#this would be the night after ch1 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

celestie0 · 3 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time.

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago.

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile.

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

But why was he remembering all of that now?

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision.

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines.

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door.

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once.

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on.

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings.

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you.

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter.

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time.

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him.

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either.

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.”

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside.

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass.

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away.

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment.

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high.

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him.

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime.

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game.

3-2. UTokyo’s win.

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink.

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again.

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

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wardenparker · 14 days

Text

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 10

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* In-laws (nice ones though!), passing mention of federal agents possessing guns, family dynamics, that one family member that married someone awful, the mystery of Agent Bailey begins to unravel, discussion of life in the public eye, planning for the future, discussion of collaring. Summary: After a rather dramatic birthday, heading to Texas to meet Marcus's family seems like a walk in the park. Notes: I am 100% certain that I have missed errors this week, loves. But alas, ya girl is back to working five days a week and she is SO tired. ✌ Please enjoy the chaos that is the Pike extended family!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

My Masterlist!

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

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underdark-dreams · 4 months

Text

I got too excited and finished the second chapter 👀 [ch1]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.2

Tav finally catches up with her wizard at Sorcerous Sundries; Rolan has some complicated feelings about seeing her again.

Tags: Reunions, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3,042 [Read on AO3]

The next day dawned just as gloomy and gray as Rolan’s mood.

He hadn't slept well in his chilly room at the Tower; the flesh beside his brow was bruised deeper than he’d realized. His fretful dreams of shadow curses and illithid monstrosities had been laced through with the dull ache in his skull.

As a result he’d been short with the customers this morning. It didn’t really matter—no one cared about the boy behind the counter. People tended to look through him, if they looked at him at all.

No doubt his bruised and beaten appearance made people uncomfortable. Rolan knew Lorroakan didn’t care a jot for his wellbeing, but he did wonder why the man wouldn’t avoid damaging the first face people saw when they walked in. It couldn’t be good for business.

These days Rolan found himself more of a shopkeeper than a student, after all.

With that thought in mind, he pulled the large book of figures up onto the counter. At least there was plenty of work there to occupy him—Lorroakan had been an atrocious bookkeeper.

By the time midday dragged along, Sorcerous Sundries had cleared out almost completely. The sky outside the wide front entry had darkened further from the approaching storm. Periodically a humid breeze would gust through the doorway. Each time, Rolan had to grab hold of the pages of his ledger before he lost his place.

Eventually he shoved the thing aside in impatience, thunking a heavy potion bottle down on top to weigh down the page.

From its hiding place among the scroll shelves, Rolan instead pulled out a stained and dogeared volume: Suspended Ceremorphosis. He'd swiped it from the tower while Lorroakan was engaged with yet another so-called Nightsong hunter.

Lorroakan certainly wouldn’t miss the text. He hadn't maintained the protective spells on the reference section of his library the way he had the sections on spellcraft and the Weave. Evidently he thought everyone must have the single-minded and incurious lust for power that he did himself.

Rolan had never thought of himself as having a weak stomach, yet he found he had to take the text in small doses. The only thing that kept him reading it was a promise he’d made to Tav many moons ago, on a night when hope was easier to come by.

Whoever had authored it must have been a surgeon—more likely a necromancer. Each gruesome detail was described thoroughly, almost lovingly in some passages.

Rolan forced his way through as many pages as he could manage. Combined with the painstaking diagrams of each stage of the infection and transformation, he found it painful reading. Especially when it directly concerned one of the people he cared about most in all the Realms.

Who knew if Tav still even needed his help after all this time? She’d proven herself far more resourceful than him on many occasions. Maybe she was already on the trail for a proper cure by now. Maybe he was just wasting his time.

Rolan abruptly pushed this book aside too, turning back to his ledger again for the reprieve of sordid coin.

All things considered, Sorcerous Sundries was thriving. The citizens of Baldur’s Gate were shaken, borderline terrified by the recent march of the Absolute's forces…and frightened people spent gold on anything they thought might keep their families safe. Rolan summed last week's numbers a second and a third time, convinced he must have added a figure somewhere.

A brash voice outside pierced his concentration. Rolan glanced up sharply to the open doors, quill poised on the page.

Suffering hells. Aradin again? Whether or not he’d actually been involved in this week’s clumsy burglary attempt, he should have the common sense not to show his face.

The mercenary had been no rosy presence back at the Grove, and he was a constant bane at the magic shop ever since Rolan had been placed on front desk duties. He was always appearing to insist on a private audience with Lorroakan, or some great sum owed to him, or some other equally improbable outcome depending on the day.

Just as Lorroakan had accused him of last night—ungratefully—Rolan had finally taken it upon himself to charm the metal construct at the door to turn him away on sight.

As he watched, Aradin jabbed a threatening finger into the construct's face, as if it might be intimidated into compliance.

Thick fucking idiot, Rolan thought viciously. He had no patience for this today. Right as he set down his pen, someone else caught Aradin's attention from behind.

If not for her change in attire, he would have recognized Tav’s figure at first glance. But then Aradin shifted slightly as he spoke, and Rolan caught sight of her face.

The city seemed to be treating her well; he was relieved to see it. Her features were bright and well-rested for once, despite the scowling line of her brows as she squared her shoulders toward Aradin.

For the first time in days, Rolan managed a faint smile. She never did like bullies.

She'd commissioned fine new armor—perhaps from Dammon's forge up the street. Tav shone like an aasimar despite the overcast day behind her. The thought occurred with not near enough force to distract him from gaping at her lovely face.

His face. Zurgan—

Rolan’s spine straightened with a jerk. Why hadn’t he prepared for how she might react? How he might explain his pathetic appearance? He’d forgotten to anticipate any of it properly, and found himself blinded by panic.

There was no time to unfreeze his boots from the floor—Tav and her companions were already sweeping past Aradin and into the shop.

Her gaze landed on Rolan before any of the rest even noticed him. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her expressions play out in quick succession: dismay, then concern, then indignation.

The way her eyes traveled over his face made Rolan wish he could melt into an invisible puddle. But such powers were beyond him—all he could do was stand mute as Tav drew up to the counter in front of him.

“Welcome to Sorcerous Sundries.” Rolan spoke the usual lines, and hated the falseness of his voice as he did so.

Tav only blinked at him for a moment. “Hi,” she replied softly.

The two of them looked at each other for what felt like an age. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, in truth. Her eyes were wide and wholly inescapable. Rolan found his mind full of many words, all of which refused to exit his mouth.

“Oh shit, Rolan? What happened to your face, mate?”

The towering Tiefling hellfighter spoke up before either of them could. She was peering at him from behind Tav’s shoulder with an expression of guileless concern.

“Karlach—” Tav wheeled on her with a soft admonition.

She was trying to spare his pride. For some reason, that made Rolan feel lower than ever. As Tav turned back to him with a tight smile, he hoped the patchwork of bruises on his face hid its flush of abject humiliation.

Tav opened her mouth, but Rolan rushed to speak first. “I expect you’re here to see Master Lorroakan.”

Something flickered behind her eyes. “We are,” was all she answered.

“Then you’ll find the portals to the Tower upstairs. Do be careful to choose correctly the first time, it’s a great deal of trouble getting back in here if you don’t—Lorroakan has little patience for anyone who might waste his time—”

Rolan was fussing with his ledger and rifling through the pages as if it contained much important work he had to get back to. Anything to avoid looking at her anymore.

“Right…thanks, Rolan.” Tav’s voice was uncertain. He clenched his jaw against a sudden pang of remorse. “See you later, then?”

Rolan nodded tersely down at his work. He made no other answer.

She lingered for just a moment as the rest of her friends departed for the staircase. Then Rolan heard the metallic clinking of her plate armor as she too moved away.

He kept his head bent doggedly over his book as she did. Rolan’s eyes pretended to move over the page, seeing none of it. His ears were trained behind him to track Tav’s footfalls on the stairs.

When he heard the rushing whirl of a portal activating above, he stayed frozen for a few seconds to be sure. Then he shut the ledger with a snap.

And like a shameful coward, he ran to hide.

At least Rolan had enough sense to summon his master’s projection before he turned on his heel. Not a familiar incantation, but he glimpsed the Weave successfully materializing from over his shoulder as he swept toward the concealed door under the great staircase.

His fingers fumbled for a key at his belt—the one Tolna had lent him his first day. Once the door latched behind him, he stumbled down the dark stairs into the ancillary storeroom.

The place was full of more dust than anything else. Rolan coughed and sneezed several times before he managed a simple cantrip to light one of the torches along the wall.

Then he sank down onto an empty crate, slumped against the bookshelf behind him, and leaned the tips of his horns back against its dusty volumes.

What in the hells was he doing?

Living the life he’d chosen, Rolan answered himself. Tend the shop, ascend for lessons—sleep and repeat.

For how many years? One, two? Five?

Five years as a wizard’s apprentice was rare, but not unheard of. And Lorroakan didn't strike him as a man who readily dismissed his apprentices from service.

What exactly did he expect Tav to do for the next five years? Surely not wait around for a pathetic wizard-in-training who didn't have the strength to fight back against his own worthless master.

Sitting in this damp basement, surrounded by cobwebs, Rolan couldn't think of a single good reason why someone like her might still want someone like him.

An old, familiar feeling slithered through his gut. Unwanted.

It was true that Lorroakan had proved more of a disappointment than he could possibly have imagined. But the man had one advantage over every other archwizard Rolan had written to over the years, pleading for a chance to prove himself.

Lorroakan was the only one who had accepted him in.

Whatever the archwizard’s many deficiencies, they did nothing to change the other advantages this apprenticeship could grant him. Notoriety, privilege, access. The wizarding circles of Faerûn didn’t open for just anyone, especially not a bastard Tiefling. Not unless you had connections.

So what if he had feelings for Tav. Strong ones. Ones he sometimes wished he could make disappear…despite the way she continually visited his dreams. This apprenticeship was something Rolan had dreamed of for far longer.

And what about her feelings?

She'd told him she loved him many times during their last brief nights together at Last Light Inn. On one particularly memorable occasion, she'd been naked on top of him.

Rolan had replayed the moment in his head too many times to count, yet it never failed to set his heart racing.

But those were moments when blood ran hot from freshly escaped peril—moments suspended in forgiving shadow. Under the harsh light of day, perhaps Tav could finally see him clearly.

Rolan’s hands rose to his face. He prodded and felt along its planes with his fingers, gritting his teeth as he rediscovered each fleshy bruise and scrape on its surface. He was a mess of a man.

Abruptly, Rolan shook his head to clear away all this self-pitying nonsense. His thoughts turned back to Tav’s current audience with Lorroakan.

He wondered what they spoke of. Perhaps the Nightsong; perhaps her parasite.

If Lorroakan knew anything about Illithids or ceremorphosis—an idea that seemed more laughable by the day—Rolan prayed to all the gods that he’d have the decency to share his knowledge with her.

Whatever the subject, their conversation was brief.

Rolan’s ear caught the muffled hum of the portal once again and knew Tav and her companions had descended from the Tower. He waited a few more minutes to be sure, then rose to trudge back up to the main floor. When stepped back into the light, she and her companions were gone.

Rolan had no right to feel as disappointed as he did. He was the one who’d hidden from her like a child, after all.

As his feet dragged him back behind the counter, Rolan realized that in his haste he’d left out the stolen book on ceremorphosis—turned open to a particularly gruesome illustration.

He thanked his stars that it had been Tav and her friends paying a visit. Another customer might have been put off by the sight, enough so that a complaint made its way back to Lorroakan. The archwizard was jealous as a dragon when it came to guarding his hoard, however little personal interest he took in its riches.

As he picked up the tome to hide it away again, a small slip of parchment fluttered from between its pages to land on the counter in front of him. Rolan turned it over, then felt his heart repeat the motion.

Had he truly never seen her handwriting before? The letters were small and even, yet clearly written in haste:

Let’s talk alone. I love you

ps thank you for the research

Whatever information Lorroakan had provided her, if she was thanking him for reading a dusty book, it must not have been worth much.

Despite every weight pulling on his heart, Rolan reread each word several more times. Then he slipped the note gently into the pocket of his robes.

—

“Hey! You coming?”

“One second,” Tav called over her shoulder.

She hastily fit a postscript onto the small scrap of parchment. Then she slipped it like a page marker into Rolan’s book and laid his quill back on the counter.

It was obvious that Rolan wanted to avoid running into her a second time. A sad pang ran through her at the thought, but she couldn’t really blame him. She’d never seen him looking so miserable—not even that night after his siblings had been taken to Moonrise.

Lia’s words from yesterday rang in her ears. I don’t think he’s treating Rolan well. Whatever dark things Tav had imagined, they hadn’t prepared her for the sight of Rolan’s face—plainly dappled with weeks of brutal mistreatment.

Her fingers clenched hard at her sides. Tav glanced up at the shimmering projection of Lorroakan behind the counter and quelled the furious urge to put a fist right through its vapid smile.

As she jogged back out through the atrium of Sorcerous Sundries, Karlach turned to fall into stride beside her. The other two had walked ahead, clearly unaware that they’d left anyone behind. Gale was gesticulating animatedly about something; Wyll listened politely at his shoulder.

“So that Lorroakan’s a real prick,” Karlach remarked with characteristic bluntness as they walked.

Tav gave a harsh laugh. “Read my mind.”

“How d’you think he knows about the Nightsong?”

She had been asking herself the same question. Her mind’s eye conjured up the circle of runes in his study, the one he’d indiscreetly shown off to them on this very first meeting.

It had Balthazar’s fingerprints all over it.

“Probably has a background in necromancy,” Tav guessed aloud. “No way to know for sure.”

Karlach’s palm rang against plate metal as she clapped it between Tav’s shoulder blades. “Until we kick his arse and charm it out of him, you mean.”

Tav only smiled weakly in response. Inside, she could scarcely wait for the day when Lorroakan would get what was coming to him.

Beside her, a mischievous chuckle was rising from Karlach’s chest. “Hells, imagine when we tell Aylin. She’s going to tear that man apart.”

“Let’s not tell her just yet,” Tav said in a rush.

She felt Karlach’s eyes search her face. “Why not?”

Tav looked down at the cobblestones as they continued. “Rolan and I need to talk, Karlach. Whether or not he wants to, I owe it to him. He should know everything before all the Nightsong’s righteous vengeance comes down on his archwizard’s head.”

There was a pause. “You don’t think he knows?”

“No way.” She looked up at Karlach then, her face steely-certain. “Rolan would never do something like that.”

“Yeah…you’re right. Forget I said anything,” Karlach added, her tone apologetic. Before she knew it, Tav felt a warm arm jostle around the pauldrons on her shoulders.

“Listen, Tav, it’s gonna be okay. You and Rolan will talk it through, or maybe you’ll just fuck his stubborn wizard brains out again—”

“Karlach!”

“Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t already know?” Karlach was cracking up loud enough that Wyll glanced back from in front to see the commotion. Tav couldn’t help an embarrassed laugh, but she hid half her face behind a hand.

Before long, the dark stormclouds gathering above put a pause on the rest of their errands in the Lower City. It seemed wise to just wait out the weather at their rented room in the Elfsong.

Karlach did make some excuse or other to swing by Dammon’s forge instead—despite the fact that they’d been just yesterday.

Tav said nothing, but she wasn’t fooled. To borrow Karlach’s words, if anyone needed to fuck anyone else’s brains out, those two were obvious candidates.

With thunder rumbling on the horizon, everyone else settled into their private corners of their quarters for the rest of the afternoon. Shadowheart and Lae’zel turned to meditation; Gale to the large stack of books that he always mysteriously managed to fit in his pack. Astarion was curled in front of the fire, his lips moving silently as he pored over a book on Infernal.

For a few hours, Tav found herself with no plans and no responsibilities.

Though her new armor from Dammon was exquisite, she exchanged it for some more inconspicuous clothes, then pinned her heavy hooded cloak around her shoulders for the inevitable rain.

And with everyone else occupied, she slipped unnoticed out of their rooms and back down to the streets.

#rolan x tav #mutual pining #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #tav x rolan #sage and soldier #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #rebgrrl writes #underdark dreams #i think i love them

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bunnybubae · 7 months

Text

(M)🚦Red Light: The Fear | Ch1 [JJK]

👉🏻[Series Masterpost]

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (GymOwner!JK/MotoRacer!JK/Biker!JK-TattoArtist!OC)

Genre: S2L - Smut - Fluff - Angst

Summary: Jeon Jungkook never lets any distraction take him away from his motorcycle or his gym for more than one night. He just wants to speed around the track and feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the sex he gets thanks to his charm, is just a side dish to his life. A tough past brought him on that Ducati that he learned to love, a past you'll uncover, as you slowly seep in under his skin. It's a hell of a ride, in all senses, as you try to escape your own hell in the meanwhile. Where will this ride bring you? Will it be worth it in the end?

Chapter Warnings: This chapter describes an episode of harassment (it involves an unwanted kiss), please be aware of this if this theme makes you uncomfortable, description of past emotional abuse (manipulation, toxic jealousy), Angst, mention of alcohol consumption, Oc's ex is a stalker, cops are grossly negligent in this au, Tae and Hani to the rescue, Jk is hot af but this is nothing new.

Wc: 7.4k

A/N: Hello there! I've been planning this whole series for over a year and I'm finally able to make it come to life, slowly but surely! As always, I'm sorry if there are some grammatical mistakes, english isn't my first language and I don't have a beta, so pls bear with me! 🫶🏻

Let me know what you think about the series, my box is always open! - Joy 🐰

September 12th, Tuesday

The sun has already set, leaving the place to the colors of dusk.

You feel that your heart might explode in your chest at any moment. Is it the september evening breeze that's causing the chills covering your skin, or if it's all due to this visceral fear that's blocking your muscles right now? You can't quite tell.

After some extra hours at work, you thought you could finally close the tattoo shop in peace and go home to enjoy some leftover pizza in front of your laptop, but no- Ray evidently had other plans for you, deciding to unexpectedly visit you in the most unpleasant way possible.

You wish Hani had stayed a little longer today to close the shop with you, because this sickening feeling it's becoming unbearable. You feel like a mouse in front of a ravenous cat and you want to scream, but you just don't find the courage to do it.

He caught you off guard from behind, while you were looking for the keys in your bag, then he effortlessly spun you around on the spot and you found yourself blocked by your shoulders leaning against the entrance door of the shop.

Your throat tightens as you struggle to breathe regularly.

You're helpless and right now the only thing you can do is curse the day you replied to his message on Instagram, curse the invitation to participate at that damn workshop you and Hani organized for an exchange of advertising between tattoo artists. You can only curse that day and the following ones you spent with him. Of course you couldn't imagine that your perfect relationship would turn into such a nightmare, your ex used to be so kind and loving with you at the beginning, not even close to the obsessive, pleading mess that's keeping you trapped in utter fear right now. Jealousy can sometimes turn into such an obsession evidently, it can change people and you never expected something like this to happen in your life. Everything only got worse when after almost a year in your toxic relationship, you found the courage to finally break up with him.

Weeks had passed since the last time Ray had disgusted you with his threatening messages and unexpected visits during work, you were almost convinced he had found another hobby but as a matter of fact, you were wrong.

He understood that you can ignore his messages or even block his number for good, that you won't listen to him when Hani or your clients are around, but you certainly won't be able to ignore his forced presence, especially now that you're totally alone. He knows he has your undivided attention in this way.

He slurs something but you can't even pay attention. His inked arms are situated on each side of your head, while he looks down at you with desperate eyes. You don't even recognize him anymore. He used to take extra care of his appearance and health back when you two used to date, but now it seems like he is facing a grave problem with drinking. His body is close to yours, way too close for your liking and his warm breath mixed with whatever alcohol he drank, almost makes you gag.

The smell of his cologne is the only thing that's still the same and that you recognize, it hits your nostrils and it brings back memories that now only hurt.

“Y/N, baby- why do you keep ignoring me like this?” his voice is strained and his face is contorted in anger- or nostalgia, you can't even tell. "You're killing me and I always treated you well" He is trying to stop the thoughts that are clouding his mind, slurring out the words breathlessly.

"I fucking miss you! I don't know what else to do to make you mine again!"

These words are filled with desperation and you hate it, his need for possession is crystal clear in his statements. He threatened you multiple times saying that if you didn't get back together he would harm himself, claiming that the pain was too strong for him to bear, but he never said he wanted you back because he loved you, not even once. The only thing that he misses is controlling you, the only thing that he loves is taking away everything from you, putting himself at the center of your world.

He only wants to call you his, like a mere emotionless object. You hate it, you hate him.

He probably never wanted to take care of your heart as you believed and the realization that you were in love with him once, that his twisted feelings were strong for you but not in a healthy way, it makes you sick to your stomach. You should have known better, but you were blinded by your feelings.

There was a moment when you thought that you deserved this treatment, you told yourself that you allowed all of this because you were too naive to notice that those toxic feelings were poisoning your persona, till it was too late and they suffocated you, caging you.

"G-get away from me" you manage to say in a small voice as your heart thunders in your ears. Your stomach twists in a knot when you sense his moving hands. The fear turns into pure horror when his hands find their way to rest on your cheeks a little too harshly and you instinctively hold your breath.

His drunken lips crash into yours with urgency, and you feel like you might throw up at all the disgusting sensations you are experiencing right now. Your body reacts of its own accord, rejecting this desperate, unwanted kiss before he could deepen it or do something worse.

“I said get away from me!” you scream in a broken voice as you try to push him away with all the strength you possess.

Ray is looking at you, almost surprised that you had the courage to reject him. Despite your effort he doesn't budge much, it's like his feet are planted to the ground.

You're not able to meet his bloodshot eyes as you desperately try to free yourself. He's mumbling something that you can't quite comprehend and then his heavy hands are pushing your shoulders against the cold glass of the shop entrance, once again.

You didn't know you were crying until your vision started to blur with tears. This feeling of helplessness is the same one that kept you stuck in Ray's twisted love for months.

Red flags were scattered all around, he started by making you doubt your abilities as an artist to then insistently ask you to pass all your male clients to Hani, co-owner of the shop as well as your best friend ever since you were children. She was the one who covered up your lies with Ray, as you tried to keep your clients aways from his madness.

He bulldozed everything around you, but Hani always stayed by your side, refusing to believe Ray's lies. She was your sturdy pillar when everything around you was falling apart.

It was when Ray began to spread heavy lies about her, to lead you to break the agreements and contract with her, that you finally understood the gravity of the situation, that he was capable of totally ruining your life if you allowed him to manipulate you further.

The threatening texts and stalking episodes that followed are nothing compared to what keeping a relationship with him could have entailed.

You're not sure when Ray started behaving in a toxic manner, cause you still remember the rosy beginning of your relationship and everything was just fine. Hani says she started noticing changes when he decided to surprise you one day at the shop and found the both of you engaged in a simple conversation with some male regulars. This evidently made him very jealous, because from that moment, the ordeal began.

