason for the blorbos to fuck like animals. it's so well done, there's so much love here.

in fiction @sin-djarin yall know dieter is my boy so i am VERY particular about how he is written in fic. everyone's interpretation is valid, but for dieter fics to resonate with me, there has to be this special blend of humor, kindness, dorkiness, and a sexiness you didn't expect. this fic is all of that and more.

reminiscence by @projectionistwrites this was one of the first joel fics i read and there's something about it that just . . . feels right, feels natural to Joel. there's a raw honesty to both joel and the reader that just sunk into my chest. the back and forth over the drink, the SMUT, everything is just this beautiful snapshot of two lonely people in the apocalypse.

oct' 19 x ghosts by @trulybetty another author that if i tried to choose a favorite, i simply couldn't. betty created a lovely, lovely world with this one (and the rest of the prompts for this one and her december prompts). i love fics that add a new layer to dieter and this one opened him up in a way that made him glow!

renegade by @eupheme my personal favorite brand of joel is one that comes alive between reader's thighs. more boulder than human until you bring something to the surface. and this totally captures that. im a sucker for a good qz fuck-that-verges-on-love and i adore everything about it.

Dominica by @ohforficsake if you ever need proof that notes do not reflect the quality of a fic, look no further. the language, the mastery of tension, and beauty of these descriptions are one two punches that knock me on the ass. genuinely one of my favorite frankie fics of all time.

wanna bet? by @write-and-buried i debated putting this or her celestial navigation fic on this list, but this one just tickles me. i love it when authors throw in a confident, sex-obsessed dieter now and again and this makes me howl. and the DEBAUCHERY of the statue oh my god!

give it to me @sp00kymulderr okay now to be fair, this review is entirely biased. i genuinely love gideon and all that they bring to this fandom. plus, they let me scream about dieter and then sends me dieter pictures that make me scream even louder. this fic is SO important to me. dieter here is everything i need and want: hesitant, anxious, but so madly in love. if i could wake up in one single fic every day, it'd be this one.

stepwise by @the-scandalorian i joined this fandom through din and this has been, and always will be, one of my top favorites. the evolution of din from being touch averse to LUSTING after it, it kills me. it's a oneshot but so much is accomplished in such a short time. the writing here is simply superb.

salvatore by @devilmademewriteit i came for the premise, stayed for the smut, and continued for the banter. i go back to this one all the time for inspiration with my own writing and then i get sucked in and read the whole thing through -- twice. javi drives me absolutely wild in this.

a whole new can of worms by @hier--soir i accidentally read this out of order initially, but this was just reason for me to reread it from start to finish. fwb!joel can be really hit or miss for me, and primarily because this fic sets the standard. this feels like a real joel, a joel that has lost and found loved ones all through out his life and now in jackson, he can finally relearn what it means to be a lover. so good, so fun with the banter -- and the friggin' greenhouse scene -- woof!

telltale heart @astroboots i am a SUCKER for 'frankie fixes his life' fics and this is one of the best. there are consequences for his choices in colombia, one that almost has him lose his family, and the woman he loves. this a real, genuine struggle for two people to overcome a seemingly impossible challenge in their marriage. you know the phrase, love conquers all? yeah this is that fic.

brand you in the way it counts by @charnelhouse charnel was one of the first authors i read for the pedroverse -- and i mean i READ her. i read every single one of her fics at least twice and this one always sends me over the edge. it's such an inspiration to my own writing and i keep going back to her whole body of work to be reminded i can always improve my own writing

west by @radiowallet when people want to know why fanfic matters, i want to show them this fic. it is achingly beautiful and written with a loving and gentle hand. joel is a messy, broken man but still capable, still good, still wanting to find love in this and i adore everything about this. Oneshots can be more devastating than multichapters because they end and this is one of them that drags me back to it constantly.

And to that weird little dude out of Chile who has no idea how much light he brings to the world…

Much love, Taylor 🤍

#the very last #taylor rambles #of 2023 #yall lucked out

[supernaturalgirl20]

The Decision

Pairings: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, couple fighting, mention of divorce, separation, mentions of fertility issues, Marcus being a little bit of a dick, cursing.

Chapter summary: you both decide to end your marriage and separate but what about the family tradition of Christmas with the pike’s?! Can you really pretend to be together for 7 days?! Or will the cracks start to show?

A/N: this will link up with my Xmas writing challenge (you’ll see 😏) Thank you to Chloe @misspearly1 for the beta. You’re a little gem 💎

Series Masterlist

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

Silence befell the room, though the mental suffering was audible in your stammered breaths as you sit staring at your husband - his hair slightly dishevelled from running his fingers through it frustratedly - you can’t help the way your heart breaks just a little more.

How had it all come to this? You ask as the image of your wedding day flashes through your mind and the watery smile he had on his face when he saw you in your dress for the first time. The day was beautiful, the love was young and strong, yet it feels like a distant memory. It feels lost and forgotten.

A deep sigh escapes his lips, pulling you from your thoughts as he slowly lifts his head to face you. “So, this is it then.” He says and you’re not sure if it’s a question or a statement, but you nod anyway. “It’s for the best. I mean, you said so yourself.”

“Yeah, I know. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, though.” He looks away briefly and shakes his head, pondering in thought as if memories were flashing across his mind too before looking back into your eyes, “I still love you. I always will, it's just…we’ve drifted apart and I’m so tired of all the fighting.”

“I just wanted to spend time with you like we used to. Before…” You look away too, shaking your head as you take a second to calm your emotions before speaking. “...You’re never home anymore, Marcus.” You say calmly.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he huffs in frustration, “I know that,” he runs his fingers through his hair once more before lifting his head to look at you, “I know but I’ve got that big promotion coming up, I’ve told you that. Fuck! We can’t keep coming back to this.”

“Isn’t that why we’re separating?” You snipe sarcastically.

“That’s not fair.”

“I know, I’m sorry. What will we do about Christmas? It’s only a week away and your mom has everything organised.”

Marcus sighs again, slumping back on the couch with his head facing up at the ceiling. “Fuck I don’t know. She’s gonna be so upset about this. It’s gonna break her. Maybe we could…no, never mind.”

“No, what? Tell me.” You move your hand to rest on his thigh and you think you hear his breath hitch at the contact. It’s the most you’ve had in weeks and a huge part of you misses how it used to be.

“Maybe we could just go and not say anything.” He’s looking at you now, his eyes soft and pleading as he waits for you to answer. “Marcus, we can’t not tell them.”

“No, I know, that’s not what I’m saying,” he says as sits up. “We could just wait until Christmas is over, just give mom one last Christmas dinner with us together?” Your eyes trace the outline of his face, taking him in like this will be the last chance you get. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and it almost breaks you. He has so many little quirks that you spent years learning and now you’ll never see them again.

“I guess we could…. I mean it’s only for a couple of days, but when everyone else leaves after new year’s we need to tell them.”

Marcus is nodding his head furiously, “we will, I promise.” A smile breaks out over his face as he places his hand atop yours, giving it a quick squeeze before he shifts off the couch and stands. Your heart shatters as you stare at his now empty spot on the couch beside you. “I got to get back to work,” he says as he grabs his keys off the side table. Clearing your throat, you stand and follow him. “Yeah, of course. I’ll… I’ll start packing my things I guess.”

He falters in his step but quickly recovers giving you a forced smile before he nods and then leaves, the door closing loudly behind him. It’s over. It’s really over. Your breath hitches as you begin to sob, crumbling under the weight of your grief. Your hand rests on your stomach. If only you’d been able to have a baby. Been able to give him the family he always wanted. The one you always wanted. Maybe then he would have been home more.

Wiping the tears away you pull yourself together and make your way into the kitchen to make tea. It won’t fix anything, but it will help. At least your nan used to say so. Then you can start packing. It’s just a week. You can survive that at least. Well, you hope you can.

***

The week passed much the same with Marcus constantly working late, only coming home to eat and sleep. He had completely moved into the guest bedroom and the nights were colder without him, but this was your new reality now, you would just have to get used to it. He wouldn’t be there to wrap his arm around you and pull you close after getting in late or tickle you in the mornings to wake you up before you’d make love. A knock to your door startles you, “Hey the cab will leave here in 20, so if you wanna shower before, you better do it now.” Marcus’s voice is muffled by the door, but you can still hear the impatience in it before the sound of his footsteps fade down the hall. You take in a shuddered breath as you lay back in the bed and star up at the ceiling. Time to face the music.

***

Marcus is quiet in the cab only speaking when he absolutely must, and you hate that it’s come to this. You’ve become strangers. “So, how’s work going? Making any head way on the promotion?”

“Jesus Y/N, can’t you give a rest just for once about the job. Can’t we just spend our last few days together not arguing?” He doesn’t even turn to face you as the harsh words slip past his lips. “I was only asking,” you say trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to leave your lips. “No matter what you think of me, I still care about you. I’m… I’m sorry.” Turning quickly to face the window you try to hold back the tears, but they come out as a strangled sob.

“Hey,” Marcus whispers softly, his tone laced with regret as he rests his hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. When you turn to face him, he reaches out to cup your cheek as his thumb gently wipes the falling tears. “I’m sorry… that was uncalled for. I hate making you cry. I seem to do a lot of that these days.” He trails off as his eyes flick down to your lips quickly before he clears his throat and removes his touch. “Were almost at the airport. Try get some rest.”

***

The rental car is small and electric, and you roll your eyes at how this is so typically Marcus trying to always save the world. Ironic when he didn’t seem to want to save your marriage. You let your eyes drift over his form, and you can’t help but notice the way his jeans hug his thighs snuggly or the way his t-shirt stretches a little over his muscular arms. It sends a spark straight to your cunt and a heat begins to build within you.

“You ok over there?” He asks, concern lacing his voice. “You look a little flushed.” Marcus’s eyes drift over to you briefly and you feel your face heat up even more. Clearing your throat, you turn your gaze back out the window. “Yeah. All good.”

“Sure? I can pull over if you want some air?”

“No, its fine, honestly. We’re nearly there now anyway.” You huff out a breath hoping he’ll get the hint and let it go.

“I’ll just pull over it’s no big deal.”

“Jesus Marcus, just leave it. I said I’m ok.” You huff in frustration and Marcus mumbles something under his breath you don’t quite catch. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

His hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter and you can see the muscle in his neck strain a little. You hate the way your body is betraying you, even now. “No say it, come on. Get it off your chest.”

“Fine. You want to know what I said?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have asked otherwise”, you snipe back at him.

“I said you’re getting more like your mother every day. Old and bitter. All you ever do is complain.”

You gasp, feeling like you’ve just been kicked in the gut “You take that back.” Marcus shakes his head. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“You tell me it enough.” Marcus runs a hand through his hair and sighs in exasperation. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. How are we gonna play nice for seven days in front of everyone? We can’t even sit in the same car together for five minutes without arguing.”

“You wanted this. I was happy to just tell them over the phone, but you didn’t want that so you’re gonna have to suck it up. Or don’t, I don’t care anymore. You can always leave me at the next hotel and tell your mom yourself, be a man for once.”

“How did we end up like this?” Marcus sighs and you swear when you look at him his eyes are welling with tears. “I ask myself that every day. We used to be so close, you were my safe place. Do you remember that Christmas we decided to drive to your parents and got snowed in half way, so we hauled up in a cheap motel for the holiday and just ate diner food and watched hallmark movies on the shitty tv?”

Marcus smiles over at you, a warmth filling his brown eyes that you haven’t seen in what feels like forever. “That Christmas was my favourite. It was just us.” He says in a soft voice as he stares out the window and continues to drive. “Yeah, it was mine to.” Silence fills the car and then you’re pulling up to his parents’ house. Once the car is parked the front door swings open and Mary Pike waves vigorously at you both. Clearly excited to have her family home for Christmas.

Smiling back at her you turn slowly to find Marcus’s gaze already set on you. His eyes hold an emotion you can’t read but before you can even question it, he’s shaking his head and plastering a smile across his face. “Show time.” He leans over and kisses your cheek before hopping out and greeting his mom. You place your hand on the cheek he kissed, the ghost of his lips still lingering there before you take a deep breath and follow your husband. This was going to be one long week.

Part 2

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @dindjarinswhore @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories

#pedro pascal #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x female reader

[warpfive]

HAVING A SECRET ADMIRER

when the snw crew has a secret admirer, and how they handle it

CW: gn!reader

CREW: chris pike, una chin-riley, spock, la'an, erica ortegas, nyota uhura, christine chapel

CHRIS - first and foremost, chris would be absolutely flattered. he thinks the little gifts or poems left behind for him are really adorable and they always brighten up his day. he wouldn’t try to go out of his way to find out who his secret admirer is - he likes the mystery, as well as wanting to spare his admirer any embarrassment of being discovered. chris would also not really try to hide it. he’ll put the flowers in a vase on his desk, or share the delicious chocolate with friends who come to dinner. when others lightly tease him about it, chris would be a very good sport. or if someone like erica wants to help him find the identity of his admirer (because she’s so nosy), chris would forbid it. though, as all things do on a starship, you’re eventually caught and the mystery is over. still, chris would try his absolute hardest to try and prevent you from being humiliated in some way. he’ll thank you for all of the little gifts, ensure that he won’t say a thing to the crew, and finally asks if you’d want to have dinner with him - just the two of you. he’s still got some more of those chocolates you left for him, and chris is eager to share.

UNA - she knows you’re her admirer almost immediately, but continues to play dumb to prevent you from feeling embarrassed or foolish. she’ll let the rumors circulate, finding it amusing what the rest of the crew thinks of her secret admirer. una will resist any plans of trying to sniff out the mystery person, as she enjoys the days some new gift arrives for her and the rest of the senior staff are super eager as if it’s another clue to the mystery. in the meantime, una does treat you just a little differently. not enough to be too noticeable, but the knowledge of you being her admirer softens her. there are times when una thinks about just coming clean and telling you she knows everything. when the cat is eventually out of the bag, una keeps it all lowkey. she tries not to make a big deal out of it, making small jokes or smart comments to ease your embarrassment. but when she gets more serious - so warm in how she thanks you for the gifts, it makes you wonder why you ever tried to keep it a secret. then una suggests you two take some time together the next time the enterprise is in port somewhere, and she doesn’t miss when you ask the captain the next day when he thinks they’ll come across a starbase.