Your thoughts and sobbing are interrupted when Ray goes from mumbling pleas to insulting you with hatred, while his hands squeeze your shoulders as if to make sure to imprint on your skin all that he is feeling for you.

You're not sure how you managed to free yourself from his grip, next thing you know you're running with all the strength you have left in your body, abandoning the alley of the shop to find a safer place. You hear him calling your name a couple of times as you put more and more distance between you. You fear that he might follow you and block you once again and the mere thought of finding yourself defenseless in the arms that once wrapped you with apparent affection, is enough to make new tears flow down your cheeks.

The streets are almost empty and after reaching one that is well illuminated by shop signs, you look around to make sure he is not after you. When you make sure he is nowhere to be found, you grab your phone with shaky hands to call your best friend. You keep walking down the sidewalk as you try to calm your crying.

“Y/N?”

After a few rings, Hani answers the phone and hearing her voice ruins your desperate attempt to stay calm. You let out a liberating cry as you tell her that Ray really went too far this time.

You knew that Hani had a date with her boyfriend, Taehyung, who she met several months ago at the shop. Tae got a tattoo from her and from that moment they became inseparable. You knew they were going out to dinner and you feel bad ruining their date like this, but they are the only people you can trust who know everything about your struggles with your ex.

Hani speaks quickly but gently on the phone, she clearly tries to keep calm while she tells you to go to the bar that you often visit after work, located just a few minutes away from the shop. She reassures you, telling you that they would be there as soon as possible.

“Don't hang up until you get there, okay?” Hani adds, she can probably sense how shaken you are by what just happened and leaving you alone, even if it's over the phone, is out of question.

“I'm almost there,” you reply weakly through your sobs as you keep walking. You dry your face and try to normalize your breathing when you reach the small street where the bar is located. It's a quiet little place that holds countless memories for you and Hani, it was there that you and her celebrated the purchase of your tattoo shop a few years ago and it's where you return whenever you feel the need to unplug for a moment, while remaining in an familiar environment that makes you feel at ease.

You walk through the entrance still holding your phone to your ear. The warmth hits your limbs pleasantly while lounge music and the smell of beer begin to envelop you like a blanket.

On the other end of the phone you hear a loud windy noise and you deduce that Hani has already gotten on the motorcycle with Tae and that they are therefore about to arrive.

You feel a little calmer.

You end the call, knowing that Hani can't hear you and instead you opt for a text, informing her you'll wait for them at your usual spot.

When you scan the place, you're glad it's only a tuesday as there are only a few people. You reach the slightly more secluded area of the place and you sit at your favorite table. The place is filled with fairy lights hanging above your head, their light hitting the brickstone of the walls and the wooden furniture just right, giving a cozy vibe that you always liked.

You then take off your jacket and your bag before sitting down, glad to have some dividers shielding you as you feel the aftermath of the adrenaline rush coming to you, all your strength drains away. Your shoulders ache from the tension and because of Ray's grip on them, your feet throb from the wild run and your heart continues to beat like a concert is taking place inside your ribs. You lean on the table with your elbows as you bring your hands to your head to massage your temples.

How could you ever imagine to find yourself in a similar situation?

You naively refused to believe that Ray was capable of hurting you in any way. He was too sweet and helpful with you at the beginning to think he was evil, your shared passion for arts was the core of your relationship and you also learned something new about the art of tattooing thanks to him. You were grateful for all the help he gave you in the shop. Ray is also objectively hot and the physical attraction and sexual chemistry were very strong between you.

Everything was pretty perfect.

Too much indeed, to the point that thinking about it now you wonder how you didn't notice how much the whole thing was stinking a mile away. You couldn't imagine that behind his perfect appearance and behavior, there was such an obsessed manipulator. You truly believed that he loved you like you loved him.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hands. Whatever he has done now, you're sick to ask help from the cops, they did nothing useful when you needed them in the past.

"We can't handcuff a guy without clear evidence that he's acting in bad faith, he's a heartbroken young man trying to win his girlfriend back!"

These were the words they said only two months ago, when you tried to report his constant messages and stalking episodes. Nobody did anything. They dwelt mostly on the threats he sent, on the fact that he said he was going to hurt himself if you didn't answer or consider getting back together with him and they also didn't think his repeated visits were something to worry about, since he used to do that when you were still together, in their opinion.

They even had the courage to tell you that you guys are young, that people are made to make mistakes and learn from them and all that bullshit people say when they need to give air to their mouths.

They made him seem like the victim here and you are so sick to deal with this bullshit, you'd rather lock yourself home and never get out than asking their useless help once again.

You don't feel safe anyway, neither without nor with them.

You've resigned to the idea that you can't count on them and that you must do something yourself, but what can you do against a much taller and stronger guy?

You shiver at the thought but then your attention is drawn by a soft voice.

“Hey,” when you lift your head, your gaze softens as it meets your best friend's face. She promptly sits next to you without even taking off her motorcycle jacket and gloves and she pulls you into her arms.

"I swear if I see him around I'll gouge out his eyes and make earrings out of them."

Hani states as she continues to soothe you in her embrace. A little smile creeps on your face, mostly because you know that she would be perfectly capable of doing what she just said.

She is scary sometimes, but you love her nonetheless.

You feel an extra hand caressing your shoulder "That's a creepy way to do some recycling but I approve" Taehyung adds in a lighter tone, when you move to look at him you notice he is looking down at you with a sad smile on his face.

Since Tae started dating Hani, he has become a dear friend to you, you love the natural way he takes care of her, and you appreciate the several times he came to your rescue, having a fight with Ray to defend you. He is a good friend. You smile at him but the smile doesn't reach your puffy reddened eyes.

It's nice to know that your friends are always there for you, you feel so helpless though, so fragile right now.

Tae orders the usual for the three of you and some snacks from a passing waiter, and then he joins you and Hani at the table, both of them ready to listen to you.

“Thank you guys for coming- I'm sorry I ruined your date.” you feel guilty and your voice is still trembling a little bit.

“Don't even joke about it, Y/N.” Tae's tone is almost scolding as he fixes their motorcycle jackets next to him.

“You know that Tae and I see each other almost every day," Hani says "You don't have to worry about that.”

“It's just that I- I never felt so weak before” you admit as your eyes begin to shine again, unshed tears gathering on the rim of your lower eyelid, threatening to fall at any moment.

“I tried to push him away when he kissed me.” the memory of his lips on yours makes you shudder, so much so that you can't believe that there was a time instead when you craved those lips all over your body.

"I was barely able to push him off of me." Hani and Tae keep listening, anger readable on their faces as you recount what happened. You manage to speak on the verge of crying, your eyes glimmer but this time you find the strength to keep your tears at bay. You feel anger taking over your fear right now, that's probably why you refuse to cry over your disgusting ex and his demeanor yet again.

Hani interjects, stating that she'll do all the closing at the shop with you from now on, adding that she's starting to consider buying you some pepper spray, so you can empty it on his face if he shows up again.

The waiter returns with your orders and some water, telling you to call him back if you need anything else. He seems to have noticed your mood and doesn't want to interfere too much while remaining at your service anyway. You thank him with a warm smile before he goes back to doing his job elsewhere.

“Pepper spray is a good idea and you should buy it if it makes you feel a little safer," Tae begins "but I have another idea.” he adds before sipping his drink.

“I have a friend who races with me who also owns a gym, he even teaches kids how to throw good punches and stuff.”

You had almost completely forgotten that Tae participates in a regional motorcycle racing championship every year, Hani did nothing but talk about it at the beginning of their relationship.

Hani nods vigorously after taking a sip of her own drink, agreeing with her boyfriend.

"It wouldn't be a bad idea actually!" she says “Punching the shit out of that dick head would be even more satisfying!”

Tae fishes his wallet out of his jacket pocket and then rummages through its folds. When he finds what he was looking for, he places a business card on the table and pushes it towards you.

"Jungkook took care of the gym full time before also dedicating himself to racing" he explains "Now there is a guy who helps him with the management, but he prefers to take care of the main courses himself"

You collect the business card while pondering what to do. Taking some boxing lessons might help you boost your confidence, your strength and it might be a good distraction as well.

"It's not that far from the shop" you recognize the name of the gym having passed in front of it a few times while you wanted to buy breakfast in a nearby coffee shop before your shift at work. You could use the opportunity to learn something new that you could also use to your advantage if needed.

You listen while Tae tries to explain what he knows about the gym, telling you that his friend Jungkook mainly handles the children's class in the early afternoon and the adult's class that starts at 7pm. That wouldn't be bad for you, since your closing time is around 6 pm, cleaning up and preparing the shop for the next day won't take much time.

“If you decide to try, tell him I sent you,” Tae continues “I can already tell you tho- Jungkook loves to joke, sometimes a little too much, but he's a good guy and knows how to be serious when necessary”

You slightly nod, looking back at the piece of paper in your hands.

You can try, and if you don't like it you can always leave.

You can grab an uber or whatever to reach the place and to go back home. It should be fine if you book it a little earlier, so you don't have to wait alone outside.

"Okay," you suddenly say "I think I'll give it a try."

Hani and Tae both smile, visibly content with your choice.

"Do you want me to walk you there?" Hani asks "It'll be a 30ish minute walk" You accept Hani's proposal without thinking too much.

"How about thursday?" you add "We can go together and then I'll get organized with uber and stuff"

Hani agrees, then she drifts her attention to Tae, who starts to discuss with her the time and place he will be coming to pick her up after she drops you at the gym.

The evening continues normally, you regain your tranquility bit by bit, even tho there is always a pinch of sadness and anger bothering you in the back of your mind. Sharing some quiet moments with your friends managed to cheer you up enough to genuinely laugh at the silly bickering between the two lovebirds.

You can't help but wonder if you'll be able to get over this mess anytime soon.

When it's time to go home, Hani decides that she will be spending the night with you at the apartment you once shared for more than a year, before she started to crash often at Tae's.

Ray could always decide to make the situation worse by showing up at your door, you think. If he decides to do so, Hani could create those famous eyeballs-earrings much sooner, she said. The joke makes you all chuckle, you are happy to have them by your side, gosh- you truly are grateful.

Spending time with them definitely improved your mood and you feel like you can overcome this bad period of your life, with time and patience.

You thank Tae who waited for your uber to arrive before putting on his helmet and get on his motorcycle.

You feel incredibly tired but hopeful, this new experience could really help you on multiple fronts.

September 14th, Thursday

When you wake up, you feel like you've slept for barely 2 hours, but it's been like this since the whole stalking shit started, so. You lack your usual enthusiasm, that unbridled desire to create works of art on other people's skin, it's slowly vanishing away and that worries you.

You do your best to react though. The day goes by better than yesterday, your appointments at the shop flow smoothly one after the other and some potential customers have come to ask for some info on the costs of piercings, something Hani mainly manages.

You keep your mood up to meet your customers' requests, to smile and make them feel comfortable.

You are finishing the last touches on the skin of your last client of the day when, looking up at the clock hanging on the wall, you realize that soon it will be time to close, you shudder a little even if you know that Hani will close the shop with you this time, it's been only two days after all, the events are still too fresh. You let the buzzing sound of the pen distract you as you fill the last bit of skin with ink.

In no time, the shop is empty and silent again, except for Hani who has the pleasant habit of humming as she tidies up her side of the shop. You finish cleaning your station while your mind wanders. You think that it was so natural and easier to enjoy the peace of this place before.

This has always been a safe place for you, your very home. Of course, the concept of home is usually a place where you don't do your job, where you sleep, eat and rest. You pay the rent for the apartment, but this is still where you spend most of your time, this is that place that you know you will never leave, that you feel it's yours, that when you walk through the door makes you feel in your element.

It shouldn't be that difficult now, it's still the same shop, but the need to hide your appointments to avoid arguments with your ex in the past and the fear you began to feel as time passed, have tarnished what this place means to you. Your face drops in sadness at the thought. You want to go back to loving this place like you've always done at all costs and find some serenity again. Tattooing has always been your passion, something that sadly distanced you from your parents, who always wished you would pursue a different career. You won't let Ray ruin what you accomplished with sacrifices.

The shop shines when you're done, you pick up the bag previously prepared for the gym and you and Hani close the shop together.

You hope these lessons can help you release some stress.

Hani walks by your side, talking about everything and nothing, sharing a little laugh when you tell her that you can't wait to punch a sandbag imagining Ray's face.

The evening is pleasantly chilly and you're almost at the gym when you ask Hani if she wants you to wait with her for Tae to arrive.

“Don't worry I'll meet him at the corner,” she reply "besides, the class has already started, you should head inside."

You look at your phone, realizing it's way past 7:30pm already and you begin to feel a little anxious. Hani then tells you to call her or Tae if you need anything, even if they're going to spend the evening at the movies, she makes sure that you know you can always rely on them.

You nod, smiling "Thanks for being there Hani, I don't know how I'd have reacted to all of this alone" You truly don't know. Hani waves her hand "Don't even joke abaut it" she replies, mirroring your smile.

"You even talk like Tae now!"

She rolls her eyes but she knows you are just teasing her.

“I want to know everything about your first lesson tomorrow!” she emphatically throws a few empty and totally random punches. You giggle at the scene shaking your head “Sure sure- I’ll show you what I learn.”

“As long as you don't punch me, I'm fine with it.” You push her playfully and then you say goodbye as she walks away and you enter the gym.

It seems like a recently renovated place. You expected the usual smell of sweat and plastic typical of the gyms, but you are actually surprised to catch a fresh hint of flowers in the air. You notice a small reception near the entrance door, a well decorated counter with all sorts of flyers on top and red and blue led lights that illuminate the gym logo in the front, but there is no one behind the counter to welcome you.

You take a few steps through an arch that leads to what is apparently the main area of the gym.

The floor is mostly covered with a rubber tatami and you see some hanging plants and flower pots by the walls, which explains the very subtle smell in the air. Different tools and dumbbells are scattered around while several people are engaged in exercises of various kinds in front of some floor to ceiling mirrors.

You scan the place, pleased by the vibe it radiates. It surely is strange to find so many flowers and plants in a place like this, but it gives an original touch to it. Your gaze lands on a bunch of guys wearing boxing gloves while observing the explanation of an exercise. The one that's explaining, according to Tae's description, should be his friend Jungkook, who is standing in front of them while performing the exercise in question as an example.

Wow. Those are some wide shoulders right there.

You watch him intently as the dark haired guy moves. Something about his movements is attractive and you guess it's just him when he turns around and you notice the lip ring that Tae had told you about and the right arm completely full of colorful tattoos that you are already dying to curiously inspect. Yup, he's hot.

You watch him from the entrance as he performs the exercise with ease, his muscles flex and you can glimpse at them while his clothes deliciously wrap around his body. Tae could have warned you, it's gonna be hard to concentrate with this guy.

Jungkook almost seems to sense your gaze on him when, once his explanation is over, he turns towards the entrance you are standing at and your eyes meet for a moment. You tense up cursing at yourself, gawking at a complete stranger at the gym is creepy, But then you notice he's smiling while he approaches you and the group of guys he left is now performing the exercise.

"Can I help you?"

Of course, even his voice had to be hot. Fuck. You shift on your spot, clutching the bag you're carrying on your shoulder as you hope the warmth you're feeling on your face doesn't color your cheeks.

"You must be Jungkook," you reply, feeling a little awkward. Why even the sound of your own voice sounds stupid to you right now, damn.

"In the flesh." he responds confidently, pushing his hair back with his fingers.

Ok, now it's fucking clear as day that this guy knows very well that he is good looking and that he has an effect, which makes you think that he must be used to the women eating him up with their eyes.

"And you are?" he asks with curiosity laced in his voice.

"Uh sorry, I'm Y/N" you compose your thoughts trying to ignore the increasing awkwardness you feel explaining that "Taehyung told me about your class and I would like to give it a try."

"Kim Taehyung? Are you two friends?" He seems surprised as his eyebrows raise.

“Yeah, his girlfriend is my best friend.”

Jungkook chuckles by himself, amused by something you ignore.

"You're the tattoo artist, aren't you?" he asks, smiling as if he figured a puzzle or something like that.

“Did he say I was coming?”

“Not exactly,” Jungkook replies “but I met your best friend at Tae's a few times and I heard her say your name while speaking to Tae.” He seems pleased by the coincidence.

The fact that he remembers this small thing doesn't surprise you that much, but you start to feel anxious wondering if he happened to hear something related to your situation with Ray, you'd rather avoid talking about it. It's already difficult to deal with it with your friends, but most of all, you don't need compassion.

Jungkook observes you momentarily, and almost as if he sensed the drift of your thoughts, he beckons you to follow him towards a freer area of the gym. You follow him till you reach a set of gloves neatly arranged in one corner.

“Can I see your hands?” he asks casually.

"Sure." You leave the bag you're carrying on your shoulder on the ground, moving it to the side so it's not in the way, then you bring your hands forward with your palms facing up to let him observe them. Jungkook gently gathers your hands, and his touch is so delicate you barely feel it. He observes carefully, humming while he tries to figure out which pair of boxing gloves would fit you well.

It's not even a proper touch, it almost feels like the slight tickle that a feather would give and it's... pleasant. You're not completely indifferent as his fingers continue to brush the back of your hands, the sensation making you feel a little shy even though he is just looking at your hands and nothing more.

"Try these" His fingers leave you to take and offer you a particular pair of boxing gloves that he thinks might fit you. You inspect them briefly, wincing a little at the sweaty feel that envelops your hands as you put them on.

You feel your hands swimming inside, indicating that they are too big for you. You look at Jungkook asking “Do you have a slightly smaller pair?” Jungkook seems to have already considered the possibility that these were too big. He is giggling as he hands you another pair of seemingly smaller and more colorful boxing gloves and you see him try to bite back the smile that's on his pink lips. You can't help but think that the way he scrunches up his nose is actually cute.

You switch up the gloves with the colorful one, immediately understanding why he was chuckling like that. “I know, it's a big problem for me,” you admit, chuckling at your own hands, “I can't find latex gloves that fit perfectly 'cause of this” He laughs with you, amused by the smile that formed on your face when you noticed that the gloves he gave you are for children, specifically a blue and red spiderman themed pair.

"Using the words 'big problem" just made the whole thing funnier!"

"Well, I'll throw spider punches today." you joke.

Jungkook let's out a small laugh as he is looking at you with something in his eyes, you're probably the first grown up who needs kid's gloves and you catch him subtly checking you out.

This sense of lightness, simple yet helpful for your tired mind, is doing some good to you, you can feel it as you notice that you're exchanging genuine smiles and gazes since you started talking.

You follow him, avoiding to step on the tatami with your shoes as you approach the corner with different punch bags. He stands next to you in front of one of the standing punch bags available.

“Alright- so, there's no need to throw hard punches, for now just show me how you throw them.”

"But I don't know how!" you admit.

"Exactly, I want to see your natural movements, to understand what we'll have to work on'' Jungkook replies as he crosses his arms on his chest. The motion captures your eyes for a moment too long. That sleeve tattoo looks perfectly done and you barely refrained to take a closer look, the delicious way his tatted muscles are popping out of his white t-shirt is too distracting.

"Now show me how those little hands would hit the bag" his tone has slightly changed and he is smirking at you. He's teasing purposely and you think you saw him winking at you, or maybe you just imagined it. You roll your eyes as an attempt to save yourself from the embarrassment of being caught gawking at him like that.

You ignore the persistent warmth on your cheeks and try to remember the movements you saw earlier, as he explained to those guys. They seemed to get into position before they did anything else, so you try to imitate the movements you remember as best as you can.

You bring your left arm across your chest as your right arm punches the punch bag in front of you with ease. Jungkook's face is fully concentrated, he hums as he nods a couple of times, his gaze lost as he ponders on the movements he just saw.

“Okay, first of all- your left arm.” Jungkook moves, putting himself between you and the punch bag.

"Get back in position again, the one before you throw the punch"

You promptly do what he asked, repeating the previous movements once again. You stop when your arms are folded like before and you're ready to throw the punch. Jungkook's hands move as he says "Relax your shoulders." and then they gently rest on you.

This time his touch is not a simple featherlike brush, you feel the weight of his hands resting delicately on your skin and you stiffen at the contact. He said you should relax, but his hands on you caused the opposite reaction.

Ray and his hands come to your mind, the feeling of him holding you against the glass door is fogging your thoughts again, even though Jungkook's touch is soft and gentle on you.

You wince a little, taking a step back instinctively. Jungkook immediately withdraws his hands, sensing your discomfort.

"S-sorry, I was trying to correct your posture, I didn't mean to-"

“No- it's fine" you interrupt him, suppressing the negative emotions that started to poison your guts.

You really want to focus and learn and until now, you had no idea your ex's behavior has affected you up to this point.

Jungkook watches you dubiously, you can't decipher the expression adorning his beautiful face right now, he seems worried, thoughtful, maybe he's wondering what kind of an idiot would want to learn how to throw punches and then reacts like this at the slightest physical contact.

The idea of having to give up because of this sensation, pisses you off. You gulp the lump on your throat while you close your eyes briefly, then you resume the position, being careful to relax your shoulders this time.

"Better?" you ask in a calm voice. Jungkook nods with a faint smile on his face. Even if he probably noticed there's something wrong, you're glad he's not asking questions.

"What else wasn't right?"

Jungkook notices your determination to continue and returns to your side again, opting for a demonstrative explanation this time.

He moves his body naturally and you observe him carefully. His movements are so precise and satisfying to watch and the desire to learn, to achieve more or less this naturalness, gives you the right push to continue. Most of all, now that you know that Ray left this horrible sensation on your skin, you're determined to get rid of it.

Jungkook explains the importance of taking a correct position, to be able to hurt and not get hurt. A faint smile returns to your face at his way of explaining this kind of thing with passion and care.

You imitate his movements by moving your left foot forward, your left arm at your chest like before but slightly higher, until your glove touches the side of your chin. When you feel that you have planted your foot well on the ground, with a slight movement of your shoulders, you accompany your right fist towards the bag, also rotating your pelvis slightly.

And just like that, you land a perfect punch on the punch bag.

Jungkook cheers softly so as not to disturb the others but his satisfaction is evident. You smile to see him so taken for so little, but you have to admit that you feel pumped, and yes- it was only one perfectly landed punch.

“That's a great start!” he adds enthusiastically.

"So even small hands can throw some good punches huh!" You laugh softly and Jungkook joins you, genuinely amused.

"I'm sure those little punches will be able to do a lot of harm soon!" he declares "If you wanna join the gym, of course."

This is what you needed to hear, it gives you courage, you can't wait to feel totally comfortable with your abilities, you're ready to commit to this and Jungkook saw it, when you eagerly said "Of course I want!"

That -little episode- long forgotten when you two started to talk comfortably that evening. Jungkook took some time to explain how and when he gives his lessons and to show you around the gym as well as the female's locker room, making sure you knew you could use everything you wanted once you felt comfortable enough to train alone.

From that day, you started going to the gym almost regularly. To be honest, as time passed, you couldn't wait to get back on that tatami to train after work, it soon became a healthy habit.

And, on the other side, you could see Jungkook.

You like having him around, you and him started bantering all the time almost instantly. You got used to his presence and his ways of teasing pretty fast and he's been a breath of fresh air for you. You've been attracted to him since day one, you're not gonna lie, but he soon became some kind of a friend.

Yeah, that kind of friend you'd gladly rip their clothes off, but whatever.

The lethal mix of wide shoulders, buff body, lip ring, tatted arm and that sweet face of his when he smiles and scrunch up his cute nose…

Yup, you're kinda crushing on him and training with him almost everyday it's quite challenging.

You two share a nice friendship, but it's clear that something else is hidden underneath. The constant glances and flirty jokes at the gym are proof of that and from time to time you also catch him pretending not to be looking at your butt.

You are more at ease now and that's also thanks to him and his lessons.

Everything seems to be falling back to place, if not an even better one.

Ray has been silent since that night outside the shop. No messages, no calls, no unexpected visits, no nothing. The fear to meet him again is still persistent and sometimes the horrible things he did to you still haunt your mind, but you're now able to manage to get rid of it in no time. You're more confident, you sleep better and you're learning a bunch of new stuff that keeps your mind busy.

You feel like you're able to breathe again, like you got your life back in your hands.

Hani walked with you to the gym a few more times after the first time, but you soon started to book an uber to go and get back. It wasn't difficult to get into a rhythm: you book it through your phone a little earlier, so you don't have to wait outside and that's it, like this you're able to close the shop and get into the car immediately and when you have to go back home, you take a shower at the gym, say your goodbyes and head outside, where your uber is already waiting for you. Simple and effective.

Just to be extra sure, you leave your lessons a little earlier, like at 9pm instead of 10pm. Better safe than sorry.

Jungkook never asked the reason why you always leave early, not explicitly at least. Sometimes he's teased you by asking if you quit training early to fight crime with your cute hands, a recurring joke you always involuntarily smile at. Tae had warned you after all, Jungkook jokes a lot and in all this time spent at the gym, training with him, you had the opportunity to see for yourself.

There's something though that seems to creep behind his eyes every now and then and you can't quite put your finger on what. Sometimes he seems extremely thoughtful or even sad, even a few moments after he just cracked a joke.

You never had the courage to ask, just like he never asked why you reacted like that the first time he touched you. You don't want to ask him what's bothering him and apparently he doesn't want to ask you either. Jungkook began to invade your thoughts just like that, with ease, and this hidden mystery behind his beautiful brown eyes keeps drawing you to him more and more.

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abitohoney · 7 months

Text

Hustle - CH1: Proposition

AO3 link

CH1 || CH2 || CH3 || CH4 || CH5

Sevika x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, NSFW

Tags: Sevika/Reader, Ran & Reader, Established Relationship, assassin reader, Fluff, Smut, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, horny idiots in love, Dom/sub, Dom Sevika, sub Reader, Humor, Banter, Choking, Spanking, Teasing, Light Sadism, Begging, Strap-Ons, Lesbian Sex, Aftercare, Gambling, Smoking, lack of understanding card games, totally winging this shit, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Rough Sex, Hair-pulling, reader is not the most graceful creature, but Sevika adores reader all the more for it, Jealousy, Marking, Orgasm Delay, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Hurt/Comfort, a Yordle OC that we will likely never see again but I had entirely too much fun writing, 69 (Sex Position)

Word Count: 7.9k

Summary: Looking to make your nights with Sevika a bit more… exciting, you suggest making use of your shared talent for playing cards. Together, the two of you take the Undercity, and even Topside, by storm. And what’s more exciting than the thrill of winning, or watching your opponents whine and gripe in defeat, or earning far more coin than the two of you could possibly spend? The release of pent-up sexual desire that seems to come with each and every win, that’s what.

AN: This is already in process over on AO3.

Sevika sat at the small table in your shared room, removing the last screw that held the protective plate over her metal shoulder. A thick cigar- one of the fancy ones you’d gifted her a while back- hung from the corner of her mouth. She was apparently too focused on her arm to realize it had gone out some time ago.

You, however, noticed when you approached her, two drinks in hand and clad in only your underwear and one of her old shirts. After placing one glass near her, and the other at the opposite end by your chair, you grabbed her lighter from the table.

“Light?” you offered, opening the lighter with a swift flick of your wrist.

Sevika glanced down her nose at her barely smoldering cigar before bringing the end into the dancing flame. After taking one long drag, her gray eyes met yours. Tendrils of smoke seeped from the corners of her mouth when her lips curled into a crooked grin.

That smirk of hers was the closest thing you’d get to a thank you, but it was good enough for you. You gave her your own lopsided grin in return before bending down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

Moving to the chair opposite her, you took a seat and started working on sharpening your pile of daggers strewn about the table.

That had become somewhat of a weekly ritual for the two of you. An unspoken one, where once a week the two of you would sit at your small, quaint table littered with parts, tools, and cleaning supplies for Sevika’s arm, as well as sharpening tools and cleaning cloths for your daggers. You’d both have a good drink. She’d have one of her usual cigarillos, or occasionally, like tonight, she’d treat herself to a fancy imported cigar. A sign that she’d had a particularly bad day.

“Rough day?” you asked and carefully wiped one of your daggers clean before setting it aside to grab the next.

“Yeah,” she replied gruffly, focus returned to her arm while she loosened something at the elbow.

Your gaze fell to her bicep from where it peeked out from beneath her leather sleeve, watching almost in a trance as it flexed with her movements.

Good god, she’s so fucking buff.

“Jinx?” you asked, knowing that more often than not the blue-haired girl was the cause of Sevika’s bad days. The bane of her existence really. You’d met the girl a few times over your years under Silco’s employ, and although she was quite the little spitfire, unpredictable even, she seemed like a genuinely sweet kid. Everyone in the Undercity had their demons, so why Jinx’s seemed to bother Sevika so much more, you weren’t exactly sure, but you weren’t about to ask. Best not to poke the bear.

“Yeah.”

Realizing she was clearly not interested in divulging any details, you returned to your daggers in silence, occasionally sipping your drink or stealing a glance at Sevika working on her arm.

Once every dagger was finely sharpened and shined, you turned your full attention to Sevika. Her arm at some point had ended up in far more pieces on the table than usual. Must have been a deep clean day, or something got really fucked up. A quick glance at Sevika’s face confirmed the latter.

Her dark brows sat in a deep v-shaped line and her lips pulled into a tight frown. She was clearly not happy. Even less so than usual.

Dragging your chair over to her side, you ignored the sharp look she gave you at the obnoxious sound of it scraping along the floor, echoing through the otherwise quiet room. “What’s wrong?” you asked and leaned closer to look over all the parts.

“Something jammed,” she grumbled and removed her cigar to throw back the last of her drink.

Picking up her metal hand, which although disconnected from her wrist, was still entirely assembled, you turned it over several times to inspect the construction. Even after all the time you’ve been close to Sevika, you still found yourself fascinated with all the intricacies of her mechanical arm. So many moving parts, powered primarily by something that was also used as a drug. Intricate joints that functioned much like the real thing, but better. More precision, more strength, more flexibility. But the moment something malfunctioned, like now, it became almost useless. So of course you understood her frustration. Not only being left without a usable arm, but also being left with the hassle of trying to fix the damn thing.

As you took what would be the index finger between your own fingers and moved the joints, you could feel more resistance than usual. Turning it so the palm faced up, you stretched and bent the joints opposite their intended direction. There was definitely a build-up of… something. Gunk of some kind. No wonder shit was jammed. Probably full of dried blood, or human flesh. Who knows how many necks she broke or guts she impaled since her arm got a good cleaning.

“What are you smiling about?”

Not even realizing you were smiling, your eyes shot up to Sevika’s scowling face in confusion. “What? Oh. Just thinking about how many idiots you must have slaughtered since you last gave this a proper cleaning. There’s all sorts of shit stuck in the joints. Of course you’re having issues.”

“Well maybe if you did your job and took them out with your little knives, I wouldn’t have to use my hand so much,” she sneered, mouth twitching at the corner. She was clearly proud of her snarky comeback.

Ass.

Smile still in place, but now directed at Sevika, you shot back your own snarky retort, “Well maybe if you didn’t fucking announce our presence with your big ass feet stomping around, I could have used my daggers.”

Oh, that got her truly smirking. A challenge. A verbal challenge. Something the two of you have always taken part in, but ever since becoming an... item, it had become downright exhilarating. You both enjoyed the challenge the other provided. Equal wit, snark, and speed. Not to mention it almost always ended with the two of you engaging in other fun activities.

“I don’t need that hand to choke you.”

“I don’t need to ask if you’re bluffing. All talk.” You smiled at her confidently. At least at first.

Sevika’s chair scraped across the floor when she stood suddenly. Your eyes widened and you jumped in your chair, not really expecting her to do anything. Not when her arm was half disassembled, tubes and wires dangling loose and exposed. You quickly schooled your expression, back to that cocky smile to match hers. She wouldn’t really follow through. Tilting your head back, you stared up at her towering form as she stood close enough for her feet to disappear beneath your chair.

“I don’t need to tell you how very wrong you are,” she sneered, her smile curling into a wicked grin. Without breaking her eye contact with you, she removed her cigar from between her teeth and set it in the ashtray you’d made her months ago. Her prized possession. And when she bent down, you could feel your smile start to falter, confidence waning. “I’ll show you,” she said so quietly you almost missed it.

Fuck. She is going to-

And then her hand was on your throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to have you feeling the strain in your airway. But when the air in your lungs escaped through your parted lips, it was not in the form of a complaint, a cry, or a whine. No, it was a deep, quiet moan. Her name.

“Sevika…”

It’s yet another unspoken… dynamic the two of you had developed from the very beginning of your relationship. Despite you offering her a good verbal fight, and sometimes even physical, it always ended with you submitting to her. Completely willing. Because it would always benefit you both. She gets that ego of hers stroked real nice. A good power trip. You swear it almost makes her high. And you get that euphoric feeling of losing control to someone you trust deeply. Someone you know can give you what you want. What you need. She doesn’t even need to ask. She knows. She’ll only ask to make you say it. To watch you squirm while you try to find the words- your voice- to beg her to give you all your filthy desires.

“What do you want?” she husked, and you could smell the intoxicating mix of cigar spices and high-end whiskey on her breath when she leaned in closer.

“You,” you breathed, your desperate eyes pleading with her wild ones. Your hands- one still holding her metal hand, the other resting on your thigh- clenched, fighting urges. But not because you wanted to remove her hand, or fight back. You wanted to put your hands on her. Touch her. Pull her closer. But you knew you couldn't. Not yet.

“What do you want from me,” she sneered, thick fingers squeezing just a little tighter around your neck.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, but when you saw her arch a brow, you knew what else she wanted to hear. “Please, Sevika.”

Her smirk softened, and as she brought her face even closer, your eyes fluttered shut. The moment those full lips of hers pressed against your own, you felt yourself melting into your chair. The way she kissed you, so teasingly soft while she squeezed your throat in her hand- a hand that could easily snap your neck- left your head spinning. She was powerful enough to destroy you without using so much as even half of that power, yet she always gave you pleasure instead.

Moaning against her lips, you finally dropped her metal hand in favor of placing both your hands on the exposed skin at her hips and waist. She allowed it, but not without the cost of her teasing you. Lips parted, you tried to invite her tongue in, but she chose to run that delightful muscle of hers across your upper lip instead. And when you tried to lean in and take it yourself, her fingers wrapped blissfully tighter around you, leaving you seeing stars.

Without realizing it, your nails dug into the skin just above Sevika’s hips, causing her to break away and hiss at you. Gazing up at her through half-lidded eyes, you whispered a soft, “Sorry,” and relaxed your fingers, soothingly running your fingertips over the little crescent moon marks you’d left behind.

“I need to finish fixing my arm before I fuck you,” she husked, slowly loosening her grip on your throat. “Think you can be patient for me?”

No.

You nodded, whimpering when she released you and went back to her seat. Slowly turning back to the table, you picked her metal hand back up, but your mind was too clouded by lust to really focus. Glancing at Sevika from the corner of your eyes, you spotted her smirking at you. Apparently amused by how she got you so fucking riled up only to leave you sitting there stewing in your own… juices.

So fucking mean, but so fucking hot.

It was a deadly combo that kept you on your toes, and kept you coming back for more. Because in the end, with patience, you always got what you wanted. What you both wanted.

Once your head was mostly clear, you grabbed one of your smaller, sharper daggers and started prying out some of the crap stuck in the joints of her prosthetic hand. Disgusting to most, it was- in all honesty- a very satisfying process for you. The little bits of dried bloody flesh and even bone left you itching to get back to your job. Being Silco’s number one assassin had been rewarding beyond anything else you could have done to get by in the Undercity. You’d always had a knack for stealth, speed, and agility. Not to mention a fascination with knives and daggers, or ‘ pointy objects’ as Sevika so lovingly called them. But that feeling of euphoria you got the first time you slid a blade along someone’s skin, watching the blood trickle then pour from the wound. It was your calling. A sick thing to take pleasure in perhaps, but with the rest of Silco’s crew, you fit right in. Sevika included. You’d seen her get that same wild gleam in her eye. That same wicked smile while she strangled her foe or beat the everliving snot out of them.

Peering over at Sevika, you found her scowl was back in place. Seemed that little intermission was not enough for her either.

“Hey, I was thinking,” you started as you continued to meticulously clean one of the metal fingers, “What if you and I teamed up at cards and wiped this whole damned city clean? I mean, you and I are two of the best, if not the best, players down here. If we teamed up, we’d be unstoppable.”

When Sevika didn’t offer a reply, you turned your attention to her. Cigar back between her teeth, she simply raised a single brow, and you weren’t sure if that was in intrigue or disbelief. “What? It could be fun. Get ourselves some good coin while we’re at it.”

Removing her cigar. She tapped it against the ashtray. With an amused grin, she finally replied, smoke billowing from her mouth while she spoke, “Alright, princess, I’ll admit that sounds like a good idea.”

“A great idea,” you corrected her. “If we set up a tournament, we could end up with enough coin to buy some nice things.”

“Like what?” she scoffed, “More pointy objects?”

You narrowed your eyes at her little jab, gaze dropping to her cigar as you retorted, “Or more fancy cancer sticks.” Before she could throw another retort your way, you added, “But I was thinking more like an improved chem tech arm, so you don’t have to fuck around with maintenance so much. Or you could just pay someone else to do it.” Reaching across the table, you grabbed a cloth and a bottle of solvent. Pouring a generous amount into the cloth, you started wiping down one of the metal digits. “Just think about it?”

“How soon?”

Your gaze shot back up to Sevika. “Really?”

She said nothing, just kept her gaze on you and waited for your answer.

You made no effort to hide the wide smile that put on your face. And though she shook her head in mock disgust, you saw how her own lips pulled up at one corner. “I bet with Ran’s help I could get a tournament set up by this weekend. So you’re game?”

“As long as Ran is involved to make sure you don’t screw it up.”

You ignored her attempt to bait you into another battle of wits, too thrilled that she’d agreed to your idea. Instead, you returned to your task in silence, save for the excited tapping of your foot. That weekend couldn’t come soon enough.

Too caught up in your meticulous cleaning of Sevika’s metal hand, not to mention thinking about how the two of you were going to clean up a bunch of unsuspecting idiots, you hadn’t realized Sevika had finished her own work some time ago. After giving the hand one final wipe down with a clean cloth, you turned to find her leaning back in her chair just watching you while she smoked. “What?” you asked, cheeks flushing under her heated gaze.

Setting the remainder of her cigar in the ashtray, she patted her thigh. “Help me put it back on.”

Suspicious of her intentions with how… oddly she was looking at you, you hesitantly stood from your chair to take a seat across her lap. As you reached across the table to grab the hand, you felt her wrap her human arm around your waist, resting her hand on your thigh. And if that hadn’t been distracting enough while you tried to hook up the tubes and wires of her prosthetic, the feeling of her intense gaze on you sure as hell was.

With everything reconnected, you gave the wrist one final twist to lock the hand back in place. Carefully, you turned it over in your hand, ensuring everything was moving properly. Bending each finger, you could tell the cleaning had definitely made a difference. Satisfied with your work, you lined her hand up with yours, marveling at the contrasting size and material. Bringing it to your face, you placed a kiss on the top of one of the plates that covered the back of it. Releasing her hand, you glanced up at Sevika to find her still staring at you with that odd expression. It was as if she was in disbelief. You searched her eyes for a sign of what she was thinking. And god damn you swore those gray eyes of hers were somehow a softer shade.

“Sevika? Is something wrong?” you asked quietly.

Her gaze fell to her metal hand as she lifted it. She moved each joint, one at a time while she spoke softly, her voice so raspy you swore there was something she was trying to hold back. “I’ve told you this before, but I’ll say it again. You’re too good to me.”

Oh Fuck. That’s so sweet.

She had, in fact, said that before. And your heart both swelled and broke all the same last time. “Sevika,” you whispered breathlessly. You weren’t even sure how to respond to that. Tell her she’s an idiot for thinking she doesn’t deserve your affection and care even after all this time? Tell her everyone deserves someone to treat them right? But you knew neither would help someone like her see the truth. So instead of telling her with words, you decided to show her using her own language. Action. Sliding a hand along her scarred cheek, you pressed your fingers against the back of her neck and slowly guided her lips to yours.

She hesitantly returned the kiss, but it was nothing like her usual more fervent and dominating ones. The kiss was much sweeter, softer, and surprisingly tender.

Her arm around your waist pulled you closer while her metal hand gently grasped your thigh. That delightfully soft nose of hers glided along the side of your own and over your cheek when she cocked her head and pulled you even closer, pressing her lips further into yours.

Though the kiss was far less wild than usual, it still left you equally, if not more, breathless when she pulled away. Resting your forehead against hers, you gazed into beautiful pools of gray. Slowly, that lopsided grin of hers started to reappear.

“Should we head to bed?” you asked softly.

She gave your thigh a gentle squeeze before releasing her hold on you.

The moment you stood up, you no more than turned to head for the bed when you felt a sharp slap to your bottom.

“Hey!” you yelped, spinning on your heel to scowl down- or rather up- at Sevika as she stood from her seat.

“Don’t get too used to that soft shit,” she sneered and stepped closer, toe-to-toe with you.

A challenge?

“Of course,” you replied with a dramatic roll of your eyes. “Can’t ruin that tough image of yours.”

And then she was in your space, chest pressing into yours and causing you to take a step away to keep from toppling backward. You furrowed your brows while you peered up at her.

What’s she playing at?

She took another step into your space, a smug smile painting her face.

You took another step away, the backs of your knees connecting with the edge of the bed.

“Now that I’ve got my hand back…” Sevika drawled and lifted her metal hand to inspect it as the gears near her wrist spun and whirred.

You should have taken that as your warning sign, but you were too focused on trying to figure out what she had planned to do with you. A shrill yelp pulled from your throat when the sharp blade sprung from her arm, slicing through the air dangerously close to the side of your face. With nowhere else to go, you fell onto your rear on the edge of the mattress.

Her dark chuckle made your brows draw together.

“Damnit Sevika stop startling me with that fucking thing!” you snarled and shot her a nasty glare.

“Thought you liked pointy objects,” she jeered, her blade retracting back into her arm with a resounding swish.

“ My pointy objects.”

“Hmm. They are pretty nice,” she teased, eyes blatantly honed in on your tits.

Despite your best effort to refrain, you couldn’t help but grin at that lovely combination of joke and compliment.

Sevika stepped forward again, her knees urging you to spread your legs and allow her between them.

Then she slowly leaned over you, forcing you to scoot back on the bed.

“Sevika…” you sighed, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I told you, I’ve got my hand back now…” she sneered, hands planted against the mattress on either side of your hips.

“Now what?” you asked.

Moving farther away, you fell back onto your forearms as she crawled onto the bed and up your body, her strong arms on either side of your chest. Then you recalled what she’d said to you earlier when things were starting to heat up.

‘I need to finish fixing my arm before I fuck you.’

Oh.

Her hands moved to either side of your shoulders and you let your back fall completely against the bed. You beamed up at her while she smiled down at you wolfishly.

Her eyes dropped to your mouth. "That fucking dopey smile."

"You know you always say that, but then you're just smiling at me. Clearly you love it," you pointed out.

Sevika scoffed, but that smirk remained on her face. "It's ridiculous."

"And cute," you added.

"Ridiculous."

"Ridiculously cute. And it's only for you," you said sweetly.

"Damn right."

You raised a brow. "A bit possessive aren't we?"

"Just know what's mine." Her lips curled higher.

Fucking cocky.

But two can play that game.

"Same," you replied with a crooked grin before grabbing Sevika by her leather vest and pulling her down for a kiss.

She willingly kissed you back, but not without the cost of taking your bottom lip between her teeth and tugging- hard. She chuckled at your whine of protest, lips curling against yours before she kissed away the stinging sensation.

Your game wasn’t over yet though.

Sevika pulled back from the kiss, brows furrowed as she peered down at your smiling face. “What's so funny?"

"This," You replied just before flipping her onto her back. You swiftly moved to straddle her waist and pin her wrists above her head.

She simply smirked up at you with a raised brow.

You both knew she could break free with very little effort, but you both tested each other. You tested how far she'd let your hand go as it traveled down her neck toward her chest. She tested just how brave you'd actually be.

The moment your hand rested over a breast she gave you a threatening look.

"Don't you do it," she growled.

"Don't do what?" You asked with feigned innocence.

"You know what."

"Oh, you mean this?" You gave her breast a hard squeeze, twisting her nipple through the thick fabric of her top. That got you the desired effect, or rather effects. The immediate; a groan and strained face of pleasure, and the delayed; you were not only thrown off her, but also lying face down with your ass held up high by her thigh wedged between both of yours. Before you could even think to react, your wrists were scooped up by her metal hand and held together behind your back.

"You're gonna pay for that princess," she sneered.

You opened your mouth to retort, only for a startled yelp to escape when her flesh hand contacted your asscheek with a loud SMACK!

"Learn your lesson?" she asked, rubbing her hand soothingly over your tingling skin.

“No.”

SMACK!

Another sharp cry ripped from your throat.

"How about now?" she sneered, hand running delightful circles over your other abused asscheek.

"I think- I think you're gonna have to drill it into me,” you managed to get out between soft moans.

Janna, you’re so fucking clever.

"Hate to admit it princess, but I think you're right," she husked and continued to rub your bottom, her thumb inching closer to the inside of your thigh and ghosting over your slit through your panties. "Looks like you're nice and ready for it too."

Your cheeks burned. You knew you were already dripping from what little attention she’d already given you. She always had that effect on you.

She gave your ass one more pat before crawling off the bed and leaving you disappointed at the loss of contact. "Now, how big?" She asked as she strode to the dresser where she kept all the harnesses and attachments.

You rolled onto your side to watch her, resting your head on your hand, elbow propped on the mattress.