SPOCK - doesn’t really understand the concept of a secret admirer at first. he has a loose understanding, but only through the wire of human culture and spock doesn’t even really pay much attention to that. at first, he may just ignore it, thinking it’s simply a passing infatuation and will fade, as human emotions are prone to do. but the gifts left for him don’t cease, and it isn’t until a rather passionate poem comes along does spock finally decide to do some investigating. he’s a scientist, he doesn’t like a mystery to be unsolved if he can help it - plus, he stresses with nurse chapel, his secret admirer must be slacking in their duties on the ship. it really doesn’t take spock very long to discover the culprit, and once he’s face-to-face with you…well, he doesn’t know what to say. he’s never had a secret admirer before. you start apologizing, hoping you hadn’t embarrassed spock because you knew how private and introverted he is and you didn’t wanna scare him off with any grand gestures and- he cuts you off there. tells you that vulcans are incapable of embarrassment and it was actually very thoughtful that you wanted to spare his (nonexistent) feelings. plus, the poem was a very beautiful one, where did you learn it from? do you know of others that are similar? it kinda evolves into you spending time with spock via showing him your favorite poet and made you thankful you went the route of a secret admirer - it seems to suite spock a lot better.

LA’AN - she’s usually pretty good at letting her icy exterior discourage any hijinks, and this includes secret admirers. most of the crew wouldn’t even think about doing something so brazen and wholesome to la’an - to be honest, she intimidates a lot of her crewmates. so when news starts spreading of somebody secretly crushing on the security chief, la’an had no idea how to respond. for a time, she thought it was simply just a sick joke. maybe some of the junior officers were making her the butt of a prank, which la’an has absolutely 0 tolerance for. the captain and a few others tried to explain that it was harmless, and la’an eventually came to terms with it. no prank can so worth it as to intently learn all of her favorite desserts, color, flower… okay, once la’an was sure there was no funny business happening, she absolutely wanted to find her secret admirer. why? she didn’t have a solid answer - it changed from person to person. it took no time at all to find your identity, and once she came to confront you… she was barely able to speak. it was a little humiliating for la’an - she just had no experience with this sort of thing and it blindsided her like nothing else. she let you ramble on, eyes averting whenever you talked about your feelings. but when you started apologizing, that’s when she cut back in with her usual blunt words, insisting you did nothing worth apologizing for. in fact, she really liked those flowers, and she wants to know how you got a hold of them - you know, for future reference. 

ERICA - honestly, erica would probably get a little cocky about having a secret admirer. it’s one thing to have someone crushing on you like school kids, but it’s different when erica keeps finding gifts and letters left for her, only her, and she can flaunt them around. of course, she’d be super curious about her admirer. i imagine she might bring it up to those she works closely with, hoping they saw or heard something that might lend a clue. once the newness wears off, erica’s curiosity would get the better of her, and she would actively try to investigate. though, she isn’t exactly subtle - discovering the identity of her admirer came as a complete accident. quite literally catching you in the act, and when you try to deflect, erica knows she’s caught her admirer. though, her victory is cut short when she sees just how embarrassed she’s made you - it didn’t really occur to erica that you wanted to be secret for a reason. so she softens up, thanks you for all the little gifts you left her, and she genuinely wants to discuss it. erica isn’t opposed to taking things further, but only on one condition - you gotta keep supplying the sweets you’ve been leaving for her. they’re really good, and they taste better when they’re gifted.

NYOTA - is immediately very shy about the whole thing, even when others are excited and curious and lowkey pushing nyota for as many details as she can give. and she does tell the stories of each time she discovered a new trinket or treat or letter, much to the pleasure of her nosy friends. but there’s something she keeps hidden from them, knowledge that nyota wants to keep to herself - she recognizes the words on the letters. she’s got an ear for language, as well as an eye for words. at first, she definitely tried to ignore what her gut was telling her. trying to spare you and herself the embarrassment, even though the knowledge was kept to herself. but it was the knowledge that slowly warmed her up to the idea of perhaps returning your affections - it’s quite hard to read such passionate words and not begin to feel something for the person you know is writing them. though, nyota isn’t quite as skilled in being subtle, and it’s easy to tell when she started acting different. that’s when your letters ceased, nyota got anxious, and she just had to say something. assure you that she wasn’t upset or uncomfortable - just the opposite, in fact. she very much enjoyed everything you’ve given her, and she knows they’ll stop now that she confronted you, but she wanted to clear the air. and of course, you care about her, so you ask her if she wanted you to keep writing letters. just because she seemed to enjoy them so much. nyota didn’t even realize she had nodded her head until you smiled and walked away.

CHRISTINE - equal parts flattered and shy. flings are one thing - no strings attached, no warm sentiments, and absolutely no rumors. christine was actually the last to know about her first gift, which was foolishly left by her corner of sick bay and discovered by everyone else. she was immediately bombarded with questions and theories and christine wasn’t even able to fully enjoy and inspect the gift until she brought it to her quarters. for a time, she attempted to ignore it. but small gifts grew into more personal objects that only someone who knew her would know. and those eventually evolved into letters and poems and christine was a little fed up at this point - not that these gestures weren’t unwanted. they always put her in a little better of a mood. but christine doesn’t like being purposefully excluded, and she’s definitely not used to more intimate gestures of affection. it was only a matter of time before the identity of her admirer was revealed - the ship wasn’t big enough to keep such a secret. she’s the one who confronted you, and admittedly, came off kinda strong at first. you apologized, promised it would stop, and that’s not what she wanted. instead of sneaking around, how about grabbing lunch, she offered. or maybe dinner, since your shifts don’t exactly line up. and when you agreed, christine couldn’t tell if she was relieved or even more on edge.

#star trek x reader #star trek headcanons #chris pike x reader #una chin riley x reader #spock x reader #la'an x reader #erica ortegas x reader #nyota uhura x reader #christine chapel x reader

[the-french-belphegor]

So I wrote down three fic ideas for @critter-genfic-events's bingo card, one funny, one bittersweet, and one bittersweet with a heavy helping of sad, and for some reason my brain went "SAD. SAD FIRST", so here I am. Writing something with cuddling/missing someone/angst/post-campaign. I'll post it on AO3 (user name "Belphegor") ASAP.

—

The night was soft, warm, and silent. Pike barely heard the bedroom door open and a quiet footfall pad closer, floating as she was in that particular state between half-asleep and half-awake. She liked to try to stay up on the nights Scanlan played a Westruun tavern, but she was so comfortable despite the empty spot in the bed that she’d given up fighting off sleep long ago.

The mattress dipped a little on Scanlan’s side, tipping the balance towards consciousness. Then, surprisingly, nothing happened for a few long seconds.

Outside, an owl hooted.

“How’d it go?” she murmured eventually. Through the mattress she felt her boyfriend give a start.

“Sorry,” he said in a low voice. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Eh. I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup, absolutely,” she mumbled around a smile, very aware that she was slurring her words so much only someone who’d known her for as long as Scanlan had could make sense of them. Burying her face into the pillow probably didn’t help, either.

Scanlan didn’t make a witty remark or huff out a laugh. From what she could feel, he didn’t even move from his spot.

The silence and stillness jarred Pike awake completely.

“Scanlan?” she asked, rubbing her eyes to get them to focus faster. “Is everything okay?”

He was sitting on the edge of the bed with one leg tucked under him, bare-chested but wearing the short loose trousers he liked to sleep with.

(Scanlan liked to keep pants on at night in case of emergencies – or in case Grog barged in, which did happen occasionally. Pike had slept naked for four decades, most of them under the same roof as or a stone’s throw from her adopted brother, and saw no reason for things to change.)

When she spoke, he half turned to her and schooled his face into a smile instead of the half-lost look she could have sworn had been there a second ago.

“Sure. I should play the Golden Buck more often. You should see the fortune I made in tips!”

But the thing was, if Scanlan had known her long enough to decipher her words even when she was drunk, exhausted, or loopy from blood loss, Pike had learned a thing or two about him in that time, too. Kaylie remained the only person in existence who could tell in a heartbeat when he was lying, but Pike was getting pretty good at that as well.

She sat up and scooted closer. He’d placed a small candleholder on his bedside table, most likely to avoid tripping in the dark; the tiny flickering flame outlined the slope of his shoulders, the ridges of his worst scars, the vulnerable spot where his neck met his shoulder that she loved to kiss.

No point in calling him out for lying, even by omission. That would only be stating the obvious. Thus Pike jumped directly to the next logical step.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

Scanlan’s shoulders slumped a little.

“Nothing. Just…” Emotion rippled across his face, like a breeze on water, and something about him crumbled. “Somebody requested ‘The Raven’s Wings’ again.”

Oh.

Scanlan had written many songs since the rise and fall of Vecna, mostly about Vox Machina. (Many were about Pike in some way or another. Her favourite of those was probably ‘The Lady’s Favour’, a cheerful ballad with the kind of lyrics that had to be sung after making sure the kids had all gone to bed.) A few of them were about Vax, of course, some cheeky, some solemn. ‘The Raven’s Wings’ was melancholic and haunting and unabashedly heartfelt; Scanlan had written most of it in one night while getting absolutely shitfaced with Pike and Grog. It had taken all of Pike’s powers of persuasion to convince him to actually make a real song out of it instead of burning the stained paper he’d scribbled the lyrics on.

She loved that song. Sometimes the melody snuck into her mind unexpectedly, and it felt both like poking a bruise and soothing an old hurt.

But she suspected it was somewhat different for Scanlan. Like everyone else, really.

Scanlan shivered a little when she gingerly wrapped herself around him from behind, skin to skin, scars to scars.

“It is a beautiful song, you know,” she said softly. “He’d love it.”

“It’s sappy, though.”

“What’s wrong with that?” The fact that Scanlan didn’t have a rejoinder was a good sign. Or a bad one, depending. “It’s a lovely tribute.”

This drew a sharp sigh from beneath her hands. She held him just a little tighter and waited.

“Yeah, but that’s… That’s it, it’s just a tribute. It doesn’t even say anything important about him. There’s nothing about what he was like, or… You know, like he was both really simple and really complex at the same time? I mean, he was such a shit, and he could brood worse than Percy, but also he was this ray of sunshine when he was happy… And he laughed, and he cried, and he wore his heart on his fucking sleeve and he let the whole world see it like it didn’t matter, and I never…”

He let out something that might have been a chuckle if not for the catch in his throat.

“I meant to ask him how he did that. Missed my shot in the end.”

“He made it look real easy,” murmured Pike, putting her chin on his collarbone, “but it’s really hard. But… I guess sometimes we do need reminders that it’s okay to, you know, feel things and show it. Even the bad stuff.” She paused. “Like the world’s not gonna stop because I say out loud that my friend is dead, and I miss my friend, and I’m sad.”

The worst thing about losing someone dear, Pike had found, were the regrets. The I should haves. The might have beens. She knew Scanlan still carried the weight of the wish he didn’t get to make; Scanlan knew about the quiet poisoned voice in her heart that sometimes whispered that her words to Vax – if the Raven Queen fucks with you, or hurts you, or doesn’t change you for the better, then she’s going to have to deal with me, and we’re going to have a problem – turned out to be meaningless and empty promises. She hadn’t been able to save him any more than Scanlan had, or any of them.

But at least she’d learned to stop pretending she was fine so everybody else could be okay. And start remembering they had each other to be not okay with.

Scanlan shifted a little in her arms to press a kiss into her temple and rested his forehead there for a moment.

And he prided himself on his words, that man of hers, but he didn’t give himself enough credit for his silences.

After a while, she asked him in a low voice, “Did you play the song?”

A two-tone hum answered her, then a wry chuckle. “I mean, I had asked for requests. And I know it’s not, you know, terrible music. Just… I could write all the songs I want and it still wouldn’t do him justice.” A beat. “What would you say? In a song about Vax, I mean. What would you like remembered?”

A soft smile with sharp edges. Warmth shining through sadness. Long hands with clever fingers, always gentle, even covered in blood. A trickster’s love for pranks. Mostly a heart so wide it could have contained enough love for a whole world and more.

“Fun buns,” she said softly.

“Hm?”

“We had this… thing, this little habit of doing each other’s hair up into fun buns. And… You know how he’d have a nickname for everyone? Nobody else ever called me ‘Pickle’. Just him. That’s a good thing to remember, I guess.”

Scanlan gently ran a hand up her forearm, rubbing the little hairs there the wrong way.

“I could work that into a song, if you’d like. Might even have a melody ready.”

Pike immediately shook her head.

“Oh no, it’s… That’s…”

Those memories were precious, and private, and hers. Sharing them with Scanlan, Grog, Vex, Keyleth, Percy, Tary – each of whom had their own set of precious private memories of Vax – was fine. But perfect strangers, who only knew of the Champion of the Matron of Ravens through what was essentially becoming folklore? That felt almost sacrilegious, in a way.

“…Don’t,” she finished lamely. “I know it’s stupid, but I kinda… want to keep some part of him for myself, I guess.”

“It’s not stupid,” murmured Scanlan into her hair. She could have sworn she could feel him grin just before he added, at the same low volume but in a very different tone, “Guess I’ll have to make it about the musician and the brave, strong sailor with the perfect breasts again. Sea shanties are always a win, right?”

“Idiot,” said Pike with a laugh that warmed her chest on the way up.

She knew she’d made her point, though – nicknames and fun buns would remain in the family. That still left Scanlan with plenty of material to write about Vax, anyway.

The conversation faded naturally after that. Pike blew the candle after she realised she was falling asleep right there against Scanlan, whose shoulders were still slumped, but for entirely different reasons than when he’d come in.

The night was still soft, warm, and silent. The bed felt much more comfortable with Scanlan clinging to her, one leg sprawled across her thighs and his head resting in the crook between her shoulder and her left breast. Everything was just as it should be – or the two of them were, at least. That was something.

She was teetering on the brink and starting to think him asleep too when she felt a touch of moisture on her chest, under his head, just where the corner of his eye would be. Then another.

“…Scanlan?” she mumbled.

He didn’t move; he only said thickly, in a voice so low she barely made out the words, “My friend is dead. I miss him. And I’m sad.”

Magic couldn’t fix everything, no matter how powerful. Words couldn’t really bring someone back, no matter how enticing. Sometimes the only thing left to do was to hold each other and let themselves grieve together.

Scanlan’s breathing came heavy and halting against her skin. She closed her arms tighter around him and murmured, “I know. Me too.”

They did fall asleep eventually, before their tears had dried.

—

I loved my friend.  He went away from me.  There’s nothing more to say.  The poem ends,  Soft as it began,— I loved my friend. 

(Langston Hughes)

(I almost went with Bastille's "Poet" but Hughes' poem rewired my brain long before I knew about either Bastille or Critical Role, so. I'm not ruling out the song one day, though.)

Here's hoping the next one is more cheerful! In the meantime, hope you liked 💜

#critter genfic bingo #critical role #vox machina #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt #vax'ildan #pikelan #fanfiction #tlovm spoilers

[thecameronchronicles]

Record

TW: Dark(ish) Rafe. Smut. Language. Cheating. 

SUMMARY: After your boyfriend goes missing, your online friend Rafe is all too pleased to support you in the time of your emotional distress. Little do you know that he is the reason you are distressed to begin with, something you’ll come to know all too well…

WORD COUNT: 1800

*Requested*

Record

Things like this don’t happen to people on this side of The Outer Banks. And yet, you were left mourning a boyfriend who had up and disappeared a week prior. Even if your relationship had its fair share of emotional distresses and arguments that left you considering if you could be truly fulfilled if you continued under the titles agreed under monogamy, your heart ached in wonder to where he had been. 

Luckily, there was a new friend of yours whose instant message chime managed to soothe some of the ache in your heart. He’d promised you that he would always be there, no matter the time of day, for whenever you needed to talk. And even if you had only ever spoken through a screen until today, it was the aid you needed to keep from being swallowed by the hellish thoughts broadcast in repetition throughout the day otherwise. 

“Do you want me to come over?” The message read on your phone as your heart twisted at the invitation. This was because you felt too exhilarated for someone who wasn’t your boyfriend. You had convinced yourself it was harmless despite the way your heart developed this pattern of excitement and you bit your bottom lip when scrolling through his photos on social media-that guilt now worsening with your boyfriend suddenly absent from your life. 

“Idk-” You responded back, quick to continue your message as you didn’t want to close him out. Rafe was the only one who seemed to understand you in times like this. He didn’t hold judgement or guilt. He was simply supportive. Which also worsened your guilt…

“I feel like everything here reminds me of him…”

“Then why don’t you come here? We can watch movies or something…you know you shouldt get out of that house.” You nodded, turning to find your boyfriend’s sweatshirt draped over the chair you’d kicked out of a bit too enthusiastically for someone who wasn’t him. 

When you arrived at Tannyhill, you were immediately drawn to its luscious existence. Manicured foliage and a piece of history kept composed through time made you wonder how the parties held within hadn’t caused more damage. But your thoughts came to a cessation as the door opened to reveal him. 

Just as intimidating-and attractive as his pictures spread across Instagram, your lips pulled into a smile of approval as he had done the same to you. And without a word, you were granted access into a house you had visited a handful of times prior due to events such as the parties you spoke of. But this was entirely different. You were alone. With Rafe Cameron…

You were made comfortable enough by his kind words and offers of a snack and a beverage, both of which you denied, before you began conversing over your tribulations. At first, he seemed compassionate in your pain, nodding and offering confirmation that everything would be alright. But as this seemed to be the only topic you could speak of, that support you had come to know was quickly shifted into annoyance. 

"I'm sorry, Rafe…I'm sure you're tired of hearing about him-" His demeanor shifted once more. Only now, it was in compassion, even if his face remained mainly expressionless. 

"I just hate to see you pike this. The guy is clearly an idiot-"

"I know you think he just left…But what if something happened to him though? What if he got hurt or-"

"Didn't you tell me he sent you some text?"

You paused, thinking you had kept this to yourself. But as Rafe was that outlet you turned to when the days and thoughts were too dark, it must have slipped your mind that you had told him,"It was so vague though and didn't sound like him…."

"Can I take you somewhere else?" He shifted topics rather quickly before leading you upstairs. With fingers gingerly intertwined, you looked back to the direction of the steps before he noticed your stall. 

"You okay?"

"I just…it feels wrong…" 

"If you want to go, I understand…I just…I wish you didn’t want to…" This was the closest Rafe Cameron would and had ever come to begging-and it was to you….

You nodded as he led you up the steps and onto the balcony outside. There, he would open up to you about his mother, explaining how not having such a figure in his life was detrimental for his need to have compassion that he didn't get from his father. After a few tears and confirmation he didn't want pity, he just wanted you to know how those feelings changed when you came into his life, you found yourself now consoling him. 

The broken boy so need of love was set between your palms and his lips suddenly rushed against yours. Immediately, he would retract and apologize as you would instigate a second kiss, which led you inside from tensions and trust having both climbed to a peak. 

From the second you made it into his bedroom, guilt rushed through every nerve of your body. And yet, in that same instance, it was chased with the rush of his traces. He was quick with his guidance before trying for your clothes, a pause of consent, before presenting you to himself. 

"Shit…" He breathed before shaking his head in disbelief to just how beautiful you had been-and all his. 

"I want to make you feel good, okay?" You nodded as he set you onto the bed and proceeded to make you come in record time, only his name from your lips. 

It had been a week since you and Rafe shared that fateful day from friends to lovers, having since christened the nameless titles in passions and positions you weren't aware your body could bend. And he pushed you. And you loved it. 

By now, he had been teasing you with clues of a surprise, something you were bewildered to receive as he had been so cold the last few days. You knew why, however, as he would often catch you in a daze thinking of your ex…if you could even call him that as you never actually broke up. Because of this, he has been distant and short, but seemingly altered as you found the final clue to his apparent change of heart just after dark. Only an address came across the screen. 

"Rafe?" You questioned, your voice echoing in a space otherwise void. You wouldn't make it another step before his hand pressed to your hip. 

"Do you trust me?" He inquired as you nodded before feeling a blindfold wrapped across your line of sight. Being led a short distance, you would be guided onto a bed and laid comfortably. 

"This still okay? You still want this?"

"Yes." You breathed with a smile as cold metal wrapped around your wrists. 

"And this?"

"Yes…" You breathed again. This time, with hesitancy, as you were denied half of your control. Yet you relinquished it happily as he tormented you with the distance without his touch. Shuffling and grunting was heard as he rounded the bed, even the sound of metal scraping against the floor having caused you to jump, before he ultimately found his touch. Already winded, he was quick to position himself. 

"Sorry sweetheart, gotta have you right now…" 

"Rafe-" You breathed deeply as he pulled you onto your knees. 

"Always so wet for me….Tell me how good it feels baby…"

"So good!" You grunted as he was positioned in perfect precision for both ideal pressure and pleasure. 

"Anyone else ever feel like me inside you, hmmm?" His hand came at a rest on your shoulder for guidance, as he would hammer into before then slowing, not quite edging you, but certainly prolonging the moment. 

"Any other cock compare, sweetheart?"

"No!" You belted, the distraction of his fullness mending the burn of his words as you knew exactly who he was in reference to. 

"You like me pounding this ass? Yeah?" A sudden gasp made him grin as he pulled you by the blindfold until you were able to be bent in such a way to kiss him. 

"All of the things you've let me to do this tight little body…and you still take me so well…so deep-"

"Oh God…" You groaned as he pulled his hand to your clit. 

"Rafe…"

"You wanna come, don't you?" You nodded against his chest. 

"You wanna come on my cock? Want my fingers to work your little clit?"

"Yes-please!"

"Then tell me what I want to hear…tell me nobody touches you like me…" 

"Nobody…" 

"Nobody?" He quickened his fingers while producing the same speed of his thrusts. But as they countered one another to always leave pleasure one way or another, you were set still by his motions. 

"Nobody! Only you!"

"Only who?"

"YOU!"

"I make you come harder than anyone?" You nodded as his hand tightened in your hair as you brought you entirely back against him so his second hand could play with your nipple and you allowed those pornagrpahic moans to leave your throat. 

"I make you squirt, right baby? How bout you give me that right now? Stain these sheets for me. Show me how much you love this cock and these fingers-" 

"Oh Rafe! Oh God! FUCK!" " You belted thay final curse as your volume rose and fell to its matching crescendo until you were left in trembling silence from that orgasm. 

"Baby, you did so good…" You smiled, feeling him loosen the blindfold as he bent you forward. 

"Want me to finish inside you?" You looked back to face him, realizing you were in some secluded building with only the bed within this room. But as you turned to the other side of the bed, you stilled as Rafe continued his pumps within you. 

There, no more than two feet away, was the battered face of your boyfriend somewhere between tears and disgust. The moments with Rafe had suddenly begun to make sense; details of things he could only have known if he had been involved. And yet, you had no choice but to remain at his mercy due to your confines. 

"Why?" This was the only thing you could bring yourself to say. 

"Because he doesn't deserve you. He can't make you happy…and he sure as hell can't make you come like me…" He wrapped his fingers in your hair and pulled you back to him, the cuffs keeping you pliable to a certain length before biting into the headboard. 

"He saw us the first time too….knows just how quickly you forgot about him when I was between these legs. But you just couldn't stop feeling guilty…and now you don't have to. Because he sees how good you take me…"

"Stop…please…" You begged as he smirked. 

"Please just let him go…Just let my boyfriend go…" His expression soured for only a moment before he wrapped those fingers around your throat and tightened them. 

"Is your come on HIS cock? Huh? No…guess that means you're mine now…Now let him see how good you make ME come…"

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-ls @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era

#rafecameron x reader #rafecameronfanfiction #rafe cameron #rafecameron #outer banks #obx #outerbanks #drew starkey #obx fanfiction #netflix #rafe cameron smut #outer banks smut

[angelasscribbles]

Victim of Love Chapter 10: Looking Backward

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley

Word Count: 1,682

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language

Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles

Tell me your secrets I'll tell you mine

This ain't no time to be cool

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley frantically dug through the discarded pile of clothing from the night before, “Shit! I don’t have any clean clothes!”

“Um…down the hall, second door on the right, that’s the room Sav uses when she visits. Go see if you can find something in there.” His sister hadn’t been to the cabin in years as far as he knew, but he also didn’t think she would have bothered retrieving any extra clothes left there when she had moved to France.

Riley sprinted down the hall and into the room, rifling quickly through drawers. In less than three minutes she was back wearing a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt that fit well enough, “Hurry, let’s go!”

Drake had pulled on a clean shirt and was lacing up his shoes, “Yeah, coming!” He nearly tripped as he stood and swiped the keys off the bedside table before stumbling to the door.

They were pulling out of his driveway eight minutes behind Liam. “You sure this is a good idea? I know you want to support Liam but-“

“This isn’t about Liam! It’s about Hana!”

“I thought you two hated each other…”

“We do! I mean we don’t…I mean she’s my best friend! Was my best friend….I just need to know she’s okay, her and the baby, all right?”

“Yeah, of course!” He reached across the console and took her hand, “I get it. I’ll get you to the hospital, don’t worry!”

“Thanks,” she gave him a grateful look, “I know this whole situation is a complete mess. You probably wish you’d never bumped into me in that ballroom.”

“Are you kidding?” He scoffed, “This is the most excitement I’ve had in years. I hang out almost exclusively with cattle and they’re pretty boring.”

That got a smile out of her, “Not very talkative, are they?”

“Oh, they’re very talkative!” He corrected her, “In fact, they rarely shut up! I just don’t speak bovine.”

She snorted, “I don’t believe you. I think you’re probably fluent in it!” She knew he was using humor to distract her, and she was grateful for it.

Her feelings for Hana were complicated. They had become best friends over the course of the social season, culminating in Hana confessing romantic feelings for her.

Desperation laced Hana’s voice as she implored, “The coronation is in two days, Riley, but he can’t pick either of us if we’re not here! Let’s just go, me and you! We can be together!”

“Oh, Hana….I love you, but-“

Hana’s face lit up as joy infused her entire being, “I love you too, Riley! So much! I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, I didn’t even know it was possible to-“

“Hana, stop! Listen!”

“What?” Hana’s big doe eyes searched hers, “What is it?”

“I love you but not the way I love him! I love him, Hana, and if he picks me, I’m going to say yes!”

“Oh!” Hana dropped her grip on Riley’s arm and stepped back like she’d been electrocuted.

“Hana, please-“ Riley reached for her, but the other woman sidestepped her.

“You kissed me….” Hana’s voice was barely audible.

“In a truth or dare game!”

“But…” tears pooled in her eyes, “It felt so real!”

“It was real, Hana! It just wasn’t what I have with Liam. I should never have kissed you! I didn’t mean to mislead you, I’m sorry, I-“

“Why would you say that?” Hana looked like she’d been struck, “You regret the kiss?”

“Yes! I mean no! I mean I regret that I hurt you, that you’re confused about-“

“I’m not the one that’s confused, Riley!” An emotion swept across Hana’s face that Riley had seldom seen there: anger.

“Hana-“

“You’re going to regret this someday, Riley, he doesn’t love you like I do! He can’t!”

If Riley had known what was coming down the pike on coronation night, would she have made a different decision? She and Hana could have gone to Shanghai, or New York, or anywhere in the world really, the two of them could be happy with each other right now leaving Liam to Olivia or Madeleine or whoever the royal council deemed suitable.

But instead, when Liam had broken her heart, he hadn’t just taken himself away from her, he had ripped Hana away from her as well.

“I choose….Lady Hana Lee!”

Riley’s heart stopped. NO!

She had known the council was still debating her approval, but she had really believed Liam would be able to sway them. She had also believed that if they didn’t approve her, he was going to refuse to get engaged, to anyone, because he had told her as much.

She found Hana in the crowd. She had been avoiding her, they hadn’t spoken since Riley had rejected her advances. Hana looked as shocked as Riley felt, but as their eyes met, a slow smile crawled across Hana’s face, and she shook her head from side to side.

Riley watched as Hana climbed onto the stage, took Liam’s hand, and found Riley’s gaze again before exclaiming, “I accept!”

Riley turned and ran from the ballroom, but there was nowhere to run to, the one person she would have gone to for comfort, for solace, had just participated in ripping her heart from her chest.

She flung her clothes into a suitcase and sent a text to Max: Bring the car around, I need to get out of here now!

She had left the palace that night planning to return to New York to lick her wounds. At least her student loans were paid off. She could take a few months to heal before starting a job search. Her apartment was gone but her parents would let her stay in her old room.

Her path forward had been clear until Liam had shown up on her doorstep.

“Riley, please! If you’ll just listen!”

“Listen to what, Liam? You promised me a future!”

“We can still have a future!”

“How? You’re engaged! To my best friend!”

“Because the council wouldn’t approve you! I had no choice!”

“You had a choice! You could have refused to get engaged to anyone! That’s what you told me you were going to do if the approval didn’t come through!”

“Yes, but that was before I found out my father is dying, Riley! I couldn’t be crowned king without being engaged and he has weeks left to live!”

“What?” She turned her tear-streaked face up to him, “How long have you known that?”

“I found out moments before the coronation when I told him I was going to wait another season. That’s when he told me that we didn’t have another season!”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that.

“Please stay, I love you; we can make this work!”

“How? I don’t even know if Bertrand wants me to-“

“You don’t have to depend on the Beaumonts any longer, Riley, I have something for you.” He produced a sheaf of papers and handed them to her.

“What’s this?”