"So I was thinking," you started while she rummaged through the drawer, "we should come up with signals to communicate with each other during the tournament."

You tilted your head as you continued to speak, trying to catch a glimpse of which toy Sevika had selected while she slipped on the harness.

"I could come up with a series of subtle hand gestures, ways we hold our cards or drinks, or how we blow the smoke from our cigarillos. You know, something that looks unsuspecting."

"Gonna play dirty, huh?" Sevika sneered as she lubed up the faux cock.

With her back to you, you still couldn't quite make out which one she'd put on. Your curiosity- the anticipation- had your body temperature rising by the second, but you still tried to keep your cool. "Damn right. Those fools won't know what hit 'em. You and I are gonna empty the pockets of every poor sucker down here."

Sevika turned to face you, revealing a strap you hadn’t seen before. Not particularly girthy, but long, bright purple, and with a notable curve.

Oh boy. What the hell is that for?

As she stalked toward the bed, you met her gaze– her very lust-filled gaze. “Why- Why are you looking at me like that?” you stammered and moved to lean back on your forearms, eyes nervously following Sevika as she stalked toward you.

She crawled onto the bed, metal hand slowly dragging up the side of one of your legs. “Cause I want to fuck you. Now shut your mouth or I'll give you something to keep it busy."

"You say that like it's supposed to be a threat. Maybe I want you to keep my mouth busy. Ever think about that?" you retorted with a crooked grin, though it came out much less snarky and confident than you’d intended, your anxiousness getting the better of you.

Her hand froze at your thigh. A single brow arched. Then she sat up on her knees and started to undo her harness.

"Wait!"

She paused, smirking. "Thought this was what you wanted."

"Fuck me first.”

…

“Please," you quickly added.

She said nothing, but bent back down to resume dragging her metal hand up along your leg until she reached your panties. She slipped a sharp claw beneath the waistband, then locked eyes with you and gave you the most evil-looking toothy grin.

“Don’t you do it,” you threatened, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t do what?” she mocked.

“I just bought thOSE!” your words turned into a sharp yelp the moment Sevika ripped your underwear clear off your body. “Fucking hell Sevika! You can’t just keep ripping all my clothes!”

“I’ll buy you more.”

Though she spoke those words with a stoic tone, you could see her mirth plain as day with the damn smirk she wore.

“You’ll just buy something impractical,” you pouted.

“And I’ll rip those off too,” she sneered, backing down the bed to stand on the floor between your dangling legs.

You raised your brows, confused as to why she left the bed. Was she going to fuck you or not?

She leaned over, flesh and metal fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to grasp your hips. Then, without warning, she yanked your body down across the mattress, pulling your ass to the edge of the bed, your shirt up and over your chest when it caught on the sheets, and yet another startled yelp from your throat.

Your mouth hung open to fire another chastising remark, only for it to die in your throat when her hands started slowly gliding up your stomach towards your now fully exposed chest.

“Got something to say, princess?” she husked as she cupped each breast.

You knew she was goading you. Trying to get you to speak so she could provide enough stimulation to make you fumble your words again. So instead you said nothing, just watched her with narrowed eyes. But not even that look stood a chance the moment she started to squeeze and knead your supple flesh.

“Hm. Didn’t think so,” she taunted.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to stifle the moan that you felt building up. Once she added your nipples to her play, you had officially lost the game.

Your eyes fluttered shut, lips parting and releasing a soft moan when she rolled metal and flesh fingers across your hardened peaks.

“So easy to shut you up,” she continued to tease. She leaned over your chest, ghosting her lips along the swell of a breast.

The urge to bite back was completely overrun by the natural desire to just submit to her. To just let her take care of you. Like she always did.

“Just a simple touch,” she continued, accenting her words with a drag of those luscious lips right over a nipple.

You keened, arching towards her mouth, silently begging her to wrap her lips around your flesh. But she wouldn’t do that. Not yet. She had to tease you more. Break you down. Leave you begging.

“S-Sevika,” you whined when she merely slid her mouth to the other breast– not nearly enough stimulation. And good god you craved her. You could already feel the ache building in your lower half– a tight heat that radiated from your core straight down through your legs.

“Yea, baby?” she murmured against the swell of your breast. She introduced her tongue into the mix, dragging just the tip around your areola while her hands continued to explore.

“More, please,” you pleaded. You carded your hands through her hair, but you didn’t dare pull her head closer, despite the burning desire to do so.

“More what?” Her tongue left a long, wet trail from the bottom side of one breast clear across the other.

“Your mouth,” you sighed.

“Hmm,” she hummed against the side of your breast, the vibrations only adding to the torment of her light touches. “What do you want me to do with it?” she asked before flicking her tongue across a nipple.

Your fingers and toes curled and you sucked in a sharp breath. “Suck,” you whispered as you released that breath.

Another reverberating hum. “Like this?”

Those delightfully soft, warm, wet lips wrapped around a nipple and sucked, tongue teasing over the tip.

“Fuck, yes,” you groaned. Your back arched again, pressing your chest closer to her mouth.

“Mmm. And what about this?” she purred. Without further warning she bit down on that sensitive nub, pulling a sharp cry from you only for it to dissolve into a soft moan as she soothed it with her tongue.

The sound of her low, throaty laugh only made your body ache for her more. Before you could beg for her to continue, her mouth started to move up your chest, sucking and biting every inch of skin along the way. Her metal hand soon joined the climb, gliding up the other side of your chest while her human hand descended down your stomach.

Her tongue dipped and trailed up along your collarbone while her metal hand crept up the column of your throat. With her flesh hand tightly gripping your waist, she pressed her metal thumb against your chin, forcing you to expose more of your neck.

Your mind was already reeling from all the sensations, but then you felt the cold, wet tip of her faux cock tease over your clit. Her teeth sank into the flesh of your neck, her nails into the soft fat at your waist. There was no hope for holding back your desperate mewls, her name spilling like honey from your lips.

“Sevika.”

You needed her. You needed her so bad.

“Sevika, fuck me. Please.”

The deep, sinister chuckle that you felt just as much as you heard contrasted against how she ran the side of her nose gently along your cheek and nose.

“So desperate for my cock, hm?” she taunted, lips brushing over yours as she spoke.

You swallowed hard, throat bobbing. Even with your eyes still closed, you could feel the heat of her eyes on you, the arrogant curl of her lips just barely pressed to yours.

“Yes,” you breathed and it took every ounce of willpower to remain still. To not pull her lips to yours and take the kiss you so desperately wanted. To not just thrust towards that teasing silicone toy and grind against it. Your fingers curled against her scalp, your toes against the sheets hanging off the edge of the bed.

Patience.

You needed to be patient. The reward she’d give you would be so very worth it.

She slid her thumb from your chin to the pulse point at your neck, teasing over it several times before finally pressing, ever-so-lightly.

Your lips parted in a breathless gasp, body thrumming in bliss. Your subsequent moan became muffled, drowned out by her mouth hungrily devouring yours. Her tongue delved in, swiping along yours as if fighting for dominance. But there was no battle. There was nothing you could do. You were too lost in that delirium she always brought on when she had her hands on your neck, carefully- precisely- applying pressure.

You were too far gone to even realize the hand at your waist had left to move the tip of the strap between your wet folds, lining it up at your entrance.

And then came the abrupt, glorious stretch of your walls as she buried the faux cock clear to the hilt with one powerful thrust. Your cry of pleasure was muffled by her mouth over yours. You sank your nails into her scalp, earning a threatening growl from her that barely registered through the cloud of pleasure overtaking your mind.

She stood upright, your hands sliding off her head and collapsing against the bed at your sides. You gazed up at her through half-lidded eyes, slowly starting to come back to your senses with your airway fully open again.

God you wanted her hand back there.

“Sevika,” you whined, but you were too ashamed to admit what you wanted. She knew anyway, and yet she’d still make you say it.

“Yeah baby?” she teased. She slipped her hands beneath your thighs, lifting them until your heels rested on the edge of the bed, opening you nice and wide for her. Both her hands firmly grasped your waist and she slowly slid back out, her eyes glued between your legs and reveling at the sight of the silicone toy sliding between your wet folds.

You lost the ability to articulate your request as you watched her move her human hand over your lower stomach and press– hard. Her dark lips curled into a crooked smile, eyes glinting in sick satisfaction while she slowly pushed the strap back inside.

“Fuck, baby,” she breathed.

There was no telling if that was truly for your ears. She looked utterly lost in watching- feeling- her sink deeper inside you.

Your fingers curled against the sheets, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as the added pressure of that wicked curve and press of her hand left an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure.

She pulled back out again, grabbing one of your wrists and placing your hand flat against your stomach. With her hand encasing yours she pressed down hard, her gaze still locked between your spread legs. Then, torturously slow, she pushed back inside once again.

“You feel that?” she husked. “My cock dragging along your insides? That’s good, isn’t it?”

You could, in fact, feel the tip of the faux cock dragging beneath your hand. That, however, was not what had you reeling with pleasure and arousal. No, it was her expression. She looked utterly enraptured by it. It made your body tremble, visibly shudder against the sheets.

“It’s…” You trailed off, groaning when she bottomed out, her thighs pressing against the backs of yours. “Sevika,” you mewled. Even when you whimpered her name, she couldn’t break away from that state. Instead, she let your hand slip free to grip the sheets again and placed her hand back on your stomach.

She set a slow rhythm, much unlike her typical rough and unhinged pace, more focused on enjoying the show of it than pleasing you, at least until she heard your soft plea.

“Sevika, please,” you forced out between clenched teeth. The pressure against your insides was damn near excruciating. It felt as if you were teetering on the edge of bliss. You needed just a little more.

Sevika’s heavy-lidded gaze drifted up to your face. Though her smirk remained, her gray eyes softened at the sight of your distress. “What do you need, baby?”

“I- I need-” you struggled to speak, distracted by another gradual roll of her hips.

“Hm?”

You felt her press her thumb against the tip of the strap through your stomach and had you been in your right mind you would have vocally accused her of attempting to impede your ability to speak.

“Fuck,” you cursed, closing your eyes shut tight. Her sinister chuckle echoed in your head. She had definitely been fucking with you.

Deep breath in.

“I need more,” you huffed with the release of that breath.

“More what?”

Fucking sadistic cunt.

She knew how much you hated saying the specifics out loud. How fucking hard it was when she was working you up. But she also knew you loved it.

You loved everything about the damn woman smirking down at you while she waited for your answer.

“Fuck me faster,” you groaned, another drag along that sweet spot leaving you seeing stars.

“Forget your manners, princess?”

You peered up at her through narrowed eyes. Whatever malice you had behind that look was lost in how your face contorted in pleasure.

“ Please fuck me faster.”

With a satisfied chuckle, she quickened her pace.

While her hand remained pressed against your stomach, her thumb slid down to tease across your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your throat.

Despite your effort to bite back the sounds your body so desperately wanted to release, you quickly lost that battle, succumbing to the pleasure that radiated through your body with each heavenly swipe of her thumb, each divine drag of her cock.

She must have sensed your approaching climax, her pace suddenly increasing and her metal claws sinking deeper into your hip.

The sound of the headboard smacking violently against the wall was lost to your mewls and moans- her grunts and heavy breaths.

And then- time slowed, your body stilling when all that build-up finally exploded in mind-numbing pleasure. You sobbed her name, barely getting out the last sweet syllable before all your breath left your body in a shuddering gasp.

“That’s it, pretty baby, let it all out.”

Your lover’s voice was merely a low hum in your head, the last waves of your orgasm still wreaking blissful havoc on your body.

Then, just as quick as it came, it was gone, leaving you in a daze. Sevika must have come to a stop at some point, you realized when you peeled your eyes open to gaze up at her.

She wore that damn lopsided grin- the cocky one she always has after she fucks you senseless. And senseless you were, brain damn well useless, empty of any and all thoughts other than how fucking wonderful Sevika was. That, and how badly you wanted to touch her. The only point of contact you had with her was the tops of her thighs pressed against the back of yours, and her hands resting against your hip and stomach. You needed to hold her. To be held by her.

“Sev- please,” you panted softly, hand weakly reaching out for her.

Still smirking, she bent over your limp body, her flesh arm slipping beneath your back to scoop you up and hold you against her. As she carried you further up the bed toward the headboard, the faux cock shifted inside you, pulling whines from you that elicited a chuckle you could feel from where her chest pressed to yours.

She dropped you rather unceremoniously against the pillows, smiling like the sexy fucking sadist she is at how the protest you had ready to fire turned into a sharp gasp when she pulled the strap out without warning.

“You’ve got to warn me when you do that!” you chastised, eyes narrowed on her.

She simply chuckled, slipped out of her harness, and tossed it aside. “I don’t have to do anything, princess,” she sneered.

Before you could fire back, she was over you, mouth pressed to yours in a deep kiss that took your breath and left your head spinning. You pulled your legs up, spreading them to give her room to kneel between them. She rested her metal arm beside your head, the soft whirring of its fan a distant echo in your fuzzy consciousness. Her other hand slid up along one of your thighs, fingertips sinking possessively into the supple flesh.

You tangled your fingers in her soft hair. You felt her knee press against your exposed core and your lips parted to moan softly, allowing her to slip her tongue inside and run along yours.

When she finally released your lips from hers, there was little time to recover as her mouth moved down your jaw and neck, biting and sucking marks into every inch of skin along her path. Lips barely grazing your ear, she whispered, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Had she not already washed away your irritation with her earlier harsh treatment, it certainly would have faded in that instant. Your heart swelled, damn near bursting from your chest.

Your dynamic mostly consisted of witty banter, quips, and jabs. They were typically fairly well-matched, but she had a tendency to win by cheating. She knew what buttons to push, or rather touch, to have you forget any and all coherent thoughts. You both thoroughly enjoy it, and you both knew it was just your odd way of showing your interest in one another, that you both were actually head over heels for the other. However, in rare moments like this, Sevika would say out loud what she was actually thinking. And it left you absolutely floored every single time.

“You know-” you started quietly, pausing to clear your throat, afraid she’d detect that you were getting a bit choked up, “-I could say the same to you.”

She hummed against your neck while pressing more kisses there.

You two really were a gorgeous couple, you thought.

"Imagine what our children would look like."

The moment those words left your mouth you knew it was a fatal mistake, but there was no taking it back. Your heart sank to your stomach and Sevika’s lips paused against your skin.

Oh fuck!

She slowly lifted her head, a single brow raised as she peered down at you.

Oh dear god, say something to fix this!

“I- I mean not that I would have kids with you.” you spat out.

Sevika’s brow raised higher.

“I mean not that I wouldn’t want to- with you. I-”

Oh god, just shut up. You’re just digging a deeper grave.

“Not that I want to either. I- I mean honestly I haven't really thought about it. With you. Or anyone. I mean we couldn't technically...” Your cheeks burned hotter than the fucking sun the more you fumbled your words.

The corner of Sevika’s mouth twitched.

Sensing some sort of snark that would leave you wanting to just bury your head somewhere and never let her see your face again, you tried to further explain. “I just thought, like if we did, not that we would, or wouldn’t, that they’d be really cute and-”

Your nonsensical rambling was finally cut off by the soft press of Sevika’s lips to yours. She kept her mouth there, in a gentle kiss, her hand gently caressing your thigh, until you realized she wasn’t upset or planning to obliterate you with a mocking comment. Your heart rate finally settled and she pulled back from the kiss just far enough to look into your worried eyes.

You searched her face for any sign, any warning of what she might be thinking. All you found was the corner of her mouth curling upward.

Please let that be a good sign.

"IF we had children, they would be beautiful."

Oh gods, the way she looked at you as she said that– even with that damn smirk, those gray eyes sparkling while they watched you- spoke louder than anything. She was complimenting you. A shy smile spread across your face. You reached up to wrap your fingers around her bicep and whispered, “And strong.”

"And cunning."

"And cute." You emphasized the word with a peck to the tip of her nose.

"And great in bed," she added with a cocky smirk.

"Whoa, now that's just weird. We’re talking about our kids here. But are you saying I'm great in bed?!" you laughed.

"I'm saying I'm so damn good it would make up for your lacking." She grinned wider, revealing her tooth gap and making the snarky comment considerably less effective.

“Cute and annoying,” you replied with a barely contained smile as you pressed your hands against her shoulders and attempted to shove her off you.

She was too fast for you though. Not that it should have surprised you. With no effort whatsoever, she grabbed both your wrists into one hand and pinned them above your head. "Very annoying," she sneered.

To your surprise, rather than tease or mock you for your failure, she brought her lips to yours again.

You could feel the wide spread of her lips against yours, and couldn’t help but smile just as wide.

CH2>>

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader #fanfic #honey writes #ran #arcane ran

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lisalosingstreak · 3 months

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It Wasn’t Meant To Be Like This

Ch1 The Adventures Of Cedar Addams

“I’m afraid it’s not great news Mrs Addams, even with the simulated sperm we formulated from your wife’s DNA you will not be able to have a baby of your own.”

Enid dropped her head low and started to shake, a sure fire indication the worst kind of tears were about to make themselves known - tears of despair.

Wednesday pulled her wife closely and hugged her, the same type of desperate hug they had shared that first night in the woods, broken and blood stained with their classmates watching. This time it wasn’t a hug of relief, an embrace of a victory won and a heart given in service, this was lamenting a future they wanted but now could never have. Not even one of Grandmama Addams’ most elaborate potions could save this heartbreaking situation.

Wednesday couldn’t have kids after the stab wound from Crackstone they found had damaged her womb, and Enid, they subsequently learnt during the following conversation with the doctor, had a congenital disease which meant her reproductive system just didn’t work how it should do.

Wednesday didn’t think the tears would ever stop, and even joined in as they sat in their car outside after the consultation, repeating the embrace in a vain attempt to recover the bubbly positivity she once endured from Enid Sinclair, but now depended on with Enid Addams to keep her sane.

All was lost. All their hopes and dreams to have their own family, their own Wolfpack.

The drive home back to their mountain lodge - more of a sprawling luxury estate - was done in silence, with just a brief stop for Enid’s favourite Taco-Bell which failed to lift Enid’s mood, which in turn darkened Wednesday’s mind even further.

She just didn’t know what to do for Enid.

The drive back home along the five mile private gravel drive they had made thousands of times, so when the small creature leapt out of the rocky undergrowth into the path of their Range Rover Wednesday almost didn’t react in time.

Shuddering to a halt caused a huge cloud of dust to rise up, which took a few seconds to disperse.

“Did we hit it?” asked Enid shakily.

“I don’t think so querida - are you harmed?�� Wednesday asked, holding Enid’s elbow tentatively.

“No I’m ok, thank you dearest.” Enid replied, still staring out if the windscreen to try and see the creature again.

“There it is Enid - to the right.”

Enid’s eyes followed Wednesday's pointed finger to the side of the road where they could see the creature trying to hide behind a rock, but it’s oddly hairy back legs were easily visible.

As usual Enid was the first Addams to react, her concern evident in her haste to get out of the car and approach the animal. Wednesday watched as her wife picked the creature up and held it for a few seconds before turning around and bringing it to the drivers door as Wednesday wound the window down.

Wednesday was always more careful as she didn’t have Enid’s razor sharp claws or incredible strength when it came to wild animals. Her wolf was always her protector.

“Willa look! The Moon gods have blessed us today!!”

Wednesday could see clearly what Enid was holding - a small, shaking, scared, half shifted female werewolf, who could not have been more than five or six years old

“But Enid, how has she shifted - sorry half shifted - it’s daylight?”

Enid beamed a large smile as she stroked the wolf’s head to keep it calm, which she seemed to do almost instantly. Enid had that effect on all forms of life - human, animal or anywhere in between.

“She is a daywolf, a very rare form of werewolf who can change at any time, but are generally very poorly treated and often cast out into the wild when young as most werewolf families can’t handle their unpredictable behaviour.”

“Oh no Enid - does that mean……”

“Yes,” Enid interrupted, “she’s a lone wolf, just like little old me.”

Fresh tears rolled down Enid’s cheeks, and the little daywolf reached out and pawed at Enid’s cheeks, it’s baby soft fur soaking up the moisture before Wednesday had a chance to wipe her wife’s tears herself.

She looked into Enid’s eyes, sparkling blue and bright as the sun, and knew right there that Enid was now a mum. And so in turn she was one too.

Her heart broke with happiness, not that it showed on her face. She had a reputation to keep after all.

“What shall we call her?” asked Wednesday.

Enid smiled an even broader grin as she stared back into her tiny wife’s obsidian black irises.

“I don’t care, it’s doesn’t matter to me.” Enid stroked the little girls hair to calm her, already lost in her love for the scared wolf in her arms.

“How about Cedar? She ran out from a cedar tree at the side of the road. Seems apt.”

“Mmmm that’s perfect Willa. Come on Cedar, time to go home.”

The little daywolf growled contentedly and licked Enid’s face quickly before she had chance to react, making Enid giggle like a schoolgirl.

As they pulled up to the front of their house Enid jumped out and rushed inside with Cedar, mumbling about a bath and some raw meat for the new arrival.

Wednesday paused as she turned around to survey the vast valley in which their house was situated, the front looking out over the whole impressive vista. She imagined the colourfully dressed figure of Mother Nature leading Cedar to find their land and then their home. It had only been a few minutes and Wednesday knew that this gift was truly direct from the earth spirit herself.

She whispered quietly into the wind, bowing her head in reverence of all that was around her.

“Thank you.”

She allowed a tear of joy to run down her cold cheek. then followed Enid inside, pushing the door shut on their home as happy squeals and laughs sounded from their bathroom. Clearly their daughter was receiving her first ever bath.

Wednesday didn't even try to stop the dimples from appearing on her cheeks as she smiled.

“What a truly dreadful day” she muttered as she found herself skipping towards the bathroom, like a lovesick idiot.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

#wenclair #wednesday x enid #enid sinclair #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #wednesday #wednesday is soft for enid #enid is a lesbian #wlw love

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sheepispink · 2 months

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A Pearl (1/2)

based on the song by mitski because i love mitski and hot traumatised men

Summary: Years of horrific memories still weigh down on him even as he promises to let you help him move on. All you want to do is help, but its not enough.

Part 2 Masterlist

tags: Leon Kennedy/Reader, Hurt/No comfort, Angst, fem! reader, mentions of re4 (no specific spoilers dw guys), mentions of ptsd, heart wrenching angst 😘

other notes: for clarification, the timeline goes— after the raccoon city incident, then he goes on the re4 mission, then it’s like the smaller missions like damnation etc. Towards the end and next chapter it’s basically vendetta. But theres no actual spoilers bcus tbh.. i haven’t watched any of the movies except id 💀

Ch1: Before it Ended

Like a dream is how you’d always describe it. His coworkers, your friends —anyone who had heard of his name— would come up to you, fawning over your pretty looks and lovely personality. They’d ask you every time, “How did it happen?” And always, you’d replay that memory in your head.