“This is the paperwork transferring the deed to Valtoria to you and conferring the rank and title of duchess!” He smiled at her proudly.

“I…don’t understand. What’s a Valtoria?”

“It’s a duchy, my love,” he chuckled, “You’ll be a member of the Cordonian aristocracy in your own right, with your own lands, titles, and bank accounts. It lets you stay here as it grants automatic citizenship, gives you a governmental position, a means of supporting yourself, and provides a very real reason for us to spend time together, as you’ll need to be brought up to speed on how to run it.”

Her eyes flicked uncertainly back and forth from him to the papers in her hands, “You’ve…. thought of everything…”

Everything except how to have avoided breaking her heart, ripping their planned future right out of her hands, and taking her best friend from her in one fell swoop.

“Please say you’ll stay, Riley. Please!”

He looked so lost and forlorn, so full of longing and sadness that her heart constricted in her chest. She still loved him and the fact that he still loved her eased some of her pain, despite the convoluted situation they found themselves in.

In that moment, she wasn’t thinking logically. All she knew was that saying yes relieved a lot of pain for both of them.

She could stay and give it a try. If it didn’t work out, she could always leave later, right?

“Earth to Riley….” Drake’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.

“Oh, sorry!”

“It’s okay, you have a lot on your mind. Where were you just now?”

“I was thinking about how everything went down between me and Hana.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I think I’d like that actually, just not right now.”

“Okay, I’m always only ever a phone call away.”

Her head jerked up, “A phone call? Are you leaving already? You just got here!”

“That was my mom on the phone, she needs me back ASAP, there’s something wrong with the herd.”

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry! What is it?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. Let’s focus on Hana right now.”

“Drake, I want to be here for you too!”

“I appreciate that, and I will take you up on it. Just not right now. Like I said, you’re worried about your friend. We can talk later.”

“Okay, if we find out Hana is okay-“

“When we find out Hana is okay!” He corrected her.

“But what if-“

“Hey, you know Liam is going to get her the best medical care the world has to offer, right?”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am! Once we know she’s going to be fine, then you and I can tell each other all our secrets, okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

He guided the car into the hospital parking lot and into a parking spot, “Here we are.”

She reached for his hand again, “Drake, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he grinned at her, “I still have to get you past security!”

#victim of love #angelasscribbles #trr au #drake walker #drake x mc #drake x riley #the royal romance #trr #the royal romance fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices #liam rys

[jedifarmerr]

50 Shades of Marcus

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (she/her pronouns, but no name or physical description).

Summary: The 50 Shades of Gray trailer leads to an interesting conversation which sets off an unexpected chain of events.

Word Count: 11k (50% porn with 50% plot).

Rating/Warnings: E (18+) smut, Dom!Reader (soft dom), sub!Marcus, First time Sub, somewhat inexperienced Marcus? (sorta), opinions on 50 shades of gray, male masturbation, language, little bit of alcohol, clear consent is given, ambiguous age gap, friends to benefits? and overall explicit content. I don't wanna give too much away, but this is decently tame for a Dom/sub. If you have any questions, feel free to message me for a full list of warnings.

This is my first time writing this type of dynamic, and while I researched the topic please let me know if I got anything wrong!

Marcus trudged up the steps and over to his apartment door. Slotting his key in the lock – the tension between his brows unraveled with each notch. The door and him groaned in unison as it opened, signaling the official start of his weekend. 

The strap of his briefcase slid from his shoulder and plopped to the ground as he stepped inside. The warmth of home wrapping around him like a fleece blanket; his head fell back and eyes closed to revel in it. It was then, in the moment of weakness, that it pounced – much like it always did on days like these. Filling his mind with reminders of Teresa – images of the life he planned for them when signing the lease. 

A dream which lasted all but a moment. A bright idea that came to him while high off her saying yes – one last special surprise for his fiancé to show she made the right choice. 

When they looked together online, Teresa had loved the complex. Gushing over the breathtaking neoclassical red brick building; the historical charm of the parquet flooring, crown molding and dark woodwork around the palladian windows which offered a stunning view of the city. 

One phone call and his broker had a tour set up within an hour. He measured the rooms, handed over a non-refundable deposit and signed on the dotted line all while wearing a dumbly assured smile. Which was promptly wiped from his face while listening to her voicemail on the front steps of their his new home; the plans crumpling like the one year lease bawled in his fist. 

It’d been just shy of a year since and while the constant ache faded in time, it still came and went in waves that were few and far between. Sprung on by certain emotions or events. Like when feeling overwhelmed. Or when nothing but silence welcomed him home. No one there to hold and ground him back to the present after a hard day at work. 

Hanging his coat, Marcus was pulled to the present by a vibration against his leg. Grabbing his phone out to check the message, the somber thoughts were quickly forgotten. 

‘You still on for tonight?’ 

It was his neighbor. 

No, not Gladys the elderly widow in 2A across the way, however he did need to see if she planned on going to the store tomorrow; he always helped bring up her groceries in exchange for a fresh batch of cookies. It wasn’t 2D either, asking if he wanted to work out this weekend or would check in on his two pre-teen boys while out on another date. 

No. 

It was 2C. His young caddy corner neighbor who moved to the city a few weeks after him. She was extremely charming and not to mention gorge–

Another text came through. 

‘I may or may not have gotten your favorite frozen pizza while at the store. Just in case I needed to tempt you.’

Marcus chuckled at that. The guarantee of her company was more than enough to tempt him. 

There was just something about her that he couldn’t get enough of. Probably because she was so damn easy to be around. Always had been, even before the established weekly routine of TV and take-out (or on occasion a frozen pizza) when it was nothing more than chatting by the bronze metal mailboxes or conversations in door frames. 

Marcus quickly replied. 

‘Oh, I’ll be there. Just gotta shower real fast.’

He stopped at the fish tank, crouching next to the glass to feed Vincent, his navy blue crowntail betta that gave him some sort of company. While the small fish chomped on the pellet, it wiggled its back fins to happily greet him. His phone screen reflected on the glass of the tank with her reply. 

‘Good cause I already put it in the oven. Be over in 20 if you want it hot.’

He took that as a challenge. Hurrying through a shower and throwing on a pair of comfy sweats and a plain long sleeve that hugged his broad chest and tiny belly. Passing the hall mirror on his way to the kitchen, he checked himself over. Running his fingers through damp hair and examining the one spot he missed on his otherwise freshly shaved jaw. 

With an unopened twelve pack in hand, Marcus practically skipped the four diagonal steps to her door. His empty stomach roaring as mozzarella cheese and tomato sauce welcomed him in. The PB&J that was shoved down his throat between meetings earlier wasn’t very filling. 

“Well, damn that was fast,” she said with a smile that tugged at his heart. She looked effortlessly beautiful with hardly an ounce of makeup on after the long day and dressed in her well loved baggy alma mater sweatshirt that’s faded color was speckled in paint stains. 

“What can I say? I’m starving.” He plopped the box down on the granite countertop. “By the way, it smells amazing.” He ripped it open and grabbed a beer. 

“Can’t take much credit for that, it was all Trader Joe’s.” She leaned over the counter to stretch. Arching her back and rolling her shoulders, her eyes closed with a soft moan. The sound and the way her leggings tightened around her ass, Marcus couldn’t help but gape at her. 

Luckily before she could catch him ogling, an obscenely loud used car lot commercial knocked him out of his trance, dropping his gaze to flick the beer tab open. 

“So,” Marcus rested the cold aluminum on his lip, “How was work?” 

She groaned as her eyes rolled open to peer up at him. “Boring. My back is seriously killing me from sitting on my ass all day. What about you? Any progress on that case?” She cocked her head. 

“No, actually quite the opposite.” Marcus scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to rid himself of the mental image of his dejected team, all their bloodshot eyes looking to him for guidance. “We hit another dead end.” 

She frowned, but any reply was cut off by the cheerful chime of the oven. Thankfully, Marcus wanted to shelve the conversation about work for the night and just enjoy himself. 

Like always Marcus pulled out the pizzas as she grabbed out two plates. 

“What’re we watching tonight?” Marcus asked while flapping the oven mitt back and forth to cool the pizzas. 

“Wizards vs Celtics. Duh,” She playfully scoffed. “It’s Pierce’s first game against them since he was traded. It’s bound to be good.” 

---

There was a single piece of crust left, a half-empty wine bottle on the counter and multiple crushed beer cans in the bin. A tipsy hum buzzed between Marcus and her as the game headed into the fourth quarter with the Wizards leading by 15. 

Marcus was settled on his designated end of the pink velvet couch, an accent pillow resting in his lap – something to grab onto if the game turned into a nail-biter. He watched the shot clock winding down, pass after pass. Just as the Wizard’s player shot, the whistle blew and the ref waved his hands in the air. Obnoxiously pointing to the player and making the arena erupt in a chorus of boos. 

While Marcus liked the NBA, she loved it. Her passion flew with a string of curses as her arm flailed at the TV, to which Marcus mumbled his agreement. Once the coach challenged it, sending the refs to review, she bounced back into the cushions with a proud huff as the camera panned out of the arena and transitioned into a commercial break. 

It seemed to be a movie trailer, judging by the sensual rendition of Crazy in Love playing in the background and the woman with blunt bangs standing in the elevator. 

“What’s this?” Marcus asked as the woman entered a spaciously bland office with a stellar view. 

“Come on, you’ve seen this before.” He glanced over and shook his head. “Seriously? Huh. It’s uh - 50 Shades… of Gray. It’s a book series.” 

The passive hum and small nod he gave made it seem like it clicked, but honestly he didn’t have a clue about the premise. Only recognizing the title from when his secretary read it months back. He usually wouldn’t remember such a thing but her non-stop giggling and flushed cheeks made it stick out among the rest. Assuming it to be another rom-com or a cheesy romance he sat back and got comfortable. 

Well, it was far from a rom-com. 

That became abundantly clear the moment the music intensified and the shirtless man - Mr. Gray? - grabbed a blindfold from a drawer. Marcus’s eyes widened as the scene switched to a red room filled with various toys and devices.

Marcus wiped the sweat from his palms on the underside of the pillow as the couple sauntered from place to place. He tried to focus on the screen, but kept wondering why he was reacting like a nervous and inexperienced pre-teen at a kissing party? 

Was it the topic of sex? It was the one subject that hadn’t been touched upon. While he could talk to her about almost anything, childhood memories – no problem. Past relationships – a breeze. He’d poured over Teresa and she’d done the same with her ex. Even going into detail about her self-imposed hiatus from dating. But, sex – now that was avoided. 

Still, deep down Marcus knew there was more to it than just that, but the reflection was halted when his attention was drawn back to the now black screen. 

A premature sigh of relief caught in his throat as the final scene faded in. The woman was blindfolded and restrained by her wrists and the sound of her heavy breathing made his body temperature spike. Warmth pooling in his lower belly as the man brushed a leather stick thing along her clavicle. 

The bubble of sweet ignorance popped. Staining his ears a bright cherry red as the crotch of his sweats twitched to life, grazing the pillow. Mortified and humiliated, he didn’t dare breathe or move. In utter disbelief that this was happening. That he actually turned on – not just that, a quarter hard. 

Sure, Marcus realized he was in a bit of a drought. It’d been, well actually he hadn’t had sex since Teresa. 

But still –

That was no excuse. Not at his age for getting hard at a censored movie trailer. Oh, but he did. The tightness in his crotch reminded him of that. 

He tapped his foot and drummed his fingers on the pillow. A feeling of unease swelled in the room in her deafening silence. 

Could she somehow tell? By the pink tint of his neck, the quickness of his breath. He tried to shake the silly thought away, but it wouldn’t budge. It gnawed and gnawed as the silence stretched from the predictable release date to the beginning seconds of the next commercial. And before it could be stopped, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

“Well, that was intense.” He internally cringed, praying to whatever was above to have the couch cushions eat him alive. 

“I mean. I guess,” she shrugged. 

Marcus couldn’t tell, was she mocking him? Teasing him? Was she even paying attention? Unsettled and confused, his head whipped to the side. 

The second she caught the rapid movement out of the corner of her eye, the impassive expression flashed with something that almost resembled panic – realization. But before he could piece it all together, a neutral smile took its place. 

She turned to face him, slinking her arm over the couch back as she tucked her leg underneath her in a pose that gave off an illusion of relaxation. 

She tried to clarify, “You know - if you’re not like into that,” his head cocked. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, everyone has their own preferences. I mean it’s not like everyone has to like it just because I do-” 

“Oh,” he slipped. Her lips snapped shut, eyes inflating and reading of: shitshitshitshit. 

The tipsy haze made his thoughts feel like dominoes, one led to another and just tumbled from there. He stared at her and for a tense second nothing came out of his mouth. When she nervously gnawed at her cheek, anticipating his response, it dawned on him that he’d never seen her like that and the voice in his head started to scream to say something. Anything. Don’t let it just sit there. 

“So,” he fumbled through a shrug. “You’re into that?” 

“I mean. Yeah - yeah. Well -” her head bobbled from side to side. “Actually, it’s uh - it’s a little different.” The almost innocence in her fluttering eyes, and the lingering question stirred something deep inside of him. He cursed the alcohol for ramping up his curiosity and lowering his inhibitions but he just had to know. 

“Can I ask, how so?” His timid question was met by an approving smile that made his chest swell with pride. 

“Of course. It might not be something I broadcast but that doesn’t mean that I’m ashamed or unwilling to talk about it but I wanna make sure you’re comfortable, and at any point if you’re not, just stop me. I swear I won’t be offended.”

“As long as you are. Comfortable. I am,” his head dipped into an eager nod. 

“Alright, well first, I gotta go on a small soap box by saying the relationship in that series isn’t the healthiest or most accurate portrayal. He isn’t a great - Dom. So, don’t go look it up and think that’s how it always is. And the reason I start with that is well, I’m one. I’m a Dom - or Domme.” 

An image of her dressed in leather like Catwoman in Batman Returns flashed in his mind and with a few quick blinks it dissolved. 

“Oh,” she added not a moment later with a roll of her head. “And before you ask. Yes I’ve tried both and yes I still prefer being in the Dominant role.” 

While Marcus was far from an expert, he still knew it wasn’t abnormal for women to be in the Dominant role but understood it wasn’t the typical assumption. 

Searching for her permission, she easily gave it. “Why do you prefer it? To the other?” 

“What an excellent question. I have multiple reasons,” she smiled widely. “To start, I honestly enjoy the responsibility of it, the act of caring for someone and making them feel good. It just does it for me, ya know; being the one to indulge someone’s fantasies and bring them pleasure, knowing every time they squirm or moan or beg-”

Her jaw clamped shut, breaking him from a trance he didn’t realize he was under. She sheepishly giggled. “Sorry. Got a little carried away.” He wasn’t exactly sure what he said when cracking a smile, but whatever it was she luckily took it as a go ahead to continue. 

“Swiftly moving on. I think this one will be a little obvious. I’m guessing by now you’ve realized I like being in charge.” 

He snorted, nostrils flaring in jest with a tilt of agreement. 

“Yeah, see. It’s just who I am. I like being the one who decides and leads. When I did try to be in the submissive role it was way harder than I anticipated to really hand over that control. Which is kinda funny since I technically was the one setting the boundaries and obviously knew it’d stop with a single word, but I just couldn’t do it. Maybe it’d be different with someone else, somebody I really really trust. But for me, that’s a little easier said than done.”

The sound of another commercial caught his ear and a twinge of self-consciousness slipped into his mind. He didn’t want to overstep or take advantage of the slight tipsiness of her state. 

“Did that answer your question? I think I just kinda rambled there for a second.” 

“Yeah, yeah that answered it.” He cleared his throat. “I was just curious. I’ve never met or at least that I know of, someone that does it. So thank you-”

“Please, ya don’t need to thank me, like I said I don’t mind.” She reassured him with a passive wave. “Besides, I think it’s pretty normal to be curious. Like when my best friend found out, she asked about a thousand questions. Seriously, it took me like two hours to answer them all.” 

Despite the chance to ask more dangling in front of him like a juicy steak tied to a string, he didn’t take it. Something deep inside kept him from snatching up the chance. Instead he smiled at her and she returned it with ease before turning back to the game. To which he followed suit. 

From there conversation flowed into plays and players for the remaining minutes. 

---

Later that night Marcus laid awake, flopping from side to side like a fish out of water, desperate to get comfortable. His mind in as much disarray as the sheets tangled in his legs. 

It all started when he sat down to eat a late night snack – a bowl of Cheerios. Some trashy TV show with Jerry Springer and suitcases playing solely to fill the silence. It wasn’t like he was paying attention; the events of the night occupying his thoughts. 

Why had he been so turned on? By that trailer? By her revelation? Why did he even ask her those questions? Why did he still have more? 

It nagged him like a fly buzzing in his ear. Following him as he washed his bowl, brushed his teeth and even when the lights were off and he was tucked in bed. The sleep he thought would come easily was nowhere to be found. He was too fixated on the familiar, yet foreign warmth of her words, at the ideas which seemed to bloom from them. 

The last time Marcus fantasized about such things was close to two decades ago. Stopping soon after he began dating Angela, his first wife. 

They met sophomore year of college and as expected, he fell quickly and all at once. It was hard not to. Angela was stunning; a poster of Texas beauty with sweeping blonde barrel curls and a runner's build. The type of woman toxic fathers tell their sons to marry when they grow up. But Marcus didn’t love her for just her looks, she was perfect on paper: smart, sweet and wanted a family (after she established her career). There was just one thing they were incompatible on:

Sex. 

Even in the beginning, their sex life was rigid. She’d only do it on Tuesday and/or Friday, strictly standard missionary except for his birthday when she got on top. It’s not like he complained. Just wished he had the chance to explore more. That’s all. 

He still went with the pretty family portrait. The dream life sidelining curiosity which yes, extended to fantasizing; choosing to only jack off to things he would experience. Maybe it was a bit extreme, but his decision was based on a slippery slope fallacy that one day his hand and imagination wouldn’t be enough. 

While he was obviously trying to make their relationship work, they ultimately got divorced. Turned out their incompatibility went further than sex. There were a few relationships after Angela and before Teresa. Most were more spontaneous than her, which allowed him to add a few new positions to his repertoire. Lucky for him since he continued to tune out his ultimate fantasies. 

But, now the question as to why, plagued him. 

Why didn’t he let himself fantasize? Was he scared? Of what though. His own wants? Of holding out hope for someone who shared his interests instead of focusing on finding a life partner, one who fit his plans? Did he not think they could coexist? 

Was it self-preservation? Choosing the practical option? Worried to find out he missed the mark, the age of exploration long gone? 

Or was he no longer interested in experimenting? 

Judging by how his cock was throbbing against the seam of his sleep shorts that didn’t seem to be the case. He was hard as a rock – easily the hardest he’d been in ages if not ever. 

It was like she’d pulled on a loose thread, unraveling the binds of his repressed thoughts. And suddenly every daydream of her that he cut short, every deep desire never acted upon, never even voiced aloud was spewing out. Making his balls ache with a piercing almost painful need to cum. 

There was no way he could fall asleep, at least not until it was taken care of. Usually he’d think nothing of it and just get it over with. Like chugging a glass of water, nothing more than taking care of a basic need. It wasn’t like there was any thrill of excitement in the same mundane scenarios. 

However this time it wouldn’t be enough. 

He needed more to satiate him – to scratch the itch in his fingers. He needed a release to a fantasy he’d likely never get the chance to experience. 

But fuck. He wanted to. 

It had always been there, a deep longing to know what it would be like to relinquish control. To give up the very thing he’d been tethered to his whole life. 

To be free. 

Free from the heavy burdens at work. The constant demands that came with being in charge. 

Free of his constant thinking. Of creating plans only to watch them fall apart. 

Even if only for a moment, he wanted to be free of it all, of everything. To not think of anything else. Only feel and experience overwhelming pleasure. 

Lost in the idea, he didn’t realize his hips were rolling until he caught himself whimpering. The worn polyester providing a scratch of friction. But –

Damn. It felt so good and he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. Impatient for more and eager to take himself in hand. 

Still. There was one last hang up.

Her. 

There was no one he’d rather imagine but it felt wrong. While in the past her being his friend, never to become more was what stopped him, it was deeper now. She’d indulged his silly and slightly intrusive questions. Confided in him. Trusted him, something she rarely gave. 

Was it a betrayal if he used it as fuel for his fantasies? If he fucked himself to it?

His desire for her manifested into a lustful voice that called to him from the dark depths of his mind. 

One time won’t hurt anything. 

It’s not like she’ll know. 

Think of how good it will feel.

It clouded him, making his restraint evaporate by the minute. 

He moved without thought, without control. His hand slowly sliding up the cotton sheets, fingertips gliding across the bones of his rib cage up to lay flat on his abdomen. His heart beat erratically, muscles flexing with each shuddering breath under the firm press of his palm. 

The fan above was spinning on high, the frigid wind of winter howling outside. Yet, he was burning up. A humid sweat which glazed his skin. Making his hair damp, the ends curling and sticky on the back of his neck. 

As his hand roamed, he pretended it was hers. Soft palms and dainty fingers drifting down the stretch of his golden skin. Her baby pink nails grazing the tender flesh of his belly. 

Inching further, he brushed where his cock broke from the worn elastic to rest on the sparse hairs below his navel, the purpling tip leaking and slick. 

Just the sliver of attention sent a zap of pleasure up his spine. He gritted his teeth, biting back a growl as his head crushed into the center of the pillow. Baring his neck, the veins bulging in a demand to feel the wet slide of her tongue. To have her taste the salt of his skin. 

Without a second to consider or reflect on the regret that would inevitably come tomorrow, he slipped past the band to wrap around the base of his cock. The feeling of it, so thick and heavy and pulsing from years of pent up desire made him choke. 

It was almost too much. 

The base of his spine was simmering. Molten and hot, the primal part of his brain desperate to take his pleasure raw and rough. But he didn’t. Instead loosening his grip and stilling his hand to savor the long awaited moment, no matter how painful. He forced himself to think of Gladys. Of those awful train documentaries his father made him watch. Of his evil third grade teacher. Until the tight knot in his belly began to ease. 

With his release at bay, he gripped his cock and groaned in relief. Visualizing her once more; her hand covering his own with a playful smirk on her lips as she guided his strokes, keeping them at a teasing pace. 

The slow drag of his hand let him feel every throbbing inch, ridge and groove of his cock. His thumb swiping along the thick vein running down the middle. Tiny gasps became a gravelly moan as he reached the sensitive head of his cock. Giving it a small squeeze, a fresh bead of pre-cum pooling at the slit. 

Gathering it, he stroked down. He’d always admired her body, the curves of her and imaging her naked pulled at his groin. Making him dizzy and so so needy to see her – all of her. To feel every inch of his skin. 

If he was on his best behavior, would she let him? He wanted to think so. Hoping she’d allow his hands to roam the plump flesh of her ass. Bask in the smoothness of her until he reached the cusps of her breasts. Oh how he wanted to feel the weight in his palms, to feel the hardened peaks catch between the dips of his fingers. 

His fist instinctively tightened with a hiss when thinking of her mouth claiming his own. A twinge of honey, a hint of mint, she’d taste like her favorite gum. Of the chapstick she always smeared around her lips. Smacking them and sending his mind to twisted places. 

He bet she tasted better elsewhere. 

The idea of knowing her so intimately fizzled every brain cell, every coherent thought left. Until he could only think of getting on his knees for her, to beg for a taste of her warm and silky cunt. Pitiful whines spilled from his lips and stained the air like an overflowing glass of wine, imaging her teasing him. Of her spreading her legs to show him her glistening folds. All to make him salivate. Pant like a fucking dog until he was pleading for it. 

His balls tightened as sparks of static rushed to his straining cock, but none of it registered. He just bucked and bucked, making the bed springs clap together from how hard and fast he was fucking his hand while her body crawled over his. 

He wanted to experience it. To be caged between her thighs and enveloped by the scent of her arousal. His tongue would be eagerly sticking out as he patiently waited to devour her. 

And he would. He’d lick every inch of her pussy until he was messy with her. Until she was screaming his name. Taking and taking from him. More and more. 

Grinding on his nose, his tongue—

Every nerve, every fiber of his being was suddenly ignited. Luckily the walls weren’t thin because he was crying out her name in complete bliss. His muscles quivering as his release shot on the fiery skin of his belly. Making him slump and shake from the aftershock. 

Fan blades squeaking. 

Cars zipping by. 

Shallow panting. 

Slowly, he came to. His mind drifting back down to join his body. 

Powerless to move, utterly exhausted, his eyes fluttered half open. The ceiling blurred with beams of headlights and rays of orange street lights which slipped through the cracks in the blinds. 

A single thought crossed his mind as his breathing evened and the warm embrace of sleep opened its arms. 

He would never do it again. 

---

Fat white flakes danced across the frosted window in his office. The hum of a vacuum a few offices down lingered through the halls. 

Marcus was hunched over his desk, a pair of readers low on the bridge of his nose. The soft cream of the library light illuminating the file in his hand. With a weary sigh, he closed the manila folder and tossed it to the right. Joining the growing stack of read files. Left with no more than a dozen. 

If he thought the hours were bad before, this was ungodly. 

After an unexpected call to London, returning merely three days ago to a pile of files that had him at the office by sunrise and heading home by the time everyone was curled up on their couches to wind down for the night. 

Given the circumstances, he’d yet to see her since that night. 

He’d left two days later on that Sunday, and spent that Saturday cooped up inside. When he’d awoken, it was lunch time; the last time he slept in that late had to be in college when his internal clock wasn’t set to 7:00 A.M. It was definitely in his top ten sleeps, feeling rested and refreshed. 

However, when he looked down to find the evidence of the night dried to his belly, the feeling of guilt along with a bit of uncertainty replaced everything else. He swore up and down he wouldn’t do it again, but as soon as he crawled into bed, his cock and mind chased the otherworldly feeling of the night before. 

He knew this would happen. 

Or at least should’ve. It was so typical of him. 

His mind was like a bug trap, once something got stuck on it, it couldn’t – no – wouldn’t let it go. It had latched onto the idea. Fixated on it. Just as he expected. 

He never should’ve started. Should’ve just kept pushing it away. Refraining. 

Because now, he couldn’t stop. He’d regressed to his teenage self with untimely erections and ramped up hormones. And the worst part about it was he couldn’t stop imagining her. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to think of someone else. Even picturing himself in the Dominant role, still she was the one under him. He couldn’t get her out of his mind even when a whole damn ocean separated him from her. 

Actually, somehow being apart made it worse. 

Curiosity got the better of him after a few too many lonely nights in a bed that wasn’t his own. Leaving him to scour the internet in search of answers to his withheld questions. 

Numerous Reddit posts and BDSM forums later, and his hazy fantasies had turned into graphic depictions that polluted his dreams. An unquenchable thirst tainting the crisp white hotel sheets. 

When the mute gray of winter in London seeped through the sheer curtains, a familiar feeling of shame curled in his belly. Only to sink him whenever her name popped up on his screen. With pictures of her taking care of Vincent. Or eating at the Thai restaurant he recommended. Or those funny posts she sent to make him laugh amidst the chaos of his days. 

Marcus tore off his drugstore readers, flinging them on his desk with a groan as his head dropped into the cup of his hands, palms digging into his eyes. It really wasn't the time to be thinking of this, there was way too much work to be done. He leaned back in his chair and checked his watch. 

7:15.

Reluctantly grabbing another file, he flipped it open but the words jumbled together, in one eye and out the other. All his previous momentum vanished and it was too late on a Friday evening to muster it back up. Deciding to head home early – or at least earlier – he stuffed a few files in his briefcase and locked up. Waving to the night shift custodians on his way to the elevator. 

With rush hour long past the few block drive was over in no time. A pit stop at the mailbox and Marcus sifted through the mix of junk and bills up the stairs. Arriving at his door, he patted the pockets of his coat and pants with his free hand, of course finding his keys in the last one checked. He was just about to slot it into the lock when:

“Marcus!” 

He turned and there she was; still in her work clothes and chugging up the stairs; arms full, carefully balancing a piece of cake, a to-go sack slung on her elbow and a leather briefcase in hand. 

“Oh my God. It feels like it’s been forever.”

“Three weeks” he said with a tired smile, “Let me get that for you.” He tucked the mail under his arm and grabbed the wobbling plate – which read Happy Retirement. She beamed up at him like he was an angel but the usual warm fuzzy feeling was replaced by a rotten pit. Like he’d eaten that egg sandwich in the back of the office fridge. 

He couldn’t help but wonder, what would she think if she knew? That it was her name he called out in the dark embrace of the midnight hour when spilling into his own hand. Would she be disgusted? Disturbed? 

“So. Got any plans tonight?” She asked, fidgeting with her keys while he treaded behind her. “Cause, I got Rocca’s. You know that place next to Jiffy's Dry Cleaner a few blocks south? Well, they give the biggest portions. So I say you come inside, share this and we catch up.” 

She swung open her door and tossed her briefcase inside. Turning to look up at him expectantly hopeful while grabbing the plate. 