“It was winter,” You’d begin by recounting the snow that fell upon your face that day, the breeze that bristled your bones, and the way his hair looked frozen in place. You’d remember the laughter that bubbled in your throat when you saw that and how his lips curved ever so slightly for what you believe was the first time. Some of the soft strands of your hair had itched your skin; It was messy from having been shaken from the depths of sleep, and now your fingers tuck the rogue locks behind your ear. Eyes like a pretty lake, hair like wheat, with his random strands and dirty blonde roots you would soon learn to run your fingers through. He stood before you, only the dim porch light illuminating him on that winter night. “Why are you out so late?” You had asked him, your hand reaching forward to tug him into the warmth of your apartment. Little did you know that’d tug him into your life as well.

The refusal was clear; he shook his head, puffs of warm air escaping as he explained that he had something to tell you. His clothes were dirty, scratched in places, and his combat knife was only hastily put away—just work, he explains, desperate to leave a good impression on you. He had finished, and he was sure that now that he’d have time, he’d be free from the shackles of the years that would creep up on him. Cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing—you still aren’t sure whether the cold or a blush caused that. “I know I’m always gone, and we dont see each other as often anymore, but I swear- I’ve sorted everything out. I’ve fixed it.” He says his words rushed and mumbled, like his heart was spilling out then and there.“I know this is sudden- i know, but- i just.. Will you marry me?” He blurts out and every puff of air that leaves his mouth feels like another log added to the fire you didn’t know was built in your heart for him. A campfire, as you’d always describe it, is comforting and warm, the perfect reassurance in cold times. Perhaps you should’ve chosen something detrimental to life, but you preferred the romantic speech.

Everyone loved the tale as you did, enamoured with how you managed to get the stoic agent to fall head over heels with you. He’d walk over right then, slinging an arm around your waist, giving you a tender kiss to your cheek, and plastering a smirk on his lips. “Still telling everyone that story?” He’d tease as his fingertips gently rubbed your side, the silver band on his ring finger twinkling with the same light his wine glass did. “As usual.” You’d reply, that same bubble of happiness rising in your throat again as you tilted your head upwards, waiting for the small peck that always came.

Always.

A year would go by, and you’d been learning more and more about each other. Nothing seemed to be too big of a step for you. Opposing voices, loud huffs, doors slamming shut until the other would open it quietly, apologise, crawl into the warmth of their shared bed, and work things out with sweet reassurances. Work was tough; he was on more missions than ever, being considered one of the greatest men to serve your country. Warmth that you always described as adoration filled your heart whenever you heard that phrase; you couldn’t be more proud of him for it.

Besides, not even that could tear you down; nothing could break the delicate encasing that surrounded the pair of you. A greenhouse, you’d say, because it held all the things that grew only with a person’s own nurture and care. Like your relationship, crafted and melded by your kind words and your soft voice. It’s a shame greenhouses are made of glass.

Weekends were quieter now, something you had decided to take in stride; you decided to plan something nice for when he returned. The he anniversary he had missed too. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him now, resorting to spraying his cologne on the pillows in that cold bed to retrieve some imaginary warmth. Then it came—the day he’d return. Open arms is what you welcomed him with; he had always loved to hug you, and holding you close was a remedy for his mind, he’d say. But those words stopped forming after some time. You ushered him into the shared bed that night, your arms curling around him after the nice surprise you had set up earlier had gone well. Perfect, you had thought. The bed was still cold, though. You thought about bringing it up with him but decided against it; the warmth of his arms was enough for you.

You should’ve brought it up with him, for the time would have entered where he couldn’t handle it. He had awoken with a jolt, sweat trickling like beads down his temples. Eyes wide and chest pounding, he sat there with eyes darting for a threat and hands searching for yours. Your fingers would intertwine with his, warm against his cold palms, as you sat up beside him. It’d be over soon; thats what you promised— you’d do this together.

Nights like those started occurring more often than ever, until one day, he’s awoken with a sharp jolt again. His movements are much more frantic, his hands searching and searching.

Though, this time, it doesn’t find itself in yours.

It’s tightly wrapped around your neck, his mind screaming to murder you. Bloodshot eyes and prominent streaks of black down your arms— the horrors he had tried so desperately to push away— return to his mind. Your breath wont come. No sweet words, and he looks down to see his hand contaminated with that same murky colour. The sink of his chest feels like a knife as he sees your arm grab out at him, like they did everywhere he went. Those creatures who would grab him, claw at him, and still threatened to take his life. They had destroyed his mind instead.

But there is no mutant, no bloodshot eyes and no streaks on your skin. All he sees is what he’s done to you, his body weight pressing on you as his hand keeps a firm grip around your neck. Your mouth begs for air, denying the sweet reassurance he needed as he sees you turn pale, your eyes flickering with tears. There’s no threat in here; not even the cold breeze from the open window chills his bones. Nothing can hurt more than the desperation in your eyes as your hands claw—No—plead at him for relief. He immediately lets go, scrambling to the other end of the bed as he watches you pant, his heart filled with fear. Fear of himself. You quickly turn to him, mustering out your honeyed phrases through choked breaths. But they’re just letters dancing about, barely going near his ears in the walls he had built between the two of you. Ignorance is bliss, but he can’t break his gaze when he sees the deep streaks of scarlet he left on your neck. Frozen in regret and shame, you tentatively wrap your arms around him to comfort the pair of you. But he feels your tears on his neck; the fear you felt eats at his gut and his conscience. You had never felt so cold before.

The days he had left for missions were the worst nights of your life, you’d say, having been away from your heart for so long. But even as you see him drinking his morning coffee, those eye bags prominent, you think your heart might be buried in Spain, infected with the plagas of love that died out.

Unspoken was what had happened that night— a silent promise between the pair of you with small random affections to bandage up the wound he had inflicted. He was still going on the small missions, but they were shorter, and he was back to fill the bed every night. The flowers in the vase never died—a different shade, flower, or even scent every week. A different kind of love.

This continued for weeks, up until you were out with some friends, each talking about their love lives, which was always a topic between the three of you. One of them gushes about how their husband’s love language is gift-giving, describing each and every homemade affection they receive on the daily. Soon it gets around to your turn, and when you speak about his love language, physical touch comes to mind again. Whether it was playing with your hair, rubbing your hands as you walked in the cold, or leaning on you after hard days, he always wanted to be near you. Your mouth fails to respond; no words form yet no examples are recalled in your brain either. You laugh sheepishly, trying hard to wrack your head for something sweet he’s done, until you just laugh it off and talk about how you love him again.

The bed’s empty when you slip inside it; he hasn’t returned yet and he won’t be back for another hour or so. The ceiling accompanies you as you desperately try to remember an act of affection in the last few weeks. It’s only now that it finally hits you, like a tonne of bricks through your skull—

He’s been distancing himself from you.

Knowing that you get caught up in little things, he occupied your mind with flowers and sweet notes. Not once have you actually heard him say any of it or felt his touch, if not accidental. He sleeps at a distance at night, and even when you shuffle closer somehow, you wake up further apart than before. You havent had a meal with him in weeks and you haven’t actually heard that raspy voice you remember as he complains about his day. You cannot remember the last time you felt warmth, and you can’t remember when you last cried this hard.

You’re in the bathroom, wiping away the stray tears as you look at yourself in the mirror. A heavy ache that still scrapes against the walls of your heart, unsure if you feel better or worse after coming to terms with this. Every pump feels like it’s dragging you down instead of keeping you alive. The rush of blood is like-

The front door clicks open.

You almost freak out and you’re not even sure why you would. Why are you scared of this? Why are you suddenly scared of him? Your feet hurries you back to your shared bed, settling under the covers once more to try to play it off as just tiredness. You still can’t figure out why you’re doing all this or why you start to form excuses for your behaviour in your mind. He never does. So why would you? The footsteps draw closer; they’re just slightly heavy, much softer than when he wears his boots. You hear the bedroom door unclick and your shoulders tense with every second.

But you dont see him enter. Slow breathing and closed eyes— you’re even lying on your side as you pretend to be asleep.

————————————————————————

Leon breathes out a heavy sigh, his chest sinking to drain out all his exhaustion from today. There’s a rustle of clothing as he undresses, pulling on some random sweatpants and a spare shirt for the night. Why should he even care if its clean or not? He walks over to his side of the bed, rummaging around the bedside table for something. Then he pauses, his eyes catching onto something in his peripheral view. Tear stains?

You hear the creak on the bed as he leans half his weight on it, about to reach out to you. Your heart beats faster. Is it because you dont want to worry him with your tears, or are you afraid of him? You don’t know. His fingers brush your cheek ever so gently, his voice echoing out your name so, so softly.

“Hey.. you awake?” He asks, and even though your heart is melting into a little puddle so easily, some stubborn stick clogs your throat. His sigh fills the room again and he pulls the blanket over you, tucking it snugly over you before brushing the hair out of your face. Maybe he’s just tired these days, you think. He’s been through a lot after all; it explains all of it. Really, you shouldn’t have been so upset at all—his work and life are on an entirely different level for you.

You’re about to open your eyes, pretend you woke up, and give him a sleepy smile. Images of him giving you a tight hug and one hand rubbing the small of your back as he tells you to fall asleep again fills your mind.

Then he speaks again, the bed creaking as he steps back off of the bed, the warmth leaving as fast as it came. “She’s really knocked out.? Phew.. I do not want to deal with some stupid tears..” He mutters out, his raspy voice much lower and breathless—almost exasperated. A low groan leaves him as he dumps his work clothes somewhere. Then, the bed screams again as he lays his weight on it before he shuffles himself to the end of the bed. He looks back at the space between them, another huff of air leaving his lips.

“That’s good enough. I fucking hate being woken to push her away from me..” Eventually, his breathing evens out, and his shoulders are still tight and tense as his body relaxes into the bed. The night falls quieter, and your mind feels blank.

You don’t know when you fell asleep or if he saw your fresh tears when he woke that morning.

#leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 4 #re4 #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #re fanfic #resident evil 2 #fanfiction #angst #spent so long editing this 😭😭😭 pls like this guys #writers on tumblr #reader insert

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acescorazon · 4 months

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Title: Changes

Chapter: 10/?

Rating: M

Word Count: 2686

Chapter Excerpt:

At long last, he forces himself to look over at Crocodile, ignoring how his heart beats in his chest at just the thought of having to interact with him again. Crocodile looks…tired. His hair is a mess and there are bags under his eyes, and when he finally speaks, he has none of his usual arrogance in his voice. “I need you to make more bounties for the marines…” He mutters, putting out his cigar, and as he does, Buggy notices an ashtray filled with cigar butts. He called him in just for that…? Surely, he could have just had Daz tell Buggy all this information so they didn’t have to waste any time.

“Is that all…?” Buggy asks, already ready to get the hell out of the meeting room and far away from Crocodile. Much to his displeasure, though, Crocodile shoves a chair in his direction, “I wish.” He murmurs, “Have a seat, cl…” He sighs, pausing a moment before he finally finishes his sentence. “Have a seat, Buggy.”

|Ch1|Ch2|Ch3|Ch4|Ch5|Ch6|Ch7|Ch8|Ch9|

Buggy doesn't exactly need to be walked back to his tent. The island is peaceful and the only other people inhabiting it is Buggy's own crew, so if Mihawk wants to do this as a safety precaution… it's kind of pointless. There's not even any wild animals that could possibly attack Buggy, just Richie and Buggy's favorite feline would never do anything to hurt him.

Is this just another act of kindness? Is this just Mihawk trying his best to get on Buggy's good side…? Buggy takes a minute to consider the offer before ultimately agreeing to let Mihawk walk him back to his tent. Weird or not, Buggy wants to get on this guy's good side.

They head out of Mihawk's tent walking side by side, and Buggy tries to keep an acceptable distance from Mihawk. He doesn't want to be near him, but he doesn't want Mihawk to take things the wrong way and end up getting into a fight with him and ruining everything. And yet, no matter how much distance Buggy puts between them, they still occasionally bump into each other, only for Buggy to move away slightly, and have the whole process repeat moments later, and Buggy can't tell if it's his fault or Mihawk's.

There's yet another heavy silence between them until Mihawk breaks it, "The sky looks so beautiful tonight." He tells Buggy, who in return, looks up at the night sky. He's not exactly impressed. The sky looks kind of empty, actually, there’s not a full moon or a cluster of beautiful stars in the sky, just a regular, old, boring nighttime sky. “I bet it would be lovely to take a walk along the beach right now.” Mihawk says, and Buggy’s face scrunches in confusion. What…? Uh…Okay…he thinks a moment later, trying to figure out how to reply to Mihawk, “Uh, yeah…” he mutters in response, “I guess so.”

There’s another painfully awkward moment of silence after that before Mihawk sighs for some reason. Buggy is so confused, did he say something wrong or…? As they walk, they pass by the cafeteria again just as Alvida is coming out of the tent. She pauses as soon as she sees Hawkeye and Buggy, giving them both a weird look. Yeah…Yeah, Buggy doesn’t know how he ended up in this situation either… It’s all so weird, and he just knows that Alvida is going to ask him about it later.

He can hear her voice now: ‘What the hell? Don’t you hate Hawkeye? What were you doing taking a late night stroll with him?!’ Honestly, even if Buggy tells her the truth, though, he doubts she would believe him because even the truth sounds so ridiculous. Mihawk actually wanted to escort him back to his tent for some unknown reason, and Buggy, despite having bad blood with Mihawk, allowed him to do so… Everything is just so weird and hard to believe, and he doesn’t know how to explain the situation. He also doesn’t know how he should tell her or the others that he’s trying to be friends with Mihawk now, either, but that’s another problem for another time.

The pair come to a halt as soon as they reach Buggy’s tent, and turn to each other, exchanging awkward glances as they stand in front of Buggy’s room. Buggy’s still unsure what he should even say, but thankfully MIhawk speaks first, “Uh…That was nice.” He says, “We should have dinner again sometime…” He pauses a moment, and when Buggy shifts uncomfortably in place, so does Mihawk, “You know, for the sake of Cross Guild.”

Oh, he wants to have another awkward dinner with Buggy… He’s serious about this whole friendship thing and doing what’s right for Cross guild, huh? Buggy resists the urge to groan loudly, and instead gives Mihawk a small smile, “Yeah, uh… that sounds like a good idea.” He doesn’t care at all about Cross Guild, but he thinks he can tolerate a couple of more dinners with Mihawk if it’ll get him to stop hating him.

“Perhaps, we could have another dinner together this weekend?” Mihawk suggests.

“Oh, um…” Buggy thinks about the offer for a moment. Today is Tuesday, so that means if Mihawk wants to have dinner on Friday, then Buggy has three days to mentally prepare himself. But if he wants to have it on Saturday, that’s even better. Hell, if Mihawk wants to have dinner on a Sunday that would be just perfect, actually. There’s just one thing… “Are you going to ask Crocodile to join us again?” Buggy asks.

“…Yeah, i can ask him, but it’ll probably just be us two again…is that okay?”

Whatever. To be honest, Buggy would actually prefer it be that way. He really doesn’t want to see Crocodile. Crocodile hasn’t even apologized, and Buggy doubts he ever will. But that doesn’t matter to Buggy, it’s not like he’d even accept his apology in the first place, and if he never has to see Crocodile again, then that’s just fine. “Yeah, sure…” Buggy pauses and then afterwards turns to look up at Mihawk, “Uh… Goodnight, then?” He tells him.

“Goodnight.” Mihawk replies, but he lingers for a moment too long, looking like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. “Uh, i’ll see you later…” He mutters before finally turning around and leaving Buggy alone and with his thoughts.

Man, he’s been acting so weird lately… Buggy thinks, shaking his head as he goes inside his tent. As he gets ready for bed, his mind is filled with thoughts of Hawkeye. He just doesn’t know what to think anymore, but part of him is starting to believe that maybe Mihawk is being genuine and actually wants to start over again, but it’s still so weird, and Buggy doesn’t know if he should actually forgive him.

Mihawk might not be as bad as Crocodile, but he’s still pretty shitty. He’s called Buggy names, and beaten him up quite a few times too… So, why should Buggy ever forgive him for real? He thinks he’ll just have to learn how to tolerate him, but he definitely doesn’t want to spend every waking moment with Mihawk. He doesn’t want to have weekly dinners, or go to every one of Hawkeye’s training sessions with Buggy’s crew, or even hang out after meetings (If they ever have those again.) he just wants to do the bare minimum, something that’s just enough to get on Hawkeye’s good side and get him to stop tormenting him once and for all, and that’s it.

Buggy climbs into bed once he’s got his pajamas on and stares up at the ceiling, man, I just don’t get it… He thinks as he drifts off to sleep.

…

First thing in the morning, Buggy has to welcome some more recruits to the island, and he briefly thinks about showing his new children around, but he can’t be bothered. Not that it really matters anyway because halfway through introducing himself to his new crewmates and promising that their families will be taken care of, a rather tall and intimidating fellow peeks his head into his main tent, silently waiting for Buggy to finish what he’s doing.

Now, this person has never done Buggy wrong, but he’s definitely not an ally, and Buggy watches Daz out of the corner of his eye as he continues to act like everything is fine. There’s only one reason why Daz would show up in front of him, and Buggy already feels his stomach starting to turn. Why? What could Crocodile possibly want now? He thinks. He quickly finishes up what he’s doing and waves goodbye to the new members of his family before cautiously approaching Daz.

He takes a deep breath, trying to muster up a little bit of courage to talk to Crocodile’s right-hand man, “Ah, is there something you need, Daz?” He asks, but he already knows the answer that Daz is going to give him.

“The boss wants to see you.” Daz replies simply, and all Buggy can do is force a smile because he knew it. He just knew it. He knew that his break from Crocodile wouldn’t last long, and that he’d eventually summon him to do some trivial task.

God, he doesn’t want to see Crocodile, but he knows it’s pointless trying to argue with Daz of all people. If Buggy says he’s sick or busy, Daz will probably just ignore him and drag him back to his beloved boss, and just...he really doesn’t want to deal with that crap today. It’d be easier just to see what Crocodile wants.

Buggy nods, “Do you know what he wants?” He asks, and he hopes there might be a tiny chance that maybe he won’t actually have to see Crocodile after all, but, of course, he’s not that lucky. Daz shakes his head, “No, he just told me to come get you.” Yeah… Yeah, Buggy figured as much. He forces another smile onto his face again as he nods, “Okay, sure…I understand.”

You know, the day started out so great. He woke up feeling refreshed, breakfast was nice, and he got to meet a couple of new recruits, and those are all usually three signs that he’s going to have a good day, but now he’s not too sure. He follows closely behind Daz as he leads him to the meeting room, wishing that Daz didn’t insist on staying by his side and bringing him to Crocodile personally. Maybe then he could have a couple of more minutes to prepare himself to see Crocodile.

He wonders what he’ll want this time. Perhaps he wants a mansion built? Oh, or maybe he wants Buggy to find him one of those ancient weapons he’s so obsessed with. Or… Or… maybe he wants Buggy to pull the one piece out of a hat? Who knows?! There’s just so many different things Crocodile can demand him to do, the possibilities really are endless. Crocodile really is the worst, and if Buggy is so incompetent, then why does he always make him do things?

Whatever, he doesn’t care.

Before Buggy even steps foot into the meeting room, he’s hit with the strong stench of Crocodile’s cigars, and he tries not to make a face. He briefly wonders just how much time Crocodile’s spent in the damn meeting room, but his question is more or less answered the moment he goes inside. It hasn’t even been three weeks since that emergency meeting Mihawk called, but Crocodile has more or less trashed everything. There are papers and folders in messy piles scattered all over the table, and the floor is littered with balls of crumbled up paper, pens, and boxes with presumably more documents in them. What is all this crap? Buggy thinks.

Buggy stands frozen in place for a long moment, looking down at the chair in front of him. He… He doesn’t want to stay here, though. Why can’t Crocodile just make him a list or something? Or better yet, why can’t he have someone else do his errands for him? Why does it always have to be Buggy? Buggy’s useless and a fuck up. He never does anything right, and Crocodile can’t even stand to be in the same room with him. So why call him? It just doesn’t make any sense.

Crocodile pinches the bridge of his nose when Buggy remains motionless for a little too long,

“Please…is that what you want to hear?” No, that’s not what Buggy wants to hear, what he really wants to hear is: ‘You can leave.’ but it doesn’t seem like Crocodile has intentions of letting him go that easily. “Look, i need you to do a couple of things for me, just have a seat.”

Buggy stares at Crocodile for another long moment before slowly sitting down at the table next to him. He hates this already. He doesn’t like to be this close to Crocodile, especially not in a small space. And to make things worse, Daz leaves the moment he realizes he’s no longer needed, leaving the room to just Buggy and Crocodile.

“...How was your dinner with Hawkeye…?”Crocodile asks as he hands Buggy a manila folder. Why is he asking about that…? Why is he even making small talk with Buggy right now? Doesn’t he hate this kind of thing? “Uh…Good…” Buggy replies in a tight voice, not sure what else he’s supposed to say, not that there’s really much to say about his dinner with Mihawk.

“...That’s good…” Crocodile replies, “Anyways, in that folder i just gave you there are the names of marines that need bounties made, and i also made a list of ones who need their bounties taken off the market.” Buggy nods in response, hoping that Crocodile won’t have too much for him to do. “Also, i’m so damn tired of eating sea king for dinner, i need you to send a few of your men into the nearest town to gather some more food.”

Buggy nods again, “Uh… is that it then?”

“I also need you to send money to the families of all our recruits.”

“...Is that all?”

Crocodile stares at him with cold eyes, and the small act makes Buggy look down at the table and mutter a quick apology. “Look, clown…” Crocodile says, but then groans. He pauses briefly before finally speaking again, “Okay, listen…Buggy. I just need some help, okay?” But, again, why can’t he just ask Galdino or Daz, or even one of Buggy’s men to help him?! Why does it have to be Buggy? “Can’t Galdino or Daz help you out?” Buggy asks, cautiously, “They’re a lot more efficient than i am, right?”

“I already have them doing something.” Crocodile sighs, “Just, please, help me out a little.”

Crocodile’s making it seem like he has a choice in the matter, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, could it? Buggy is in debt to Crocodile, and whether he likes it or not he has to help him, He just wishes Crocodile would have used one of the hundreds of other men around the island to help him out instead of Buggy.

Still, he remains seated, making a list of all the things Crocodile wants to be done. Like always though, he wants way too much done and within a short period of time, and Buggy just knows that he’s going to get yelled at for something…or worse, but he doesn’t want to think about that.

Make new bounties, get more food, pay the recruits’ families, call the weapons’ dealer and ask if they have the guns he and Crocodile were talking about…Look into buying more boats… Order more shitty cigars…look into purchasing more land…Buggy reads his list out in his head, and fights back a groan. He feels like a damn secretary, and the worst part is, after giving Buggy all those orders, Crocodile turns to him and sighs before giving him one last command:

“Oh, and help me organize all my documents.” Good god, why?!