“I should shower -”

“Nonsense. You can do that after we eat. Not like ya smell. Now come on. I wanna hear all about London. What did the famous Agent Pike solve this time?” Clearly, she wasn’t taking no for an answer as she waltzed inside, leaving the door wide open. 

Marcus scrubbed at his jaw, stalling where the carpet met wood. His stomach was in knots, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t like, I masturbated to you, was written on his forehead in black sharpie. She was no mind reader. Taking a deep breath and shoving his ridiculous feeling down, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. 

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll make your plate. Do you want anything to drink? Water? Wine? Tea?” 

“I can -” he started, but she shook her finger and pointed towards the table shoved against the wall. “Water. Thanks.” 

While she dished out the pasta, placing a breadstick on the corner of each plate, Marcus told her about the one art museum he squeezed in and a few restaurants. Sharing what he could about the case between slurps of noodles. Finding himself relaxing more and more as the night went on. 

That was until she undid the cuffs along with another button on her satin lilac blouse. His tongue darted out to lick his lips at the newly skin. Wondering, if she undid one more, what would be revealed? Intricate lace, perhaps? Or maybe something more practical, plain black cotton? 

What was wrong with him? Marcus shook his head and forced his eyes up to meet her piercing gaze – just like when he imagined her mouth enveloping his cock. 

Stop sicko.

He shifted to her hands. So many dreams of watching them work to bind him to his bed. The pretty pink shade replaced by rich emerald in his time away. 

Quit it. 

With nowhere else to go, he looked at his own hands, a tight grip on his fork. The same grip he used to fuck himself senseless while thinking of —

When her fork clinked against her plate, his eyes shot to her. He shifted nervously in his seat at her careful movements, her eyes never leaving his as she dabbed the napkin at the side of her mouth, bunching it in her fist as her elbows came to rest on the smooth surface. 

“Marcus,” he gulped at her tone. “Is something wrong?” 

“No, not at all,” he shook his head then stuffed a bite into his mouth. 

Her head tilted, examining him. She looked at him like he was translucent, and his effort to come up with a convincing excuse on the fly failed. What was he supposed to say though? Definitely not the truth. While he was used to being upfront, this was different. He couldn’t just ask her to do it, to show him how it’s meant to feel. It’d be completely inappropriate, right?

“Are you sure?” She asked. 

“Mh-mmm,” he said while chewing on his food – the sound of it was like a marching band in a library. 

Her mouth quirked to the side. “Well, it seems like there is. And I think I know why.” Marcus swallowed, panic filled eyes meeting hers – faint with worry. “Look, if this has anything to do with the conversation we had last time, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable-” 

“No!” The word was punched from his gut by the hint of distress in her tone. He shook his head, tone softer. “No, it’s not. It’s not that.” 

“What is it then? You can tell me.” She leaned in closer; the chandelier gleaming down on her, making her look so soft and warm and sincere. But she had no idea the truth. Marcus didn’t want to ruin everything, but there wasn’t much of a choice without leaving her to think she did something wrong. 

He nervously nodded, his heart kicking up speed. It was embarrassingly obvious that his confidence was a shell of what it once was. What he would do to get it back. 

“Okay, yeah,” he took a deep breath. “You’re right, it is about our conversation but not in a bad way. You see. I - I can’t stop thinking about it - wondering about it.” Her shoulders slumped with a sigh. 

“Oh, well Marcus you know if you have a question, you can always ask.”

“No, it’s - I don’t have a question. I’ve looked it up. I’ve uh been looking it up.” 

“Oh. Ohhh.” There was a lilt of amusement in her voice. “Marcus, I don’t want to assume anything but are you – interested?” 

“Well, um - ya. Yes. But before you say anything I want you to know I think the world of you. That I respect you, so much and I trust you and so I - it’s not like I expect you to agree or think you owe me anything-” 

“Wait. Hold up. Marcus are you, you’re interested in trying with me?” She pointed at her chest. 

When his head tilted with a twitch of a smile, disbelief rounded her eyes. 

“Listen. I get it if you’re not interested. I just, I hope we can still be friends and forget all about this. I don’t wanna lose you and -” 

She called his name once, twice, and on the third time her hand rested on his, promptly shutting him up. She pursed her lips and the moment of silence held him hostage in a cage filled with doubt and dread. 

“Listen. I’ll be honest, you caught me off guard there. I wasn’t expecting that,” she giggled. “But. I’d be lying if I said the idea didn’t intrigue me.” 

He sucked in a breath as her fingertips brushed across his wrist. 

“Really?” He asked on the exhale. 

“Mh-mmm, but. I need you to tell me what you want.” Her words short circuited his brain. Turning it into a buzzing mess as she bit suggestively at her bottom lip and looked him up and down like he was a full course meal, his lips the dessert. 

“Marcus,” the silky sound of his name zapped him back to the present. 

He pulled at his collar with a nervous chuckle. “Sorry. Yeah. Well. I’m not entirely sure how to say this, but I’d like to submit to you? If you’re interested. Of course.” 

“Oooh, I like that. That was good.” His cock jumped, but the small grin on her face fell as her demeanor shifted to a serious tone. “I am interested, but. Marcus your friendship means a lot to me and I don’t. I can’t lose it. So, I wanna make it clear we’d be doing this as just friends. Is that something you can do? And are you comfortable with that?”

“Oh yeah. I can do that,” he eagerly jerked his head. The smidge of disappointment wiped away by anticipation. 

“Hold on, don’t get too excited. We gotta discuss some things first.” 

She went through rules and consent like a Monday morning meeting, a drill that was serious and direct to the point. Requiring at times a verbal yes and some restatements. Once the formalities were aside, it turned personal. Last STD test. A run through of his sexual past to help set the pace. By the end of it, his slacks were sporting a tent. 

She took a sip of water. 

“Okay, I think that’s it. Now, what I want you to do is go home and take that shower you really wanted. While you do that, think this over. I want you to process it and be sure it’s what you want. There’s no pressure from me, so if you decide you don’t want to, or you’re not ready yet, that’s okay. Alright? Just send me a text if you aren’t.”

---

Marcus hurtled into his house, ripping off his clothes on his way to the shower. 

Forgoing his hair, he scrubbed and deep cleaned every crevice of his body. Spending a few minutes debating on whether or not to shave his pubic hair – going with the in between of trimming it. 

“Wish me luck,” he said to Vincent while dropping a pebble in the tank before heading out. 

Marcus approached the final boss – her door. He raked his fingers through his hair and smoothed out his sweatpants and plain white tee before knocking. The thrash of his knuckles against the door echoed with the beat of his heart. A muffled, come in, came from inside and his stomach swooshed with first time jitters. 

With a deep breath, he turned the gold knob. 

The place looked exactly the same, almost frozen in time. Her fallen over briefcase left in the entryway, his picked at plate and her clean one still on the table, leftovers on the counter; the only thing missing was her. 

He called out her name. 

“Well, that was fast,” she said, and he turned towards the sound. His jaw hit the ground like a gawking cartoon character when she appeared in the door at the end of the hall. 

She was adorned in midnight black – a sheer overlay lingerie set and a garter skirt with a glossy finish that mimicked leather, topped off by sheer thigh highs hoisted up by silver clasps. There was a pop of color on her lips, a glossy raspberry stain that made her smile shine. 

Her shiny pumps clicked against the wood, and he almost pinched himself to see if this was a dream. Nobody had ever dressed up for him. The closest was the moo-moo Angela wore on their honeymoon.

His gaze devoured her as her heels went quiet, stopping inches from him. He thickly swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You look…Amazing.” She bit at her bottom lip to contain her smile. 

“So do you,” She said with honesty and he chuckled at his underdressed state.  “Are you ready?” She asked as she held out her hand. 

“Yeah,” his head bobbed as he wiped the dampness from his hand before taking hers. She gave it a reassuring squeeze then twirled on her heels. His eyes merely popped out of his sockets when he saw her ass, framed by the garter skirt and bare aside from a flimsy string between her cheeks. It jiggled with each step, hypnotizing him to follow her blindly to the bedroom. 

It was the only room in her apartment that he never stepped foot in, until now. 

A soft mood light was casted by the dual lamps on the nightstands framing the gold metal headboard. A candle burned with notes of vanilla – a scent meant to soothe. Looking around at the small knick knacks and the raggedy stuffed lamb in the chair in the corner, a feeling of intimacy surged through him – proof of this new threshold. He may’ve been out of his skin nervous, but there was something cozy about the decor, all warm tones which captured her personality perfectly. Giving him a strange sense of comfort much like her presence did. 

Jerked from his scanning, she directed him to sit on the edge of the bed to which he immediately complied. His head snapping up to where she stood just out of reach. 

“You remember everything we talked about? Stop light? All that?” She asked with an air of control that rendered him speechless. So cool, calm and collected. So when his response came as an all too eager nod, she tsked. “Remember: use your words.” 

His tongue darted out to lick his already drying lips. 

“Yes, I remember.” She grinned, all lips and no teeth while taking a step closer. His hips wiggled in place at the whiff of her lavender lotion. 

“That’s it, very good baby.” She cooed in a sultrier tone and the praise along with her calling him baby made a warmth blossom in his belly and his dangerously hard cock twitch against his briefs. A premature whimper bubbled in his throat and on instinct he bit down on his lip to trap the embarrassing noise. 

“Uh-uh,” her grin morphed into a stern expression as she shook her head. Crowding the space between his thighs, somewhere along the way gripping at his chin to anchor his eyes to hers. “No. No. I won’t have any of that. I wanna hear every sound - every little noise you make for me. Got it?” 

A whimpered yes broke from his lips as her thumb swiped over the petal-pink plushness. 

“That’s more like it.” She flashed him a menacing smile that matched the drag of her thumb along the tender flesh of his lips, back and forth until it tingled like an intimate kiss. “So, you couldn’t stop thinking about this, huh?” Her fingers rested under his chin and the heat of her touch, the look in her eyes burned straight through him to turn the edges of his brain to liquid. 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Then tell me.” She said with an air of smugness. “What did you fantasize about when you fucked yourself?” 

His heart pounded as she leaned in. The view was better than any painting or sculpture he’d ever seen. The tops of her breasts were spilling from the cups of her bra, tempting him like a juicy apple in the garden of Eden – mere inches from his lips. With a crane of his neck, he could devour the tender flesh with kisses and taste the sweetness of her skin. 

He groaned, fighting every impulse inside of him. Curling his lips as he reminded himself of her rule: no touching without permission. 

“I asked you a question.” Her breath tickled his ear. His shiver turned into a gasp when her hands landed on his knees. Her thumbs pressing into the covered flesh like she was hitting a button to make him go. 

“You. Fuck. It was always you.” His hips grounded into the mattress, cock leaking as her touch roamed to mid-thigh. Her nails skimmed the thick fabric of his sweats, and the dulled sensation drove him insane with need. “Touching me, kissing me - oh - thought of you sitting on my face, fuck, want you to ride my face. Wanna taste you, please - fuck. Please let me just taste you.”

She pulled back to look into his innocent eyes. 

“You’re just so sweet, aren’t you?” Whether or not she required an answer, he gave one in a whimper.  “So sweet and so good. And usually since you asked so nicely, I’d give it to you and trust me. With those lips I’d keep you here all night. But tonight you can’t touch my pussy. Not with your hands or your tongue or your cock.” 

That made him whimper for a completely different reason. Marcus thrived on making his partners feel good; a real giver in the bedroom who was always willing to go overtime if needed. It’d be the first time he didn’t get at least a chance. 

She kissed away the worry between his brows, before falling to the bridge of his nose. 

“Because tonight you don’t have to do a thing, baby.” Her lips were a breath away, hand at the crease of his thigh. The temptation to pull her in for a kiss burned in his chest. Her test of his patience had his knuckles turning white, the satiny mauve comforter spilling between the dips of his fingers. “Because tonight - is all about you.” When her lips barely brushed his, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Got it?” 

“Oooooh. Yes. Fuck I want whatever you want. Please just. Kiss me.”

She finally rewarded him by pressing her lips to his and Marcus sunk into the feeling of her soft kiss. She moved slowly, sensually molding her lips to his. He moaned as her tongue flicked at the seam of his mouth, it fell open and she took the opportunity to glide her tongue along his. Expertly exploring his mouth, leaving nothing untouched. 

When she flicked at the sensitive tip of his tongue, his mind went blank and before he could stop it, or even register it, his hands grabbed at her hips to bring her in closer. 

She pulled from his grasp and he chased the kiss. His lips hung in the air, eyes fluttering open then widening at the realization of his mistake; disappointment burning his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t -” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed away his distress. “You remember you can’t touch without my permission?” He gave her a dejected nod. She cupped his cheek and he immediately nuzzled into the warmth of her palm. “You still want this, right?” 

“Of course, please. I’ll be good, I promise.” The rising panic was squashed by the softness in her eyes. 

“Baby - no, I’m sorry. You have been. You’ve been doing so good. So good for me. I just know the first time is always the hardest and I just wanted to make sure. That’s all.” Marcus relaxed at her words and the soothing circle of her thumb on his cheek. 

“Still, rules are rules and if you can’t control yourself. Then. Well, I’ll have no choice but to tie you up.” She said with a cheeky wink. His hips involuntarily bucked with a low and much too deep of a groan to be misconstrued as anything but pure desire. 

“Oh, have you been keeping something from me? Hmm? Did you fantasize about me tying you up? Having my way with you?” 

Her sinful tone combined with his fantasy come to life pulled at his cock and his body curled inward. 

“Fuckkkk. Yes. Yes, thought about it all the time.” 

“I wanna take care of you Marcus,” She said while brushing the sweaty tufts of his hair back. His heart twisted at the small act and her sweet words, how special she made him feel. “But I need you to tell me what you want or else I won’t know.” 

“Shit, I want you to tie me up. Please - I want it - want you to have your way with me.” His body melted against her embrace as she praised him in whispers for only him to hear in between kisses that grew sloppier and more desperate than the last. Fisting the hem of his shirt, she pulled it off then stepped back to gaze at his chest, down to his stomach. 

A twinge of self-consciousness pricked at his mind like a thorn to tender skin. Staining the haze of arousal in dollops of red that made him painfully aware of his age and physique. Was she used to young twenty-somethings with billboard bodies? Cause that clearly wasn’t him. The signs of age creased his eyes. His metabolism wasn’t the same as it was years ago. Gone were the days of eating whatever and not gaining a pound. There was no six pack, a tiny belly hid the muscles of his abdomen. 

When Marcus timidly looked up at her, there were no signs of disappointment. She seemed mesmerized, eyes dark with desire as her fingertips delicately traced the expanse of his chest, the tut of his collarbone. 