#cross guild #changes #my writing #i didn't beta read this but i think it's fine...dont quote that tho #i'll beta read it later akldsjklasjdaksdjasd #sorry if this ch is a lil boring.#also do buggys emotions ever make sense or are they confusing????

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lastbluetardis · 6 months

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Sacred New Beginnings (19/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong. Ten x Rose AU This Chapter: Explicit, ~5000 words AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 |

James can hardly hear past the roar of his pulse in his ears as he is the sole focus of Jackie Tyler’s—(Jackie Peters’s? He’ll have to ask Rose what last name her mum has)—ire. Gone is the cheerful grin he’d seen in the photos Rose had sent of herself and her mother on holiday in Barcelona; now that joy is replaced with the sort of rage only a mother is capable of.

He throws a desperate glance at the other adult in the room, but Tyler Peters is stunned into silence, his eyes locked on James as though he’d never seen a human being before.

Absurdly, this is what unfreezes James, and he throws out a stupid little, “Hello. I’m James Noble. Pleasure.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showin’ up here,” Jackie spits, stalking ever-closer. James regrets that he didn’t use the last two seconds to free himself from his position of being backed against the countertop. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Mummy! Daddy!”

Jackie whirls around to face the corridor at the sound of a tiny voice and pitter-patter of feet. She automatically crouches, and Tony gallops headlong into his mother’s waiting arms. She scoops him up and peppers kisses across his fair skin.

“Did you have a good night with sissy?” Jacke coos, stroking his hair away from his face. “She didn’t feed you any ice cream, did she?”

“Yeah! An’ made hotdogs and cheesy ‘tatoes, then we played Jus’ Dance, an’ James was there!”

“Oh?” Jackie asks, flashing James a withering glare. “When did he get here?”

“Yeah, he’s so fun!” Tony squeals, pivoting in his mother’s arms to beam at James. “He’s my fav’rite.”

Rose finally emerges from down the hall, her cheeks stained scarlet as she squeaks, “Hi, Mum. I expected you to text when you got here.”

“Oh, so you could hide this one somewhere?” Jackie scowls, gesturing to James.

“I… I wanted… I was gonna tell you…”

“What, that you let ‘im come weaslin’ back into your life? Did he come up with a sob story? Made it real convincin’, did he?”

“Jacks,” Tyler says quietly, inclining his head slightly towards Tony, who is still ensconced in his mother’s arms and watching the exchange curiously. “Let’s save it, eh?

Jackie purses her lips, then presses them to her son’s temple before handing the child to his father. “Take him outside, yeah? Meet you downstairs.”

“Five minutes,” Tyler warns. “This one needs to get to bed.” To his son, he chirps, “Say bye to sissy!”

“Bye-bye sissy! Gimme hugs and kisses!”

Rose tiptoes around her mother, not sparing her a glance as she scoops her little brother into her arms and gives him a couple of big twirls around the room.

“Spinny hug, spinny hug!” Tony screeches, clinging to Rose for dear life.

The sight makes something hollow ache in the pit of James’s gut. The siblings clearly adore each other, and Rose is so good with him.

“Bye-bye James!” Small hands tap his legs, and he realizes Tony is gesturing for a hug. He hesitates for only a fraction, but he can’t say no to those big brown eyes.

“G’night Tony,” he whispers, kneeling for a brief embrace. “Thanks for playing with me tonight.”

“All right, little man, wanna see who can race down the stairs fastest?” Tyler asks his son, ruffling Tony’s fair blond hair.

“Yeah! Onetwothreego!”

Tony bolts out of the flat, giggling madly, leaving his father to leisurely stroll behind him. Before Tyler closes the door behind him, he spins and says, “Good night, Rosie.”

“Night,” she mumbles, looking increasingly uncomfortable at the prospect of being left alone with her mother.

James nearly fumbles out an excuse to leave, but realizes that would be the most cowardly thing he’d ever done, and Rose deserves better than that. So he pulls on his big boy pants and turns to face the music.

Before he can speak, Jackie turns on Rose and throws her arms up into the air. “What are you thinking?! Have you gone mental?!”

“Mum, please just…”

“Whatever happened to “I deserve better than bein’ the latest in a long line”? I thought you were over bein’ a good time for someone who would drop you in a heartbeat for someone younger and smarter and prettier?”

Rose flinches from her mother, and James takes an automatic step towards her, reaching across the space between them.

“It’s not… it’s not like that,” Rose says weakly. “I got it wrong.”

“Oh, did you? ‘Cos from where I’m sittin’, it’s bloody obvious what’s going on here. Mister Handsome Rich Rockstar has swindled you again, tellin’ you whatever it is you want to hear so he can keep you ‘til he’s done with you.”

“Er, I’m not technically a rockstar,” James blurts, and he can hardly believe what has just come out of his mouth. But he can’t stop. It’s like his brain has ceased all higher function and his mouth has taken over. “More folk-pop. Indy, maybe? Soft pop?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jackie snaps, turning to him with fire in her eyes.

He clacks his teeth together and nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets in an attempt to make himself seem as small as possible, which is quite the impossible feat, considering his height.

“You! You need to get the hell away from my daughter if you know what’s good for you. You men, you’re all the same, taking what you want, thinkin’ you’re entitled to get your way, lyin’ through your bleedin’ teeth to get what you want. Well I won’t stand for it! My Rose deserves better. She isn’t a girl you can shag and drop the moment someone else comes along.”

“I… I know,” James stammers, his mouth impossibly dry and his stomach roiling in discomfort.

“Oh, do you?” Jackie remarks, false surprise lifting her face. “You had no problem tellin’ the entire bloody world you were just havin’ a bit of fun. ‘Cos that’s all you really want, isn’t it? Fun and a place to wet your cock…”

“Mum! Enough!” Rose shouts, red-faced and near-tears. “I was wrong. We’d both misunderstood each other. But we’re together now. Properly.”

“That’s what he told you, didn’t he? Bet he sounded real sorry too. Bet he said all the right words, didn’t he?”

James’s heart falls when he sees Rose flinch and drop her gaze to her feet.

“That’s enough,” he says quietly. “Say whatever you want about me, but Rose is smart enough to make her own decisions about her life, no matter what you believe. Yes, when Rose and I first started seeing each other, we each thought it was something casual. And I was an idiot for what I told the reporters. But things are different now. I want what’s best for her.”

Jackie grunts dismissively. “You say that now, but the moment she gives you a bit of bad press, you’re going to spin whatever little tale you need to tell to get the public on your side, and my Rose is gonna be the one who gets smeared through the muck.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“Mum, please,” Rose whispers. “I know I have an awful track record with boyfriends, but those are my mistakes to make. Maybe James will be a mistake, maybe he won’t be, but you have to let me live my life the way I choose to. And right now, I choose him.”

Jackie softens a fraction as she turns to her daughter. It’s as though with him out of sight, the gentle mother returns. She reaches to Rose and cradles her jaw, stroking her cheeks as she says, “My Rose. I will always want the best for you. It killed me to see you in such a state on holiday. I don’t want to see you be taken advantage of. Is it money? Sweetheart, you know me and your dad will help you out, you don’t need to stay with him for that.”

James is slightly offended that Jackie thinks he’s paying Rose to hang out with him or paying her for sex, but before he can think of a response, Rose covers her mother’s hands and leans into the touch.

“It’s not money,” she assures. “He’s not paying for anything of mine.”

“He bloody well should—he’s rich! You better not be payin’ for your dates!”

Rose lets out a sniffly giggle and throws her arms around her mother, who holds her tightly and rocks her from side to side. James wonders if he should sneak out while they’re distracted, but he finds he’s rooted to the spot, trying to wrap his head around the last few minutes.

“Please be safe, sweetheart,” Jackie whispers. “Please.”

“I am safe, Mum. And I wish you’d believe me when I say I’m happy. Really happy.”

“I believe that you believe it,” Jackie says, pulling back just far enough to kiss Rose’s forehead. “Remember that I’m here for you the moment you need me. Don’t you ever think you can’t come home to your old mum.”

Rose nods wordlessly.

The fight seems to have left Jackie, but she turns to him and says, “Don’t you dare hurt her, or mess her over.”

“I– I won’t,” he vows.

Jackie narrows her eyes, scanning him up and down, but doesn’t say anything else. She turns away from him and back to Rose. “I gotta go. It’s way past Tony’s bedtime. Thanks for watchin’ him.”

“Of course. I love spending time with him,” Rose says, guiding her mother to the door.

“I love you. More than anything.”

“Love you too. Drive safe.”

Jackie kisses both of Rose’s cheeks and doesn’t even look James’s way as she sweeps out of the flat.

oOoOo

Downstairs in the foyer, Tyler Peters is desperately trying to occupy his definitely-tired-but-pretending-he’s-not-tired four-year-old, and it’s going about as well as one could hope. Tony is racing laps around the room, skillfully dodging the amused (and mercifully tolerant) tenants of the building who are simply trying to enter or exit the building.

“Watch it, mate,” he calls when Tony nearly barrels into the little old lady who has lived in this building for decades. She is one of the few residents who already leased a flat here before Tyler became the owner of the building. “So sorry Mrs. Donovan.”

“Oh, my grandsons have just as much energy,” the old woman says cheerfully, smiling down at Tony. “These bones may be old, but they’re sturdier than they look.”

“Hi!” Tony chirps, flashing a toothy smile. “Bye!”

And so the laps continue.

And continue…

Tyler sighs and checks his watch. He should’ve known Jackie couldn’t keep it to five minutes. It’s nearing on fifteen, and he’s about to corral his son so they can go fetch her when the lift dings and Jackie steps out, her eyes sparking and her jaw locked.

“Mummy!” Tony sprints over and takes her hand. “Time to go!”

Tyler joins his family and takes his wife’s free hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of hers.

“Chat go all right?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking,” Jackie grumbles. “I mean… James bloody Noble?! It was bad enough to hear my daughter was havin’ a lark with that… that… scoundrel in the first place. But now she’s taken him back? Stupid. Irresponsible.”

Tyler bites back a smirk and knocks his elbow into her ribs. “Put yourself in her shoes, eh? When you were her age, you can’t tell me that you wouldn’t have bedded Bono if he’d shown the slightest bit of interest in you?”

“It’s not the same!” she complains. “Bono never would’ve…”

“And Rose likely thought James Noble never would’ve,” he says simply. “You know I love her dearly and that I want the best for her, but Rose seems happy right now. Will it last? Probably not. But let her have this, eh? How many people can say they dated a famous singer in their youth? It’ll be a story for the grandkids and great-grandkids.”

His wife huffs out another impatient breath, but doesn’t argue further. “Yeah. Maybe. But still. James bloody Noble. I just hope Rose knows what she’s doing, datin’ that man…”

Tyler wraps his arm around her waist and gives her a squeeze, but doesn’t say more. Together, they walk out of the foyer of the building, all while being watched by two young women leaning on the wall beside the lifts.

The women exchange stunned, disbelieving looks.

“James Noble? The James Noble?” one of them asks.

“With Rose Tyler?” the other asks. “The girl up in flat 10-2?”

No fucking way…

oOoOo

James stares at the front door for several long seconds after Jackie’s marvelous exit. Rose shifts away from his side to step forward, twisting the lock and fastening the deadbolt chain before she clunks her forehead into the door. She doesn’t move from her position, so he goes to her.

Carefully, he slips his arms around her waist and presses a whisper-soft kiss to the side of her neck. Though she feels limp, she manages to spin in his grasp to instead plonk her head into his chest rather than her front door. She simply stands there, unmoving, as he rubs her back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice muffled. “I didn’t think… I thought she’d… I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, nestling his stubbly cheek into her hair and breathing her in. Never before has a parental introduction gone so poorly. Usually his partners are as famous as him, so the parents are accepting and gracious or simply indifferent. Occasionally they’ll fawn over him.

But the outright hostility and venom that Jackie just spat at him…

“I didn’t realize you’d told your mum about me,” he finally says, matching the volume of his voice with hers.

She groans and says, “During our holiday. I’d been out of sorts, thinkin’ you didn’t care about us at all. Mum caught on to my mood. I didn’t mean to tell her, but I was quite upset, and it all just sorta… came out. And when I saw your red-carpet interview that confirmed I was just a bit of fun for you… I lost it, and she saw my reaction, and it wasn’t good.”

James wishes he could go back in time and wallop his past self across the head for his thoughtless comments. He wishes he’d had the courage to tell the interviewer how he felt about Rose, to tell the world that he was riding the high of falling in love, and that he wanted to keep it private. But he hadn’t. He’d been a prick and a twat, and he’d broken Rose’s heart from five and a half thousand miles away.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve forgiven you for it all. But I just… I guess I’d forgotten how much I’d told Mum about you. And I’d forgotten how upset she was on my behalf. I was stupid for thinking that telling her on the spot that you and I were properly together would be enough for her to accept you. I shouldn’t have done it this way… I should have talked to her first, then introduced you. I’m so stupid.”

His stomach churns as he squeezes her tightly, as though that could rid them both of the shock they’re in.

“Should I… should I go?” he asks, mentally pleading with her to say no. The thought of spending his night in his empty house makes him ache with loneliness.

To his relief, she shakes his head. “I don’t want you to, but I don’t feel like I deserve to have you with me tonight. My mum just… verbally eviscerated you. You must be so angry.”

“Not at all,” he insists. “Well… I’m a bit chastened. And a bit embarrassed that I made such a poor first impression, and that you’d been so upset about my behavior that you told your mum how awful I am. But I still want to be here. With you. If that’s all right.”

In response, Rose finally lifts her face from where it had been pressed into his shirt. Her eyes are a little red but completely dry, though he barely registers that fact before she threads her fingers through his hair, presses up onto her toes, and brushes her mouth to his. His eyes flutter shut at the glorious pressure of her kiss. He melts into her, splaying his palm across her back to hold her close.

“Stay,” she murmurs when she breaks away, though she catches his lips in another kiss a moment later. “Please stay with me.”

“For as long as you wish,” he says, because there is nothing on this planet that could make him leave.

Apart from her kiss of greeting at the door, this is the first that James has had Rose’s hands and lips on him in over a week. He tries to keep it chaste and slow, still unsure whether it’s appropriate for him to stay, while hoping to convey comfort and support through his body. He really shouldn’t let them get carried away; Rose is obviously upset, but he just can’t help it. He’s drawing as much strength from her as she hopefully is from him.

He has the presence of mind to keep his hands in safe places, primarily across the expanse of her back. He grabs onto the fabric to anchor himself as he basks in the heady intoxication of her mouth.

They each know exactly where this kiss is headed but pretend not to, and instead they explore each other’s mouths in lazy, indolent strokes of lips and tongue. James quickly becomes far too hot, his skin flushed and tingling with anticipation of things to come. He tentatively dips his fingers beneath her jumper, shuddering to touch her bare skin. She sighs into his mouth and presses her front flush with his.

He’s steadily getting hard in his jeans, each beat of his heart sending his blood rushing down, down, down, helped along by the rocking of Rose’s hips. He drops a hand to her arse, caressing and squeezing and pulling her more tightly into him. With his other hand, he tangles his fingers into her hair and guides her head back a bit to get better access to her neck. She grips his hips with near-bruising force as he plants row after row of searing kisses to the sensitive patch of skin beneath her ear. That familiar whining moan rushes out of her as she shudders in his arms, holding him close to urge him on. Not that he needs the encouragement.

Without breaking the kiss or the press of their bodies, James slowly guides them down the hall and to Rose’s bedroom. It takes ages, as he keeps getting distracted with the taste of her skin and the sound of her quiet gasps. They move even more slowly when Rose remembers that she has hands, then proceeds to use them to cup him and stroke him through his jeans.

“Christ,” he chokes out as a spark of pleasure zips up his spine.

“Rose,” she counters, giving him a playful squeeze that sends a full-body shudder through him.

“Smart-arse. Fuck, do that again.”

A laugh hums up her throat, vibrating against his now-still lips as she grips him tightly and rubs. He’s going to fucking lose it, right here in the doorway of her bedroom, but Christ this feels so good and he never, ever wants her to stop.

The intensity recedes a moment later, and he regains his senses enough to tug her hand away from him to instead guide her all the way into her room. There’s a pile of laundry on her bed that Rose haphazardly shoves to the floor.

“Clothes off,” she orders as she fumbles with the hem of her jumper, tugging until she pulls it over her head.

He doesn’t need telling twice.

Neither of them bothers with trying to sexily disrobe the other. Rather, they go for speed and efficiency, and soon enough, they’re both wonderfully naked. She’s as beautiful as he remembers, even more so, and he drags her down to the mattress with him. They move together until Rose is on her back, her legs open for him, and he’s atop her, his hips cradled in hers. She reaches between them for his cock, and strokes him a few times as she guides him inside of her.

He presses in, slowly, inch by inch, shivering at the sensations rushing through him. He groans through clenched teeth as he’s fully seated, forcing himself to wait, to give Rose a moment to adjust. She’s panting beneath him, chest rising and falling as her nails bite into the fleshy part of his back.

“Okay,” she whispers, arching her hips up and pulling him close for a rough, sloppy kiss that conveys everything she wants and needs from him.

His skin sings, tingling at the sensation of so much of her body pressed to his. His blood turns molten, burning him from within as he begins to move.

“Feels so good,” he chokes out, pulling back and plunging forward in a steady, measured manner. The slick glide of her all around him is as addictive as ever, and he trembles with the pleasure slowly mounting in him.

“Uh huh.” Her agreement dies on a moan as he thrusts in with a little more force this time. “James.”

He catches her bottom lip between his before releasing it to kiss her again. He teases his tongue into her mouth, flicking at the roof of her mouth just behind her front teeth, then going back to simpler kisses. Rose clings to him, kissing him back in equal measure as her nails rake down his spine to cup his arse, guiding his quickening rhythm. The sting of her nails coils a raging, aching heat low in his spine, building higher and higher until he knows it won’t be much longer until he’s lost.

“I missed you,” he grunts as her muscles begin to tighten around him. Thank fuck; she’s as close as he is. He redoubles his effort, wanting to push her over the edge first. “So much.”

“Me too,” she gasps. “Fuck. Please…”

He speeds up his rhythm, giving up on kissing her lips and instead tucking his face into the side of her neck. He breathes her in then plants his mouth to that patch of skin beneath her ear that is always her undoing. He grins to himself as she shudders and curses and moans, and when he dips a hand between them to rub her, she breaks.

She cries out and writhes into the mattress, arching her hips up and up and up, closer to him, closer to the sensations he is wringing out of her. She’s perfect, and fucking hell, he’s right on her heels. The perfect pressure within him pulls tighter, making him lose all sense as he chases his high. He thrusts with abandon, clenching his teeth as the flames fan hotter, drowning him, consuming him…

He lets out a wrenching moan and thrusts deeply into her, releasing helplessly, shaking and cursing and burying his face into her. Sensation sparks through him, channeling relief and pleasure through his entire body, curling his toes and stealing his breath. She’s everywhere, all around him and holding him through this maelstrom that has never felt so fucking good.

Rose… he thinks he gasps her name, but the rushing in his ears deafens him to anything except his erratic heartbeat.

He returns to awareness by Rose lazily stroking his back and kissing the top of his shoulder. His body is too heavy to move, but he manages to pull out and flop indelicately beside her, keeping an arm and leg slung over her. She laughs quietly at his antics, and he grins into the pillow. He cracks open an eye to look at her, and the sight of her smile and sex-mussed hair and flushed cheeks ignites a joy and love so deep that he begins to giggle. His body is thrumming with hormones that make him feel boneless and content, and through it all, he laughs and folds himself closer to Rose.

She’s laughing with him and turns to face him fully. He mirrors her position so they’re both on their sides, their legs tangled lazily together. He reaches out and brushes a few rogue strands of hair away from her face, then leans in to kiss her softly.

“That was great,” he whispers into the sacred silence of her bedroom.

“Mhm. Very great.”

“The most great,” he says, beaming as she rolls her eyes.

“Did you have a nice trip?” she asks.

He hums in wordless assent, and briefly tells her all about the week he’d spent in east Asia, meeting fans and doing photoshoots while promoting Catalysis.

“How was your week? Are you feeling better?” While her voice is still raspy from the illness she’d contracted, she looks and sounds much better than she had during their video chat on his last night in Japan.

“Much better. Teaching classes while feeling like death is always frustrating, but it’s easier than arranging for a substitute,” she says with a shrug.

He frowns, but they already had this discussion about how shittily schools treat their teachers, so he lets it go.

“I’ve got an upcoming holiday concert at the O2, weekend after next,” he murmurs, remembering the monthly schedule Donna had sent him that morning. “I’d… I’d really like you to come. If you want. It’s not just me. I think Ed Sheeran is on the list too. And Astrid Peth. She’s a good mate of mine. You can bring a few friends with you. There’s a private suite for my guests, so you could stay hidden, mostly, as long as cameras aren’t wandering around. And my mum’ll be there too. I think. Well. I should invite her, shouldn’t I…?”

Rose interrupts his nervous rambling with a soft kiss. He melts into her, but she breaks it far too soon for his liking.

“I’d love to,” she says, cupping his cheek before scraping her nails through his hair.

His eyes flutter shut at the echoes of pleasure that ripple through him, and he grins at her acceptance of his invitation. He’s giddy at the thought of being on stage and looking into his private suite to see Rose. His favorite pieces of his life will be in the same place, melding together perfectly.

He leans forward to kiss her again, and she willingly reciprocates.

oOoOo

They sleep, eventually. Between (and during) bouts of sex, they talk about everything and nothing. It’s like nothing bad can happen to them here, not when they’re twined so intimately, not when they’re making each other laugh so freely.

Wrung out in that perfect post-marathon-sex way, James buries himself beneath Rose’s blankets and lets blissful unconsciousness claim him. His dreams are vague and foggy, and he doesn’t remember them when he awakes later that morning to sunlight peeking through Rose’s curtains.

His eyes are gritty and heavy as he leans over to check the time. It’s barely 8am, but he feels refreshed, even though the drowsiness of lingering sleep tugs at him again. His shuffling has disturbed Rose, who curls close to him and mutters something unintelligible. He kisses her forehead and closes his eyes once more.

He drifts in and out for many long minutes before the gurgling of his stomach is too distracting. Even Rose hears it, and she pokes his belly, mumbling, “Shush.”

“Can’t exactly help it. Mind if I order a breakfast and coffee delivery?”

“Go for it,” Rose says through a yawn.

“Then can I borrow your shower?” he asks, sitting up and letting the sheets pool around his naked waist.

“Go for it,” she repeats, tucking an arm beneath her pillow to glance up at him. Her gaze falls to the morning erection that is somehow poking at the blankets despite their multiple rounds of very satisfying sex the night before. “Well, hello.”

She gently prods it, giggling when it bobs a bit. “Bouncy.”

James stifles a snort. “You’re adorable when you’re sleepy.”

“Pfft.”