“You’re so handsome.” The compliment burned where she touched. “So beautiful.” He groaned, rolling his head back as she grazed along the length of his neck. “I gotta get everything ready, so while I do, I want you to strip and then lay back. Make yourself comfortable.” She pulled him by the back of his neck, roughly kissing him and leaving him desperate for more as she left him to head to the dresser. 

Catching his breath, a deep need built inside him. Once she turned around, Marcus shoved off his sweats and sticky briefs. But it was too hasty and the waistband caught on his swollen head, knocking the wind out of him. At the sharp inhale, she looked back to check on him, which he waved off with an awkward grin. He took his pants off, much more carefully and chucked them to the side. 

Marcus propped himself against the pillows, trying out a few poses before ultimately landing on his hands at his side. Wanting to last longer than a pump, his eyes closed and thoughts drifted to Gladys and train documentaries once more. Sadly, it wasn’t enough time as her rummaging stopped, the bottom drawer shut. A nervous smile snapping on his face when she turned around. 

The restraints slapped against her side as she blinked back. 

“Shit,” she gasped at his cock, a fresh bead gleaming at the tip. It strained under her attention as she slowly headed towards him, dropping one restraint at his feet. The material grazing the sole; a soft sinful red with a velcro cuff at one end and a belted clasp at the other. 

“Your cock is beautiful. So thick and perfect. Has anyone ever told you that?” She took a moment to look him in the eyes before turning to attach the restraint to the bedpost. 

“No,” he replied shyly. The bedpost squeaked and with a slight shift it fastened in place. 

“Shame,” she picked up the cuff, “See this? It will latch like this around your wrist. Let me know if it’s too tight. Color?” 

“Green,” he said while holding out his wrist. She let out a breathy giggle, the familiar sound made his body relax as she latched him in. The cuff was a bit heavier than expected, adding a firm pressure to his wrist without pinching or digging into his skin. It was silly but he felt a little disappointed that it wouldn’t even leave a tiny mark. 

“Pull a little, now how’s that feel? Not too tight?” She asked on her way to the other side and the bedpost rattled from his tug. 

“Good.”

She repeated on the other side. When he tugged again, the force of being pulled back ignited every nerve in his body. 

She admired her work, sauntering around the bed while teasing him with barely there touches to his forearms, ribcage and outer thighs. With each tick-tock of the bedside clock, desperation swelled in his chest. Beads of sweat dripped down his back as she cooed, compliment after compliment as he laid there completely exposed and waiting for her with legs spread and arms pulled wide. 

When her fingertips grazed his ankle, his body jolted with a growl as the bedposts vibrated. 

“Please,” he whined as pearly beads dribbled into a mess on his belly. The heaviness of his cock too much. “Please, touch me.” 

She crawled between his thighs. “You’ve been so patient. Doing so good for me.” She stopped, propping herself on her knees. Her hands landed on his lower thighs and his hips bucked, eyes squeezing shut. “Stay still and keep your eyes on me,” she said like it was so simple. Like she hadn’t turned every inch of his skin into an exposed bundle of nerves that left him keening at the lightest touch. 

He still obeyed, locking his hips down as she explored his body with nectar-sweet praises that dripped from her lips with dew-like ease. He babbled incoherently as she mapped out the muscles in his calves, scratched and massaged the meat of his inner thighs until his legs trembled. It was tender and tantalizing and frustrating and absolute bliss. His breath caught as her thumbs dragged along the coarse hair, up the crease of his thighs. 

“Look at you,” she cooed as he hissed through his teeth as her nails grazed his belly. It was so close to where he needed her most and molten heat filled his chest as she pressed into the bones of his hip. “You look so pretty like this, and all for me.” Her tongue peaked out as his furious cock leaked into a puddle. 

“Fuck, ple - please. God, I need it. I can’t, please touch me.” Desperation clung to his words and any other time he would’ve been embarrassed but he could barely think, let alone feel any shame. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

“Oh, fuck!” His eyes rolled back as she ghosted his cock from base to tip. Her other hand coming to rest on his thigh, rubbing soothing circles as she kept him open for her. 

“Does that feel good?” She asked while circling the head of his cock. 

“Feels so good, need more. Please more.” She hummed approvingly and positioned her mouth only inches above the weeping tip of his cock to blow on it, the cool air stinging in the most exquisite way. Her cheeks hollowed and he watched unblinking as a string of spit dropped from her puckered lips to connect them to his cock. As the spit slid down the pulsing, thick vein his body thrashed, the feeling of being held back, restrained only sharpened his arousal. 

“Oh, you like that? So dirty.” 

He chanted for more and more until she finally wrapped her fingers around his cock. A growl from deep in his chest clawed its way out as she stroked him with a lax grip and a deliciously slow pace. While it wasn’t enough to cum, it satiated his carnal lust. 

“So messy. I bet it feels so good. Doesn’t it? Come on, baby tell me.” She circled his dripping slit, gathering his cum to aid in the slide. 

“Yes, yes. It feels so good. Shit it feels good, it’s never felt like this, never felt so good, ooooh.” 

When she rubbed her thighs together a single thought sliced through the mush that used to be his brain. Was she turned on by him? Fuck, could he make her feel like this? 

“Hmmm. What’s on your mind?” She asked, and he had no clue how she did that. “Tell me.” 

“Are you, oh, do you feel good?”  

Her hand slowed to an almost halt but kept moving. 

“That’s what’s worrying you?” He nodded and she sighed. “Well we can’t have that now. Hmm. You know, I could tell you how wet I am, how good you’ve been and how turned on it’s made me, but I have a better idea. I know I said you can’t touch my pussy, but I never said you couldn’t see it. So, if you ask real nice, I’ll show you exactly what you do to me. How’s that sound?” 

His cock pulsed in her palm at the idea that the sexiest (and Marcus rarely used that word) woman he’d ever met was not only willing to show him her pussy but was turned on by him. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this, but he thanked whatever was above. 

“Oh, yes. Please - please. God, please show me your pussy. I gotta see your pussy, gotta see how wet it is. Oh I just wanna make you feel good.” 

She released his cock, softly cooing to help coax him through the sting of losing her touch. Even if his cock didn’t think so, he knew it’d be worth it as she leaned back and planted her feet on the outside of his thighs. 

“You wanna see? Hmm,” She teased, sending him into a babbling frenzy as she toyed with the seam of her thong. “Marcus, you don’t even know how good you’ve made me feel,” she bit her lip and moaned as she slowly pulled the material to the side to reveal herself. 

Marcus trembled at the sight of her soaked pussy, her folds glistening under the soft light of the room. He took a deep breath in, a desperate attempt to smell her arousal. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he said. 

Her warm smile fell into an O as she played with her folds, up to circle her clit. The breathy moans escaping from her smeared and parted lips shot straight to his cock. It was like his own personal porno and he uselessly fought the restraints to be the guest star, to sink his fingers into her warm cunt and feel her walls tighten around them. 

He held his breath as her finger trailed down to tease her pussy, slowly inching inside with a wet squelch. “Marcus, feels good.” The higher pitch in her voice broke him. 

“Please, please just let me touch you. Wanna make you cum.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she pushed a second finger inside with a feral moan that thrummed throughout his body. “Fuck, please. I need it. Please, just let me taste you.” 

She rolled her hips a few times just to hear him whine. When pulling out she marveled at the slick around her fingers; it sparkled like rock candy and his mouth watered. “You want a taste?” He nodded dumbly and opened his mouth. Her thong snapped back in place, and she moved towards him. “Suck,” she pressed her fingers to his tongue. 

It was filthy and depraved and he loved every moment of it. His head bobbed, sucking and licking her fingers clean, moaning at the addicting tanginess of her. But it didn’t quench his thirst, only growing more desperate to taste it from the source. 

“Fuck,” she said in a husky voice as her wet fingers popped from his mouth. “That was hot.” Once her eyes flickered to his lips, she couldn’t help but crash against them. Winding her fingers in his sweat soaked hair, tugging so his mouth fell open. She licked inside of his mouth like she was desperate to taste herself on his tongue. 

There was no denying her arousal when she broke away, it pooled in her eyes and made her chest heave. She glanced down at his cock with a determined and hungry gaze then gripped around the base as her other hand started to fondle his tip, lathering her fingers in his cum. 

If anyone asked Marcus his birthday, hell even his middle name he couldn’t tell them. Everything was forgotten as her slicked up hand stroked his cock. 

“So pretty. So fucking pretty and doing so well. Oh you look so good like this, Marcus.” Her wrist twisted with every long stroke, and even though it was a handjob it beat every other of his sexual encounters. “Baby. Come on tell me how it feels.” 

“It feels - it feels. Oh God! Heaven.” It was the only word that came to his mind. Heaven. An indescribable feeling. One never felt before and something he wasn’t sure he could ever live without. He was absolutely weightless, floating on a cloud of immense pleasure. 

“Yeah? You gonna come?” 

He’d been dangling on the edge for so long that he didn’t realize how much his grip was slipping. But he didn’t want it to be over, not yet. Honestly not ever. He didn’t want to come down from this, just wanted to stay here under her eager touch and undivided attention. 

“I - I,” he wanted to tell her, beg her for just a little longer but the words wouldn’t come out. Tears pricked at his eyes from the overwhelming need to cum. 

The slick skin slapped together as she moved faster and faster. Her hand releasing from his base to fondle his balls and the sound he let out could only be described as a wail. 

“Come on, baby. I want you to cum for me. Wanna see how pretty you look when you cum. Come on, Marcus. Baby, cum for me.”

He cried out her name as his vision went white. Tears streaked his cheeks from the overwhelming and all-consuming pleasure that surged through every neuron in his body. It felt like hours, his release splashing his belly and chest before finally he came down. 

“-Even prettier than I imagined. So good, baby. So good Marcus.” She tugged at his cock until he whined from oversensitivity. At the sound of sucking, his eyes fluttered open. She popped her fingers from her mouth, dipping into the mess on his belly before stuffing her mouth full again. It was the filthiest, most erotic sight, she batted her lashes, moaning around her fingers. 

She leaned down and he whimpered as she licked a broad stripe through the mess. “Taste so fucking good,” she smiled against his tummy. The slick slide of her tongue ignited his body in goosebumps as she lapped at his tacky skin until it was clean. 

She kissed up from his belly to his neck, kissing away the streaks of the few tears before giving him a lazy, but heated kiss. 

“You were amazing,” she cooed while undoing his restraints, kissing each wrist before his arm dropped to his side. 

“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go grab-” She lifted from the bed. 

“Wait,” he grabbed onto her wrist. “Don’t leave. Please, just stay for a minute.” 

“Okay,” She smiled and crawled back into bed. His arms wrapped around her waist, her fingers combed through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. He burrowed his face in her chest, lips languidly trailing the sticky skin as he inhaled the scent of her. 

His hand roamed to her belly, suddenly remembering she hadn’t orgasmed.

“Do you want me to?” His droopy eyes peered up. 

She shook her head and nuzzled in closer. 

“No, I want the first time I cum to be right here.” His stomach swooped as she tapped on his lips. 

“Does that mean, you’d want to do this again?” He tried not to look too eager. 

“Well, that depends. Do you?” She smiled, knowingly while brushing a tuft of hair from his face. 

“I mean, yeah. Of course, that was incredible.” She giggled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He cradled back into her embrace with a wide smile. 

“Oh, Marcus. You haven't seen nothing yet.”

#pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfic #the mentalist

[frankieispunkk]

Fade into you

A Marcus pike x plus sized fem reader fanfic 💜

Content warnings!!!!!!

Mentions of very toxic relationships,mentions of verbal and emotional abuse,mentions of sexual assault and abuse.

3 months earlier:

Rain falls down my face as I stand outside his apartment for the last time,I’m done done with his mind games and constant gaslighting. I call an Uber to pick me up,and take me back “home” my own fucking apartment doesn’t even feel like home anymore every where I look I see all the memories and arguments I’ve had with jake,I can’t even sleep without having vivid nightmares about the last 12 months of our relationship.

I moved half way across the world for him,for it to be thrown back in my face when the abuse started. I should of seen it coming,I was stupid to think someone could actually love me. But at least I’ve got a job now,and I enjoy it. I work for the government,fbi to be exact,how I fucking FBI Agent didn’t see the fact my own boyfriend was abusing me for 4 years is beyond me. I get in the Uber and tell the driver the directions to my apartment,I feel on edge,I don’t trust anyone especially men. He gives me a kind smile and starts driving towards my apartment,sensing I didn’t want to speak,he just turned the radio on. Thank fuck.

I get home and slump on the couch,my now ex boyfriend has sent me multiple messages

11.30 pm

“Please I fucked up,please I love you forgive me”

11.33 pm

“Please baby,I will do anything”

11:45 pm

“Fuck you,worthless slut. You are not worth anything. Your friend is a better fuck anyway”

I block his number and his social media accounts.

One thing about being in the fbi is that I know he is going to pay for what he has done. Maybe after this is all over I will help over people in the same situation as me, help them get their life’s back on track. But first I need to help myself.

My apartment is a mess,my constant state of depression and being at work all the time has really taken its toll,I try my hardest but sometimes all the cleaning gets too much. I do the reminder of the dishes then decide to head to bed,not that I will be getting any sleep. I’m constantly terrified jake will break in,he has done it before. Breaking in to my apartment at the dead of night just to shout abuse at me,but my neighbours know what a scumbag he is,and they have cameras all over the building. “I’m safe” I tell myself.

No way am I sleeping with the lights off though,I do my nighttime routine and then text my co worker Marcus to say that I might be running late tomorrow because I’ve only just gotten back. Honestly,marcus has been suspicious of jake since the the day he burst into the office demanding that he needed to speak to me “right now” ever since then marcus has kinda been protective over me. Marcus and I have become pretty close friends (as close as Jake allowed us to be) and we check in on each other regularly. He has been through some shit the last few months with his ex Teresa,she abandoned him and called off the engagement after she met another guy. Marcus was in bits,I just wish I could of helped him more at the time. But I had to be home at a certain time,Jake set an alarm on his phone for what time I finished work,and if I wasn’t home by then he would go ape shit.

At least now I can hang out with Marcus and other co workers after work without jake breathing down my throat.