He lets her mindlessly poke his cock as he scrolls to a food delivery app and orders a selection of bagels and croissants for them, as well as his favorite coffee and her favorite tea. His chest balloons with warmth when he adds Rose’s address to his list of favorites, then places their breakfast order.

“Should be here in half an hour,” he says, resting his phone on the nightstand, ignoring the handful of missed notifications. It’s the bloody weekend, for God’s sake. It can wait. For good measure, he completely silences everything, not wanting his morning with Rose to be disturbed.

“Hmmm, how can we pass the time?” Rose muses, blinking up at him through her lashes and grinning wickedly.

She shows him just how entertaining thirty minutes can be.

He doesn’t have time for a shower before there’s a knock at the door that has them scrambling for clothes. He tugs on his pants and t-shirt while Rose simply dons a robe overtop her knickers, cinching it tight at the waist to keep her modesty. They emerge from the bedroom, with James going to the kitchen for plates while Rose heads to the door.

There’s an odd commotion in the hallway, but James doesn’t really think much of it, not as he absently wonders what he and Rose could do today. Maybe they can sneak out somewhere and visit a museum or something. Maybe he could take her to the studio—it should be fairly empty on a Saturday morning. Maybe they can take an impromptu road trip to somewhere Rose has never been. Pack their bags and drive to the first place they can think of. Book a hotel and order in a bunch of fancy food and rent some films to watch and get drunk on expensive wine and kiss until their lips are bruised. God, that sounds like a perfect weekend, and he hopes Rose will be agreeable.

But all of those plans, those hopes, are dashed the moment Rose opens her front door to reveal a stunned delivery person and over a dozen paparazzi photographers, armed and ready with flashing cameras.

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #sacred new beginnings #ten x rose au #james x rose #my fic #romance #angst #it's heeeeere!!!#enjoy 😘💜

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kining-the-evil · 1 year

Text

All I Have Left ch1/?

Summary: you were in love with Randy, you had a life plan with him. But after his death, you cut out everyone in your life. It’s not until you take custody of his niece and nephew that you begin to live life again.

An: this is going to be platonic/motherly!reader to the twins. The idea has been bounced around my head for a couple of days, so I wanted to try it out

It’s not overly long, but if I continued with the idea it would have been way to long. So I may write a part two

Scream Taglist: none currently. Let me know if you want added

Scream Masterlist All Masterlists

“I think it will be a girl.”

You glanced up at Randy when you heard his words. The two of you were in the middle of a movie night in his dorm room, you tucked into his side while his arm was wrapped around you. He wasn’t even looking at you, making you wonder if you were hearing things.

“What?”

“Our first kid, I think she’ll be a girl.” He further explained, looking down at you. The two of you had been talking the night before about life after college. You were high school sweethearts, and had talked about it plenty of times. He was going to major in film, and you psychology. You would live in Hollywood while starting your carriers, and once ready for a family you’d move to a close by suburb. A plan you had started making the summer before senior year. And last night, you’d talked about kids.

“You think so?”

“Absolutely,” he confirmed.

“What makes you so sure?” You asked while giggling slightly.

“A dad just knows,” he winked.

“Well, so does a mom and I think it will be a boy. Besides, it’s not like you’re currently a dad.” You poked his chest lightly, making him chuckle.

“I’d love to have a son, and I’d love him,” he reached down to grab your left hand and place a kiss on the engagement ring on your finger. “But I’ll get my little girl. Don’t care how many times I have to fuck you.”

“Wow, so noble,” you teased as he pulled you to straddle his lap. “What would you name her?” He had clearly put thought into this, and you wanted to know how far his mind had gotten.

“Mindy.”

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

That night was only a week before Randy was killed, and every night after you wished you were dead yourself. Everything made you angry. Seeing Sidney or Dewey made you angry, and even thinking about Gale and her stupid book made you angry. Seeing the school made you angry, and the police made you angry.

So you dropped out of school. You cut people off, distanced yourself, and moved back to Woodsboro. You only went to town when you had to, and worked at home in any way you could. You didn’t need a tone of money, just enough to live in your small house alone. Sidney had tried to reach out a few times, but eventually got the hint that you didn’t want to see her. The only person you were slightly civil with was Randy’s sister, Martha.

She worked at one of the stores you went to often, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to hate the women. You’d known her for years, being friends with Randy for years before going out. So when you saw her at the store, you said hi. If she asked you to come over for a drink or dinner once in a while, you said yes. And when she got pregnant, you promised to be as involved with the kids life as she needed.

“Please…” Chad whined, giving you his best puppy eyes. You had to hand it to the seven year old, he was pretty good at it.

“No, your mom said you’ve been wearing them for the past three nights. They need washed,” you attempted to reason with the boy. Which didn’t work in the slightest.

“Mom said she ‘gave up on that fight’” Mindy spoke up. She had already changed into her pjs, quickly complying when you promised a treat during the movie. Martha and her husband were out for the night, and you had offered to watch your niece and nephew (technically godchildren but as Martha said ‘you would have become their aunt’).

“Enough,” you scolded her before turning back to Chad. “I know for a fact you have more then one pair of train pjs. Get one of your others.” You were at a standstill, a staring contest with a seven year old. You were pointing towards the dresser, and you were determined to win this fight.

“Fineeeeee,” he stretched the word before walking towards the dresser. “But can you wash them for tomorrow night?”

You agreed, knowing Martha would appreciate the clothes at least being clean. You helped the two kids get ready for bed before sending them down stairs to pick a movie. You grabbed some more of their clothes, starting a load of laundry. The sound of arguing drew you downstairs, but you stoped at the fire place. A small shrine that had been set up for Randy. You still didn’t know how to feel about it. Every time you saw a photo of him it reminded you of finding him in that van, but at the same time it reminded you of whatever goofy memory surrounded the photo.

You were pulled from your thoughts again when the arguing got louder. You were sure you knew what it was about. Mindy was attempting to get Chad to agree to whatever movie she wanted to watch. He mate as of splitting it up you grabbed the two bags of candy, one of each of their favorite, and walked into the room to flop onto the couch. This caught both of their attention.

“What are you doing?” Mindy was practically glaring at you, and you had to do your best to hold in your laugh.

“Well, i was going to give you guys this for during the movie, but you are busy arguing so I figured I’d eat it myself.” A horrified look crossed their faces at your words, and it took minutes for them to chose a movie and to climb onto the couch with you. They each stole their respected candy, giggling as though they had tricked you into handing it over.

It was almost 2 in the morning when you woke up to the sound of the house phone ringing. Chad and Mindy were up in bed, and you must have fallen asleep while waiting for their parents. You blindly reached over to grab the phone, pulling it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this the Meeks-Martin household?”

“Ya, can I take a message?” You yawned a bit through your sentence, trying to wake up a bit more.

“Y/n? Its Dewey.” You sighed lightly at the man’s words. You did your best to be civil with the man, it wasn’t his fault that your worst memories in life included him.

“What can I do for You officer Riley?” You questioned.

“I um, I’m calling for Woodsboro memorial Hospital. I have some bad news.” You quickly sat up, suddenly not so tired. “Joel and Martha Meeks-Martin were in a car accident. They um- they were dead before getting to the hospital.”

“W-what?” You whispered, unsure of what else to say. Your entire body felt numb, the same way you had felt when sitting at the police station after Randy. A feeling that made everything feel fake, like in a dream.

“I’m so sorry y/n,” Dewey’s voice practically whispered through the phone. “But we need you to come down and identify the body’s, as well as decide what will happen with the kids.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing tears not to fall. What felt like your only two friends left were gone, and you had to tell their kids what had happened.

“Y/n? Are you ok-“

“Do you need me tonight or can it wait until morning?” You cut him off.

“Tomorrow is Fine. Listen, if you need anything at all-“

“I’ll see you then Dewey.” You quickly hung up the phone, setting it on the couch next to you. You let your head fall to your hands, a small sob being let out. You would cry tonight, morn your friends tonight, and tomorrow you would be whatever Mindy and Chad needed you to be.

#scream #scream 1996 #scream 2 #scream (2022)#randy meeks x reader #randy meeks #mindy meeks martin #mindy meeks martin x motherly!reader #chad meeks martin #chad meeks martin x motherly!reader #motherly!reader #not a request

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exhaslo · 2 months

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Corruption Ch10

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9

Warning: Minors DNI, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship/relationship?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two Months, Twenty-Four Days until D-Day

If hearts could float above your head, they would. You felt like you were living in a fairy tale now that you and Miguel were officially dating...in secret. Whether or not everyone knew was of no matter or importance to you. As long as you knew that you melted that stone cold heart of his, you were happy.

Humming lowly as you waited for the elevator to arrive, you couldn't help but imagine what kind of day it will be. Maybe it was your clouded mind, but you were sure Miguel was behaving. He wasn't calling for you any cruel experiments. Perhaps he had changed.

Or you were so blind from love that you didn't notice.

"Hold the elevator!" Aaron yelled out.

You gasped softly, using your foot to hold the doors open. You needed to snap out of your day dreams and focus. Nearly dropping both yours and Miguel's coffee, you bit your lower lip in a panic. Miguel was not a happy camper without his morning cup of joe.

"Thanks, (Y/N). Still dressing like it's negative degrees?" Aaron said with a light chuckle, "Your office is like a sauna now."

"Haha, yea...I still don't know what came over me. Never reacted this way to the cold before."

"Think that cruel boss of ours experimented on you with knowing?" Aaron grumbled lowly. You felt your heart sink,

"He wouldn't," You tried to plead Miguel's case, "While yes....Alchemax isn't the...best company to work for, but to experiment on his own workers?"

You. To experiment on you? Miguel wouldn't...unless he ever found out your secret identity.

"You know about the Rapture...right?" Aaron whispered lowly. You felt your shoulders wink,

"Sadly...I do..."

"The apple never falls to far from the tree."

Just like that, you felt yourself return to reality. As much as you loved Miguel, you had to remember that your goal was to take Alchemax down. You needed to bring Miguel's father to justice first. Miguel still had a chance. He could still be saved!

"Anyway, are you free this Friday night?" Aaron asked as the elevator approached his floor.

"Me? Um, not sure yet, why?"

"Because I want to-"

The elevator stopped and doors began to open. Minding his words, Aaron stopped talking since it was too dangerous. Every time he tried anything, Miguel would just appear out of nowhere. Not seeing anyone by the open door, Aaron stepped out,

"I want to take you out on a d-"

"Aaron, there is an emergency system failure in bookkeeping. You're needed urgently." Lyla appeared from your watch. You were taken by surprise.

"Of course," Aaron muttered under his breathe, "Perhaps another time then. Later (Y/N)."

"Bye, best of luck." You chirped.

Once the doors closed again, you focused on your watch. Lyla was smiling as she appeared before you in a cute new holographic attire.

"I love the look. Did Miguel finally give you more freedom to dress yourself?" You chuckled, adoring the AI. Lyla appeared beside your shoulder,

"Girl, it was a workout! I begged! I pleaded! Do you know what I had to do to get this?"

"Um....A well contrasted plan for world domination?" You teased as you arrived on Miguel's floor.

"Ha! That would be too easy. I sent Miguel all of your pictures from you trying on different underwear~"

"What?! Lyla!!" You cried out, chasing after the AI, "T-That's my personal data! Y-You know you can't do that!"

"I jest." Was all Lyla said before disappearing before Miguel's door.

Oh, if you could only strangle Lyla just once. That AI sure knew how to bring tears to your eyes for the most embarrassing things. She was connected to your phone, so you had to be careful of what pictures you took now. So erasing all of your new sexy panties was going to be painful.

As you entered Miguel's office, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Something felt ominous, but it was nothing dangerous to you. Approaching your frightening and cruel boyfriend, you smiled as you handed him his large coffee.

"Perfect timing. There are new specimens that arrived in the Museum of Science today. We are to go so I may have my pick of the lot."

"Ew," You responded immediately as Miguel took his drink, "I just know there is a Spider involved."

"Perchance," Miguel hid his smirk as he glanced at you, "It's cute how much you hate Spiders. Do you despise that Spiderwoman too?"

You held your small coffee, taking small sips every now and then as you tried to avoid his gaze.

"She's a person, so no. Spiders are just...eek." You whimpered.

What a hypocrite. Here you were, hating Spiders with all your being, yet you had some Spider DNA in you. It was easy to say that you still hated them despite enjoying some of the perks of being part Spider. How funny.

"Shall we go?" Miguel asked, changing out of his lab coat and into a more appropriate suit.

You could feel your heart race as you watched Miguel change. Oh how handsome he was. Finishing your coffee, you hurried to Miguel's side and quickly fixed his tie. His hand rested against your cheek, giving you that affection you crave.

"Let's go."

---------

Miguel kept his sinister smirk upon his face as he had you wrapped around his little finger. Lately he felt calm. Everything was going his way. He had you behaving perfectly; your DNA was about to be cracked; and the company was sky-rocking.

Plus, Miguel was doing well by giving himself a name in the city. The underground Kingpin as the rumors spread. People started to fear him after the display he made with Doc Ock.

"Um, Miguel?" You called out.

Miguel glanced at you beside him. You were tapping away on your work tablet, focused on an article. Leaning against you, Miguel recognized the article about rising crime. It was thanks to him that there was so much chaos in the city.

"They're saying...that Spiderwoman isn't doing a good job...just ignoring the people and only stopping the villains....What do you think about that?" Your voice was low. How cute.

"That you shouldn't concern yourself with the small minds of others," He scoffed and threw his arm over your shoulders, "They wish for a constant savior. What good is a hero if they spend all their time on every little thing?"

"Well...."

"A hero is meant for a bigger purpose. Whom else will take on those so-called villains? Our pathetic public eye?"

"Miguel...You know that your father owns them..." You whispered. Miguel silenced you with a kiss,

"And so do I. Spiderwoman just needs to focus on her own morals and ideals. She should not be wasting her abilities on meaningless fighting. Soon enough...those villains will fall."

"Mhm,"

Miguel's smirk returned as you leaned against him. You were so easily to manipulate. So easy to twist and bend. Pulling you onto his lap, Miguel held your waist as he watched you settle. His hands trailed up your sides, feeling your body tremble to his touch.

"Just as how you should think, (Y/N)." Miguel whispered, biting your lower lip, "Think only about what you want."

What you crave.

"Don't be...mean," You whispered, melting into his kisses.

"What do you want?"

To be tainted?

"Y-You,"

"Then just listen to everything I say,"

Be mine.

Miguel hummed lowly as you gave yourself to him. How easily his hands roamed your perfect body. The future of humans. You were going to be nothing but Miguel's precious experiment. His precious wife.

His little hero.

---------

"Must you walk so slow?" Miguel chuckled, waiting for you.

Your cheeks were flustered as you hurried behind Miguel. You wouldn't have been so slow if he didn't mess up your attire. Miguel was very handsy with you. It was like he was always checking your body for anything strange.

"I said to stop bullying me!" You huffed, standing beside Miguel as you entered the muesum.

"Now, now. You weren't complaining."

Unable to deny Miguel's cruelty, you quietly followed. Treating this trip like business as usual, you took notes of everything Miguel did or said. He loved reviewing your notes, just in case someone said something he wanted to review.

After a few hours, you started to get bored. Miguel might find everything here fascinating, you didn't. You could feel your eye lids start to drop as Miguel examined the new creatures. This was the part you hated.

You knew these animals and bugs were going to be used for experiments. It was a nice break, but Miguel would never stop his endeavor for human gene splicing.

This made you recall Aaron's words. What did you have to do to take down Alchemax and help Miguel? Right as you started to brain storm, you felt your spider senses tingle.

"HAHA! Did you truly believe that you could keep me hostage here?!" Rhino screamed as he broke down a nearby wall.

"This puny brained idiot." Miguel hissed. You on the other hand glanced around, wondering where to change, "Let's go." Miguel grabbed your hand, walking towards another room.

"But-Rhino-" You panicked, watching the villain make a mess.

"Is not worth our time. We came here for a reason," Miguel scolded, gripping your wrist. You felt torn,

"Maybe...someone should call Spiderwoman?" You suggested, wanting to help.

As the two of you made a turn, Miguel pinned you against the wall. His face was close to yours, making your heart race.

"As much as I would love to ask Spiderwoman more questions, this is beneath her. These fiends are nothing compared to her perfect genes," Miguel whispered, his intense stare burning into yours, "Remember what I said in the car?"

"Do whatever you say?" You whispered obediently. Miguel rewarded you with a kiss,

"Good girl,"

Oh, you were folding again. Why did Miguel have to make you feel like this? You loved it when he had a hold on you. It was easier to listen to him.

--------

Miguel resisted a chuckle as you gave him a desperate look. Your eyes full of lust as you nearly begged for another kiss. How easy you were to please. Deciding to reward you again, Miguel licked your lips and gave you a deep kiss.

"Now," Miguel broke the kiss, watching you take a moment to catch your breathe, "What were we doing again?"

"Getting...new specimens." You whispered. Miguel smirked,

"Good girl,"

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Next Chapter

(Still on small hiatus, Final Fantasy is AMAZING!!!!)

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @chaoticlovingdreamer @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @migueloharacumslut @straw-berry-ghoul @daisy-artfield @sukunash0e @undf-stuff @iamperson12280 @nightingale1011 @reader-1290 @mcmiracles @keepghostly @marlyharper @jadeloverxd

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel x you #across the spiderverse #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader

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celestie0 · 3 months

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.2 terms and conditions

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 4.5k

a/n. if you see any typos, no you don't.

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 :: ch10 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

“And yeah, that’s basically what I’ll ask from him in return,” you say through a mouthful of your cereal in the morning after summarizing the conversation you had with your school’s star soccer player on Instagram last night.

Mina scrolled through the messages as she took another bite of her apple and gave you a questioning look as she set your phone down. “I’m still shocked at the fact that Gojo Satoru, the Gojo Satoru, sent you a message. Also, why does he want to help his horny friend this badly?”

“I don’t know. But will you do it?” You ask her with pleading eyes. “Just one weekend, that’s all it seems like he’s asking for. And then I’ll get what I want from him. You just have to pretend to be interested in his friend for a little bit.”

Mina leans back on the bar stool at the little raised counter in the kitchen. You liked it because it was a little bar space that opened up to the living room, being partially the reason why you convinced her to sign this lease with you. She swallowed before speaking. “I mean, the only reason I didn’t really like his friend that much was because he kept asking me out to a house party instead of an actual date.”

“Yeah, I know, I figured,” you say.

“Also, an 8AM English class is the absolute worst time to hit on someone.” She smiles at you. “But his friend isn’t bad looking. Not exactly my type, maybe a bit too beefy and masculine for me? I don’t know.” She pauses to take another bite of her apple, this time talking through her chewing. “I would say Gojo is more my type.”

He’s probably everyone’s type, you think to yourself.

“Anyways, yeah, I’ll do it,” she easily agrees.

“You will?” You gleam at her, your hands clapping together in happiness.

“Yeah, I will. If you think it’ll help you get what you want from him, then I’ll do it,” she smiles at you.

You run over to her, arms curling around her from behind as you say thank you, thank you, thank you and she pats at your forearm for you to ease up on your excessive gratefulness.

-------

The weekend rolls around surprisingly fast and the hour that the party’s doors open is steadily approaching. Mina just came home from her work shift and was in the bathroom taking a shower while you sifted through your closet to figure out what to wear. You couldn’t believe you were actually going to an SAE house party. You’ve been to other college parties before, mostly in your first year, but never a fraternity’s, let alone the biggest one on your college campus. Was there some sort of waiting list? Some sort of etiquette that you didn’t know of? Your stomach flips at the prospect.

Your hands pull out a simple black dress that was tucked all the way to the right of your closet. It was a tiny bit wrinkled but it would do. Slipping on the dress, you turned to glance at yourself in the mirror. It had long, skin tight sleeves with a sweetheart neckline and the hem fell to the middle of your thighs, the material soft and silky. You suddenly felt a bit self conscious and ended up taking it off in favor of some ripped blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt instead.

Mina opened the door of the bathroom and stepped into your shared room, wrapped in a towel with her hair clipped up on her head. “Cute fit,” she compliments you as she also makes her way to her closet. “Ugh, I just want to go to bed. Why am I doing this again?”

“Because you love me,” you say.

“Yes, that’s why,” she sighs. She puts on a purple body-con dress that had beautiful sparkles on it, probably more fitting for the club than a house party, but who knows, maybe that ends up being the vibe of the place.

You both sit on the floor in front of the mirror to do makeup, you finishing first since you wore a little less than her, and you help her draw the wings of her eyeliner. This sort of ritual was always the best before you went out with friends. The getting ready part was almost more fun than the actual going out part.

A small fight took place between the two of you in terms of who would be designated driver, and Mina finally relents to allowing you to drive. You argued with her that she was doing you a favor, and that if Mina decides she needed some drinks during the night to take the edge off of having to talk to this Gojo Satoru friend, then she should be allowed to do that. Mina grabbed her purse and you grabbed your cross-body fanny pack as well as keys, and you were headed out the door.

As you drove down the street approaching the address, you both noticed a lot of the houses looked very similar with decorative sports flags, gaudy front-lawn decorations, and outside furniture. This was most likely the fraternity house strip of SAE where most of the guys lived and hosted parties. There were living places on campus for the members too, but those were usually for the people that organized the fraternity’s events. Loud approaching bass-boosted music filled the air and it suddenly became challenging navigating through all of the parked cars on the street as the GPS informed you that you were less than 500 feet from your location on the left. You luckily found a spot to park at the cul de sac a little further ahead and then you two were making your way to the house.

“4100, right?” Mina called after you as she shuffled a bit in her heels to catch up, arms crossing over her chest to warm herself up in the cold. You slowed down a bit for her.

“Yeah, this one I guess,” you point up ahead where you spot a group of people approaching the entrance where a guy seemed to be collecting payments. You notice him turn some people away from the door, confirming that there was some sort of screening process for entry, and you’re suddenly a bit anxious.

“Alright, y’all are good to go inside,” the guy at the door chirps to what’s left of the group that lined up before you two. He makes eye contact with you and Mina, straightening himself up a bit. “Ladies! Looking very gorgeous. I like the sort of casual tomboy with the bombshell friend pairing. Can’t say I’ve seen you two around here. Ever been to an SAE party before?”

“Nah, first time,” Mina says as she shivers from the cold.

“Aight, cool, you’ll definitely enjoy it. Ladies enter for free, so go on ahead,” he says, comically gesturing towards the door with both of his arms before he crosses them again and puffs out his chest. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He has a little name tag that says Itadori Yuuji on it, which you’re almost certain no one even asked him to wear.

As you two make your way inside, you’re instantly reminded of why you hated places like this. Loud music reverberates throughout the entire room as people bustle around everywhere, some people dancing, some people standing, some people walking over to other areas, and a lot of people shamelessly making out. There was a lot more lighting than you were expecting, that sort of warm and dull suburban house lighting that reminds you of your childhood for some reason, but there were flashing lights across the ceiling that gave it more of a party feel. The house was two stories, and the staircase was visible from the entrance, leading up to a hallway at the top with a railing that oversaw the downstairs expanse before stretching out further into unseen territory where you assumed the bedrooms were. Your eyes instantly began scanning the room for any familiar faces, or for one Gojo Satoru.