———————————————————————————-

3 months later

It’s been 3 months since I broke it off with Jake,my life has taken a turn for the better. I got a restraining order against him and I came clean about what happened to Marcus,he was infuriated and wanted to put the man behind bars. However Jake is (was) a cop and trying to put a cop behind bars is…very tricky,Jake knew all the best lawyers and the case fell through. It’s weird because technically the FBI is above the police but it still felt like Jake had all the power over me. I cried and cried that night. Marcus has Been there for me every step of the way,even down to coming to my apartment at 4am after I call him hysterically crying because I had a nightmare about Jake. He has installed new locks and a ring camera for me so I can see who is at my door,and has even taught me how to defend myself in that sort of situation. We have movie nights often where we take it in turns to pick a movie,I still feel very on edge around physical contact,Marcus acknowledges that and keeps his distance if needed,but honestly I like snuggling into him. He feels safe and I trust him. I often find myself falling asleep in his arms,it’s a reminder that I’m healing. I’m healing from all the shit Jake put me through. Although at the moment I can’t see myself and Marcus being more than good friends,I can’t help myself but like him as more than friends,he is kind,caring,compassionate and not to mention drop dead gorgeous. I think somehow,somewhere,someone put us together. I’m not a religious person,far from it. But I do believe in “soulmates” and I also believe in spirit guides. Maybe this is the way my life is supposed to go. Yeah I’ve been through a lot,to much if I’m honest. But maybe meeting and working with Marcus is the best thing that will ever happen to me,he certainly restored my faith in men.

I’ve been going to therapy for around 3 weeks now,my therapist being a very wise mid to late 50s woman,who has also gone through abuse.she tells me I am very strong and have a heart of gold. And that I need to heal before I get into another relationship. She has told me a lot of methods and books I can read,I’ve read more in the last few weeks than I have in my entire life.

Marcus is interested too,I lent him one of my books and he came to work the next morning with tears in his eyes and said “if this is just a fraction of what you went through then you are the strongest person I’ve ever known” and pulled me into a hug. Marcus is never shy to show his emotions,I like that about him. He is never shy of crying at a movie or a good song,he is never shy of telling me how HE feels. It has come up in conversation once or twice how he “thinks the world of me” and I’m “the most powerful beautiful woman he’s ever met” it normally comes out on the nights I’m crying into his shoulder because I think it’s all my fault. “Darling,one day you will know how it feels to be loved by a proper man,a man who will do anything for you because you deserve everything” he will whisper into my ear,he knows I am not ready for a relationship yet,he actually encourages I heal first,just like he did with Lisbon. But feelings are feelings and we both know that our feelings towards each other are more than platonic at this point. Small touches and eye contact kinda give it away,I just wish I wasn’t so fucked in the head that I could act on those feelings.

Later that day

Marcus comes over for our weekly movie night and we start the night off like we usually do,getting takeout. I’ve started to feel more insecure about eating around Marcus recently because of my feelings for him. I’m a bigger girl and all through out my life I was told I’m “fat” and “shouldn’t be eating that” the take way is ordered and it comes in no time,we get the pizza and sourdough out of the boxes and sit down on the sofa. “You can eat around me ya know,I think your body is beautiful,I don’t care what society thinks” Marcus softly says. “I know…it’s just all through out my life people have told me I shouldn’t eat certain “fatty” foods because I’m already fat enough” I sigh.

“Well fuck them,eat what you fucking want. It’s your life not theirs.” He says softly then chuckles.

“You think I’m beautiful?” I shyly say.

“I know you are” he says and leans in closer to me.

Ya know how I said I love how Marcus speaks his mind? That is what I mean,he isn’t afraid to say something “controversial” he also isn’t afraid to admit something is off with himself or if something is off with me he will be the first person to notice. He’s just so god damn perfect.

I sigh deeply.

“What’s up” he says after finishing his pizza “pizza put you in a food coma?” He chuckles.

“No no,I’m fine! just…thinking”

“Penny for thoughts? Or do you want to be left alone for a bit?”

Prang there goes my heart strings again,god fucking damnit.

“Could we just cuddle for a bit? Could use the grounding?” I say softly.

“Sure thing hunny,come ‘ere” Marcus pats his chest.

We stay cuddled for around half an hour,to be honest I’m far from relaxed I’ve been rehearsing a fucking speech for the past hour,of how I’m going to admit my feelings to Marcus,how I’m going to go about it.

“You sure you ok? You are very quiet today” Marcus strokes my hair gently.

Fuck it I’m gonna tell him,what could possibly go wrong?

“Marcus,can we talk?” I say shyly.

“Yeah of course what’s up hun?” He lifts his head up slightly and pauses the movie on the screen.

I take a deep breath,”this has been bubbling for a while now,but I like you.more than just friends,you make me feel safe,protected…happy again,you’ve help me through the toughest times of my life…you’ve helped me heal. I never thought I would trust anyone with my heart again but you came into my life with your charm and kindness and swept me off my feet. I think I’m ready to take my healing journey to the next step,to be in a relationship again,and I want it to be with you”.

Marcus looks shocked but happy,he puts his finger on my cheek and wipes the tears,”oh darling I’m so proud of you, you already know how much I think of you,how beautiful I think you are. And how I want to spend the rest of my life proving how real love should be. But for you to say those words,I’m so fucking proud of you. I know how much it took for you to say those words,and how much it even took for you to admit you had feelings for someone again. We can take this as slow as you want,your in control here,we will do this at your pace. And I mean everything,sex,kissing,going out in public,everything is your pace I promise”. He holds my face in his hands before pulling me into a hug,I can’t help but breakdown a little. This is the safest I’ve ever felt,in years…maybe even in my life,and it’s all thanks to Marcus.”don’t cry baby,you’ll get me going” Marcus soothes me gently by rubbing my back. “There happy tears,I’ve never felt so happy and safe with anyone” I say wiping my tears.” “Is it ok if I kiss you,I really want to kiss you” “I want you to kiss me Marcus,I’ve dreamt of kissing you for the last 8 months,when I was with Jake, and he would kiss me,I imagined it was you,even though you are nothing like Jake…obviously,I’m rambling just kiss me” I laugh softly. The moment his lips meet mine it is like a million fireworks,his lips are so soft and plump,like they were made for me. They mold into mine so easily,the softness of his lips and the slight roughness of his stuble,it all feels so amazing,it feels natural to kiss him. Like we have been together all along,our skins rubbing against each other as we kiss.

When we finally break the kiss,the look on both our faces is pure bliss,”so your saying…all them years I’ve been in bad relationship after bad relationship you were here all this fuckin time,waiting for me?” I chuckle softly. “That’s how the world works darlin” he laughs and cups my face in his hand “your an amazing kisser,I can’t believe I didn’t kiss you sooner” he chuckles

“You and me both,I wish I found you when I moved over here. Not stayed with that abusive dickhead for another 5 years.” I sigh softly “you make me feel so alive Marcus”

We have a deep chat about how our relationship is going to go for the next 4 hours before heading to bed.

“Can you…sleep with me tonight, I know you normally sleep on the couch but…I want to be close to you” I say shyly.

“Of course hunny,I couldn’t think of anything more perfect” Marcus whispers.

We sleep in each others arms all night.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x plus sized reader #marcus pike x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedropascalcomfort

[haloud]

Writing Patterns

Rules: Share the opening of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to see if there are any patterns!

I was tagged by @ajna-eye-cogitations and @angrycowboy :)

through the looking glass

Michael closed his eyes to the feeling of Isobel petting his hair. Her fingers worked nervously, the rhythm soothing neither of them, doing nothing to tether Michael to his body—but that was for the best.

2. parted from me and never parted

For most of Jim’s life, people had told him he had a problem with authority. Some of them even meant it kindly. It frustrated no one so badly as Captain Pike, the one authority Jim did trust. He’d say again and again that Jim would get people killed one day, thinking he knew best, thinking he could test a limit that shouldn’t be tested. Well, Jim disagreed with that assessment—had barely restrained himself from a deeply point-proving emotional reaction to Pike thinking little enough of him that he’d ever endanger his crew like that.

3. main sequence

They were a half-mile from the ship when the sky opened up. The distant setting suns turned the raindrops blue and violet and gold; Alex was running, Michael was laughing, and Michael grabbed his wrist and pulled him under an overhang to wait out the storm as water pooled on the rocks and streamed down in technicolor rivulets. Alex stood stock-still for a minute, arms slightly outstretched as his clothes and hair dripped, until Michael yanked him in closer to kiss him, kiss his lips, kiss the water from his face.

4. straight on 'til morning (final chapter)

Michael trailed his fingers across the outer curve of the console as he approached the captain’s chair. His eyes were fixed on the distant stars outside, barely visible from the ambient blue light of Aun. One of them was Oasis. Maybe this would be the last time he ever saw his own planet with the naked eye. Good riddance.

5. forever in a day (nsfw)

“Michael, Michael, fuck, Michael!” Alex cried.

6. like clockwork

The world was getting colder. Day by day, frost crept over the creosote and sagebrush in the mornings, and Walt walked the three miles to town in men’s boots and three pairs of socks, the sky high and blue and watery above him. He got less and less work these days, but he knew how to stretch a dollar, and he knew Roy Bronson’d buried a hundred of ‘em in a tin pail “just in case” and where to dig, and soon enough he’d get his growth spurt, and once he was fit for working the fields, no one there would care about scars, not like shopkeepers and society ladies did.

7. morningmist

The three of them made a party as dismal as the weather as they rode through the mist at a snail’s pace. None of them spoke. Zidan and Xiaodan, of course, often needed no words, but even between them, this silence was a different one.

8. rivalry series

Panting, Isobel swung herself back onto the bench and bashed her stick against the low wall with a scream of rage muffled behind her teeth.

9. thunderstorm warning

Alex groaned and smacked his head back against the pillow. He’d been in bed for an hour, tossing and turning, folding and flipping his pillow, fighting with the blankets, changing sides, switching back and forth between his side and Michael’s, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t get comfortable. The bed was too cold, or he was too warm under the blankets, or the house was too quiet, or every little sound jerked him to attention.

10. torrential

The house was quiet when they came home. Peaceful. They weren’t even gone long enough for the air to grow stale—only a faint hint of rain lingered in the air, and that was home, too.

Only used solo published fics because I genuinely can't remember who wrote the opening lines of most of my cowrites. I'm not sure what patterns to draw here...It appears that I don't typically start a fic with dialog, and I tend to start in media res, though the degree of the action varies. Only two of the fics include establishing information before the action begins, and I would honestly deduct "like clockwork" from being evidence of a trend there, because that fic had a deliberate structure that by definition would buck any trends I have in my writing.

for anyone wondering, the two non-rnm fics in this list (parted from me and never parted + morningmist) are fics for star trek: strange new worlds and a book called Silver Under Nightfall by Rin Chupeco respectively. pls read vampire book. thank you and goodnight.

[ivyprism]

The Other Outcode Skeleton Sisters' Diner AU: Info Rewrite (Info Dump)

Warning: Violence, a bad person, death, etc.

Pike - FIsh Monster OC

Personality: She's unforgiving and harsh. In the end, she is incredibly brave, if not fearless. She has a little charming and polite exterior, yet she is vicious and severe toward people who deserve it. She has messed up her morals, but she still follows them. She is always willing to throw down and enjoys it immensely. She occasionally engages in cage fighting for pleasure. She never backs down from a fight and always appears to come away relatively undamaged. Overall, she is bright, upbeat, and abrasive. She has excellent fighting form and never hesitates.

Appearance: She is a fish monster similar to Undyne. She has long white hair that is tied in a ponytail. She has scars all over her face and arms. She has a very prominent scar on her right eye and she's clearly blind in that eye. Her eyes are an emerald green. Her scales are a pale blue. She is 6'0".

Elixir - Fish Monster

Personality: She is Pike's older sister. Elixir is a caring and gentle woman. She has a huge heart and plenty of love to share. She is healing from a highly abusive relationship, thus she is in intensive and necessary therapy. She despises the idea of hurting anyone and enjoys those under her care. She wants to protect and assist her devastated younger sister, Pike. She has evolved a strong resistance to most toxins, although she still reacts negatively to them. When she was under the impact of the poison, she became erratic and dangerous.

Appearance: She is a fish monster similar to Undyne. She has long white hair that is tied in a ponytail. Her eyes are a light blue eyes. She has scars on her arms and torso. Her scales are a pale blue. She's 5'8".

Poison - Ghost Skeleton Monster

Personality: Poison is a cold and relaxed individual. She is really mysterious and distant. She looks to be a listener, avoiding interaction. She sees communication as an unnecessary strain and can be unpleasant. She maintains a neutral demeanor and rarely displays emotion unless she is comfortable with someone. When she has the time, she sews and knits. When she gets comfortable with someone, she begins to listen closely and actively participate in the conversation. She recalls things that others do not, and she is usually the person you go to for help finding something. She can also manufacture any type of poison treatment if requested.

Appearance: She is a skeleton monster with faded red eye lights. She can go transparent at will. Sometimes, when she walks, her legs and form become misty. She is 5'5".

Toxin - Ghost Skeleton Monster

Personality: A nasty person, a horrible person. He is rude, ruthless, and appears to be unconcerned about the damage he causes. He deliberately ruins the lives of his "loved" ones. He lives on the suffering he causes and will never back down when it comes to it. He occasionally displays a gentler side to certain people, but he keeps it hidden for as long as he can. He started a massive war, nearly wiping out many AUs. He wanders across AUs, causing devastation wherever he goes. He is harsh and heartless. He does show signs of being able to become better, but he refuses to pursue any of those chances.

Appearance: He is a ghost skeleton monster with gold eye lights. He can go transparent at will. Sometimes, when he walks, his legs and form become misty. He is 5'7".

Antitoxin - Ghost Skeleton Monster

Personality: He is a serene, cool skeleton. He is a ferocious and powerful skeleton. He's a decent and empathetic guy. He has moral superiority over his adversary, Toxin. He is patient, wants to help others, and has long sought rehabilitation for his offenses. He is a highly intelligent and astute people who understands how to create a range of poisons and remedies. He adores his broken AU and wants to help repair it. He is a calm person who tries not to hurt others. He isn't afraid to hurt others in order to protect his "sister" (Poison).

Appearance: He is a ghost skeleton monster with gold eye lights. He can go transparent at will. Sometimes, when he walks, his legs and form become misty. He is 5'7".

Maricella - Angel Skeleton Monster

Personality: She is energetic, lively, and emotional. She is a talkative person who battles to keep her emotions under control. She is a lovely and merciful individual. She makes poisons and remedies in the same manner Poison does. Her skills are far less developed than Poison's. Despite her several attempts, she hopes that the group of adversaries may be redeemed and that she can become a good person. She works hard to help others and steer them down the correct road. She keeps a cheerful outlook on the world and humanity.

Appearance: Maricella is a skeleton who takes heavily off her angel heritage. She has large wings and seems to have feathers on her bones. She has light green eyes. She is 5'6".

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#galaxy dragon ocs #oihgoigh #info dump #info #lots of info #the skeleton sisters' diner au #fish monster ocs #angel skeleton monster ocs #ghost skeleton ocs