“Damn, just the smell of the alcohol alone has me about ready to throw up,” Mina says next to you as she takes a few steps further into the house. You follow behind her as she makes her way into what looks like the kitchen where there’s less people other than those refilling their drinks. She’s quick to pour some vodka into a plastic red solo cup before nonchalantly opening the fridge and pouring some orange juice into it as well. She glances up at you. “Don’t judge me.” You stifle a laugh.

“Oh shit, sorry man,” a masculine voice behind you says and when you turn around, you’re face to face with quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life.

In all his glory, Gojo Satoru was standing in front of you. Just as the prophecy foretold, he was tall, at least an entire head above you, and irritatingly gorgeous. He was wearing gray sweatpants, untied drawstrings loosely hanging, with a black short-sleeved shirt that was tight around his biceps and lazily tucked into his waistband just at the front. He was holding two drinks in his hands, one clearly with some spillage as droplets fell from the base of it onto the tile of the kitchen, and his piercing blue eyes behind his tacky HO-HO party glasses widened at the sight of you. The guy behind him, who you assumed was the one he was apologizing to just a second ago, gave him a solid slap on the back and muttered a you’re good, dude before turning the corner back into the core of the party, leaving the three of you alone in the kitchen.

You heard Mina cough a little behind you and you watched as Gojo’s eyes quickly darted to her.

“No way,” you hear Gojo mutter under his breath as he walks past you and makes his way around the kitchen island, setting the drinks in his hand down on the counter. “You’re Mina, right? I’m Gojo Satoru,” he says as if not everyone on campus knows who he is, and sticks his hand out for her to shake and she hesitantly shakes it. “Thanks for coming.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Mina said, shooting you a glance.

He then turns around and makes his way to you again, hand outstretched for you to shake, and you hesitantly do so as well. You immediately notice how the tips of his fingers feel calloused. “Hey, I’m Gojo Satoru. You’re y/n, right?”

You nodded, for some reason unable to find your voice, and he peers over the ‘O’s on his glasses to look at you. His eyes were like the sparkling ocean under the sun, a tantalizing shade that sailors probably yearned for during long nights out at sea before they went overboard, chasing after sirens, and eventually drowning. Yikes, that got dark for some reason. But there was something dark about his eyes, too. “Yeah.”

He leans down closer to you, his mouth near your ear, and the fragrance of freshly-washed laundry consumes you. “Thanks, I owe you one. Find me later, ‘kay?” he whispers and you can feel his breath on your neck. The movement has your cheeks embarrassingly burning before he’s pulling away from you. He turns to Mina again. “You’ve met my friend Todo, right? He’s about sixty ounces deep into an insane round of beer pong, you wanna watch?” Gojo asks her with a weirdly wholesome smile on his face.

“How charming…” Mina says as she reluctantly walks over to him, giving you a darting look, and then he’s leading her out into the living room. You stand there in the kitchen, leaning against the island, finally noticing how fast your heart was beating.

I mean, you knew he would be handsome. You saw all his Instagram pictures, and all the school advertising for the soccer team with his face all over it plastered practically around every corner on campus, but this was your first time seeing him in person and you hated how breathtaking he was. Like, how can people just casually be in his presence? You figured the only way was that they eventually get used to the way he just commands a room when he walks in. You wonder if you’ll ever feel relaxed in his vicinity. Part of you wishes you didn’t fight Mina so hard to be designated driver because now you were itching for a drink to calm your nerves.

As a group of girls make their way into the kitchen, giggling about something some guy had said to one of them, you suddenly feel a little alone and make your way out into the living room as well. Your hands play with the strap of the fanny pack slung across your chest and just people-watch for a bit. Spotting the game of beer pong over in the corner, you see Mina watching with a bored expression and you let out a small laugh. The man at the end of the table had a ping pong ball in his hand, and you immediately identified him as this Todo guy. Mina’s description was pretty spot on, definitely beefy and masculine, and he was the only one in that corner that had his shirt off for some reason.

He aimed for the opposing side’s remaining two cups of beer, the ball looking comically tiny in his large hand, and when he threw it the ball landed right in one of the cups. A look of excitement flashed across his face before a bunch of the guys started smacking his chest, yelling something like “has to be a bounce shot, dude” and he suddenly looked agitated all over again. A small smile makes its way on Mina’s face and you’re surprised to see it.

Standing next to her was Gojo, tall and his presence imposing, as he silently watched the rowdy game with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and back leaned against the wall. There was a curious expression on his face and you tilted your head to the side, enjoying the moment to just study him for a little bit.

“I like your fanny pack,” you hear a voice say from behind you that has you twirling around. You look up and find yourself staring at yet another handsome man. This one had dark black hair that was tied up into a man bun with some short tendrils of hair falling onto one side of his forehead.

“Oh, thanks,” you say awkwardly.

“Where are my manners? I’m Geto Suguru, nice to meet you,” he says as he stretches the hand that was not occupied by his drink out to you.

You shook his hand, noticing calluses on his fingers too. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m y/n. What’s with everyone here and shaking hands? I feel like I’m at a job interview.”

The man in front of you chuckles. “You’re funny,” he says. “Haven’t seen you around here. Which sorority are you in?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not in one. I live with my friend Mina about 20 minutes from campus,” you awkwardly say.

A slightly surprised expression flashes across his face as he nods slowly and you can see it in his face that he’s searching his brain for a follow-up question when someone behind him taps his shoulder.

“Hey, Suguru, do you know what time practice is tomorrow? Itadori-kun swears it’s at three, but I have a meeting at that time, so if that’s true then I’m screwed,” the guy behind Geto says. Sigh. Once again handsome. He was tall, had broad shoulders, and cleanly styled blonde hair with a sharp jaw that made him look like he just stepped out of a James Bond movie.

“Pretty sure it’s at six. I’d check with Satoru, though,” he jutted his chin over in the direction of the beer pong table. “Oh, this is y/n by the way. She’s not in a sorority, but she lives 10 minutes away from campus.” Geto steps to the side a little and the blonde stranger steps into his space.

“20 minutes,” you correct him and this time, you’re the one to stretch your hand out. The man in front of you shakes it, and once again you notice calluses. This must have to do with soccer, then. His handshake was firm, short, and intentional, and you could tell he was probably studying a respectable major.

“I’m Nanami Kento, but just call me Kento,” he says in a smooth voice. “Excuse me,” he says and he’s making his way past you over to the beer pong table.

Geto’s glance falls on you again, but suddenly feeling awkward you excuse yourself from him to go use the restroom. You haven’t had this much social interaction in a long time and you needed to get away from the noise for a second. As you make your way past the kitchen into a narrow hallway, you realize you have no idea where the restroom is. One of the door handles has a sock on it, gross, so you ignore it all together. You finally reach a door that could potentially be a restroom, and you’re overjoyed that you don’t hear any voices inside when you knock on it. You allow yourself inside and close the door behind you.

The bathroom was surprisingly well-kept from what you expect of a frat house. There’s about three different toothbrushes in a round plastic tin on the counter of the sink, but you’re sure that there’s more than three guys that live here so there must be another bathroom upstairs too. Glancing at your reflection, you notice that some of your mascara has smudged a little so you use your finger to wipe the excess off and then you reapply a thin layer of lip balm over your lips. You contemplate actually taking a piss, but you realize you don’t really need to. With a few deep breaths, you’re out into the hallway and almost make it back into the kitchen before bumping into a certain white-haired man at the kitchen entrance.

“Oh, hey, fancy seeing you here again,” Gojo says with a grin and your eye twitches slightly. He was still wearing those HO-HO glasses (Christmas was literally over three months ago) and this time there were some sort of black painted lines underneath both of his eyes. He was extremely hot but definitely somewhat unserious about his appearance.

Gojo glances down at your empty hands and tips his head to the side a little. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Uhh, water?” You offer.

He lets out a laugh, his hand flying to his stomach, and you realize he thinks you're joking. When your expression doesn’t budge, his smile drops. “Seriously?”

“I’m DD for Mina,” you say as you walk around him and make it into the kitchen where you find a pitcher of water. Your heart still races a bit at the sight of Gojo, but you enjoy the peace and quiet that the kitchen provides you away from the party around the corner.

“So, y/n,” you hear Gojo say behind you. You’re not quite used to hearing your name casually roll off his tongue. He’s suddenly at your side, leaning back against the edge of the island and crossing his arms as he looks down at you to watch you pour your water. It takes everything in you to not glance over at how nice the muscles of his arms probably look across his chest. “What exactly are those terms and conditions you spoke of?”

Your face flushes slightly. You remind yourself that this is the man that you were Instagram DMing at two in the morning earlier this week. It feels weird, considering at the time he seemed more like a made-up character in your mind but now that you’ve actually met him, you realize that he is indeed a living, breathing, real person. When you take a sip of your water, you realize just how parched you really are.

“Okay, hold on a sec, there’s no way you’re just drinking water all night long. There’s some non-alcoholic punch in the other room. Be right back,” he says and he’s gone from your side. You miss the heat from his body.

He returns shortly after with a cup of punch in his hands and slides it to you across the counter. You grip onto it and stare into the deep red liquid.

“Okay, so,” he says as he leans back against the counter again, this time a bit closer so his arm was brushing against your shoulder. Your skin burns at the contact. “Your terms and conditions?”

You found it a bit odd that he was so adamant to satisfy these conditions of yours, considering he already won. You had successfully brought Mina to the party, and it seemed like she was getting along with his friend Todo. It shouldn’t really matter what you wanted from him anymore. You suppose that maybe he was just a man of his word.

You sigh, remaining facing the counter of the island as you glance at all the types of alcoholic bottles and cans laid out on it. “Well, my request is pretty simple.”

“Hmm,” you hear him hum inquisitively beside you.

You finally turn to face him and you instinctively put a hand over your heart as though to reprimand it to stop beating so fast in his presence. He notices the movement. “I want you to get me onto the soccer field at a few of your practices or games so I can take film photos of the players.”

Gojo takes his HO-HO glasses off and sets them down on the counter, a serious expression on his face. You notice how nice his eyelashes are.

“Your terms and conditions are…that you want me to help you take photos of a bunch of sweaty dudes?” he asks. “You’re kinda freaky.”

You roll your eyes and send him an annoyed look. “They’re not for me, they’re for one of my class assignments. I’m taking this film photography class, and my professor is obsessed with the school’s soccer team. Pretty much all of his lectures start with goal-by-goal breakdowns of your guys’ most recent game. If I submit some stellar-looking film photos of the action on the field, he’d give me a good grade and a good letter of recommendation.” You notice Gojo tense up slightly in front of you. “I’m trying to get into this one graduate program.”

You watch his chest rise and fall with a deep breath as he turns his head to look away from you and instead look straight ahead at the fridge. Long lashes flutter against the top of his cheeks every time he blinks. His arms that were crossed at his chest rise a little as he shrugs. “Yeah, I guess I can do that for you.”

You can’t control the smile that spreads across your face when he acquiesces. This was a really good opportunity for you. You pick up the punch that he gave you and almost bring it to your lips when he speaks again, interrupting the motion.

“Your pictures are pretty good, by the way,” he says, still staring straight forward at the fridge.

Your mouth gapes slightly. “How have you seen my photos?”

He looks down at you, an eyebrow raised. “I follow you on Instagram, dummy. Also, you never followed me back.”

You’re standing there a little stunned at the conversation. He speaks to you so casually as if you haven’t just met him tonight. “Sorry, I only really follow back my friends…”

“Are we not friends?” It’s your turn to let out a laugh, thinking he’s joking, only to realize he’s not.

“I’ve literally just met you…speaking of, I should probably pour my own drink,” you say as you slide the punch back onto the counter top over to him and turn away to head in the direction he had gone to retrieve it for you. You hear him mutter an ouch from behind you at the implied accusation you just made but you remind yourself that this man is essentially a stranger to you, and the only things you know about him are things you’ve heard from other strangers.

You spot Mina still by the beer pong table, this time heavily invested in the game and she even flirtatiously blows on Todo’s ping pong ball for good luck before he chucks it at the opposing teams’ cups, entirely missing, but Mina reaches up to place a kiss on his cheek regardless. Your jaw drops at the sight. She was going to be answering a lot of your questions in the morning.

You find the punch table, pour yourself some, and realize that it was indeed non-alcoholic and pretty damn good. Mina finally makes eye contact with you from across the room and she leaves the table to make her way to you.

“Y/n! OMG, I was lookin’ for you, girl!” She sounded a bit tipsy. “What time is it? I totally forgot I have a stupid discussion post thingy due at midnight.”

You pull your phone out of your fanny pack and read the time that says 11:12PM. It was still a bit early to leave a party, but you supposed it was up to Mina. “It’s 11:12PM. There’s no traffic so it would probably just take us around 10-15 minutes to get home. You wanna leave?”

She sighs and turns around to look at Todo, who was giving her a sleazy look and mouthing what’s wrong, babe? Mina shakes her head at him pitifully and then turns her head back to you with sulking shoulders. “Yeah…stupid professor making those posts 25% of our entire grade…”

You laughed and made sure she grabbed her purse before you two headed towards the exit. You bumped into Geto again on your way out and gave him a polite goodbye and then you two were out of the door, loud party noises getting further and further as you made it to the car. Mina trailed a bit behind you but eventually made it over to the passenger side door. You unlocked the car and she made it inside, but before you do the same, your phone pings with a notification from Instagram.

|| 11:16PM Gojo Satoru: I’ll let you know our practice and game schedule for the next week. Just let me know what times you’re interested in stopping by

A small twinge of excitement fills your chest and you’re suddenly feeling some sort of high as you slide into the driver’s seat of the car. Mina’s mumbling something like turn on the heateeerrr beside you, and you put the car in drive then take the two of you home.

a/n. apologies for any formatting errors since i'm copy/pastin from my ao3! i've tried to manually fix them all but i'm too lazy to read the whole thing to fix it lol. hope you enjoyed!

➸ take me to chapter three!

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wardenparker · 2 months

Text

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 6

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 16.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* It's break up time, kiddos! Patrick Jane can fuck right the hell off. Jammed up wedding plans, mention of a fire. Two nerds flirting naked. Summary: In the aftermath of the State dinner, there are decisions and plans to make. But nothing else is quite as big as the favor Marcus needs to ask of you. Notes: Sometimes grand gestures are the friends we made along the way...or something like that. 🧡

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

The buzzer rings past midnight, cutting through the quiet music playing in the bedroom with an angry hiss. It makes the clink of a wine glass on a coaster and the slap of a paperback novel on wood seem very definitive, along with the footsteps that pad out into the living room to hit the buzzer. "Yes?" It's the polite way of asking who the hell is at the door this time of night.

“Hey.” Marcus leans against the intercom, bow tie undone and his jacket discarded. He had been dropped off at his house and immediately grabbed his keys to leave once more. Needing to talk to her. “I know it’s late, I’m sorry.” He apologizes. “Can I come up?”

"Marcus!" Vanessa's surprise is obvious, but she still hits the button on the speaker panel to let him up without hesitation. "Sure, of course. Come on up."

The door clicks and Marcus opens it, pausing for just a second before he enters the building and makes sure that it closes behind him. Knowing that he is doing the right thing. That it is what’s best.

As usual, it takes four minutes for someone in the lobby to get upstairs to her apartment. Vanessa is in the small kitchen beside the living room when the knock comes on the door, and she steps over to the door to pull it open. "Look at you all dressed up," she hums, seeing that he's still wearing his tuxedo. He looks exhausted, but handsome. "Come on in. How was the dinner?"

“It was good.” He doesn’t want to tell her that it was life changing, but it was. Even as hurt as he was when finding out that you were aware of the connection between you, he had realized one key thing. He is not a man who would be able to continue a relationship with Vanessa in good conscience. It wasn’t fair, but it also wasn’t fair to be stringing her along when he was pining for you.

"Just good?" That seems a little too simple, especially for someone as usually verbose as Marcus, but she doesn't push. Her own night was...complicated, and it's good that he came over. "Do you want a drink or anything?" Vanessa offers, motioning toward the kitchen. He's only been here once, but he knows she keeps the apartment well stocked. "Wine? Coffee?"

“Coffee, if you don’t mind.” Marcus shrugs slightly and follows her into the small kitchen. “It was long.” He admits. “The names and faces have kind of blurred together, if I’m honest.”

"State dinners are hundreds of people. I would be surprised if they didn't." Coffee for two seems like a good idea, and she pulls two Nespresso pods out of the cannister by her machine and takes two mugs off the rack under the cupboards.

“The food was good, open bar – though no one got sloppy, and more security than I’ve ever seen in my life.” Marcus chuckles, moving to the small dinette table and pulling out a chair.

"Do any of the faces still stand out at all?" She has something she wants to talk to him about but she's going to hold off until the coffee is ready and they can sit down and talk like reasonable people.

“Spanish royalty?” Marcus snorts. “An award-winning chef.”

"Did you actually get to meet the royals?" Never having been to a State dinner herself, she hadn't been sure if that would happen. So when she brings two cups of coffee and the container of creamer from her fridge over to the table, she's actually interested.

“Actually.” Marcus huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “I was in the receiving line with the family and the President, like I was supposed to be there and not just some friendly favor.” There’s not a tone to his voice beyond amusement, he’s working hard to make sure of that. Because in a sense, he did belong there. Feeling guilty because of him technically dating Vanessa right now. Which is why he’s come over.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Vanessa takes a sip of her coffee, steadying herself from everything that has happened tonight. She had planned on calling Marcus in the morning, but…well, he’s here now. “And actually, I’m glad you’re here,” she says, trying not to sound foreboding.

“Me too.” Marcus busies himself with making his coffee, trying to gather the right words now that he’s in front of her. It had been so clear in his mind when he was at home, on the drive over. Even when he was knocking on her door, but now he feels like an asshole for wanting to break up just because he knows who his soulmate is.

Not one to draw out the process, or to make it overly flowery, or even to embellish it unnecessarily, Vanessa sits with her legs crossed at the small table in her kitchen and straightens her back and shoulders for the clarity of mind it gives her. “I think we should see other people,” she pronounces clearly, letting there be no mistake or hesitancy in her tone.

Marcus pauses, his eyes shooting up from the spoon as it swirls around the cup and he drops it. “I…see.”

“Not because of anything that went wrong,” she clarifies right away. Just because she’s dumping him doesn’t mean she wants to hurt him — Marcus is a sweet guy. He’s just not her guy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on doing this tonight.”

“No, um, that’s okay.” He’s also quick to reassure her. “I think that we both knew that it wasn’t permanent.”

"I think it could have been," Vanessa admits. She clutches her coffee cup in both hands, holding onto the warmth for reassurance of her own. "But I...found my soulmate."

“That’s…” Almost amazingly coincidental but he doesn’t say that. “Amazing.” He hums, almost reaching out to take her hand, but he doesn’t. Feeling a little relieved but also picked last again if he’s honest. Never quite good enough, not even for you. “That’s amazing. I’m happy for you. Do you want to tell me about it?” He knows that sometimes soulmates like to keep their discovery a secret and he wouldn’t pry if she didn’t want to talk about it.

“It was kind of an accident,” she admits, complexion reddening with a pleased blush. “And I haven’t even said anything to him yet. But now that I know who it is, I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”

“I get it.” Marcus smiles and reaches out this time, touching the back of her hand in a friendly gesture. “I hope that you have that dream life you want.” Just because he wasn’t her soulmate, doesn’t mean that they hadn’t discussed dreams, hopes for the future. “I wish you the best, truly.”

"I hope you find the best girl in the whole world who will give you everything." Squeezing his fingers back gently, Vanessa offers him the most heartfelt wishes she possibly can. Marcus deserves the world. He's a good guy and a good partner and she probably wouldn't be doing this at all if she hadn't found her future tonight. "You deserve to be happy, and I hope you find that soon."

“Thanks.” He smiles, knowing that it’s what he’s supposed to do right now and glances at the clock in her kitchen. “I better go.” He decides, not even having taken one sip of his coffee. “It’s late and…” he trails off, the silent continuation of his comment fading between them. He’s not her soulmate and now he’s not even dating her, so he has no reason to be at her apartment so late.

"I'm glad you came by." Breaking up with him over the phone had felt a little cowardly, and she's glad to be able to have seen him face to face one more time. If nothing else, it feels more respectful.

“Yeah.” Marcus stands and picks up his coffee cup to move over to the sink. It wasn’t quite how he pictured this conversation going, but he isn’t going to protest when she is clearly on the same page he is.

There is something of a stalemate at the door, and if Vanessa were more of the hugging kind of friend, she might have offered one. She might also have expressed that they could stay friends, but that seems futile. It is entirely likely she’ll never see Marcus Pike again despite them living in the same city. But she does wish him well one more time and say a polite good night. After all, she knows she did the right thing.

“Goodnight.” Marcus flashes her a grin and steps back, waiting until the door closes and he hears the security locks being latched before he walks towards the staircase.

Sunday is rarely a work day for you, and thankfully today is a very usual Sunday. Agent Sisson is still here when you get up, not having slept very much after the State dinner from all of the thoughts whirling around in your head. Aside from your little outburst, you had a fantastic time. Marcus is the perfect date and had even charmed the rest of your family. The brooch that he gave you is sitting securely in your jewelry box to be worn at the next possible opportunity. Everything is good.

Except you have about a hundred messages on your phone when you finally pick it up after getting out of the shower to get dressed for the day. A dozen different people have texted you, your social media accounts are going haywire, and you even have a missed call and voicemail waiting for you.

The knock on your door is quick, opening just as quick as Sydney pokes her head through the door. “I’ve brought Danish.” She calls out.

“Come in! I’m getting dressed!” A favourite blouse and comfortable jeans will do for today. Nothing over the top, just a day to relax with your best friend and get a few things done. Syd is always fun to do your weekly grocery shopping with. Deciding to check your phone afterward — it’s probably just people wanting to know how the dinner went — you quickly get dressed and shove your phone in your pocket to come out into the kitchen. “Good morning sunshine.”

Danish isn’t the only thing that she’s brought, although Agent Sisson has already snagged a blueberry lemon muffin and a chocolate bacon croissant and refresh the coffee in his cup before retreating back to the couch. “Good morning to you, princess.” Sydney throws you a grin. “That’s your new nickname. The Times called you ‘First Royalty’.”

“Oh god.” The groan she gets from you is immediate, and you huff as you reach for the iced soy hazelnut white chocolate mocha that Sydney brought you. “The Times wrote about me? Really? That seems…I mean there was actual royalty there.”

“Apparently you and Marcus made a splash.” She snickers, showing you the copy of the newspaper she had made Juan run out and get copies of. She actually made him get all the papers, just to see the pictures of you.

“Ohhhhh no…” It’s above the fold of The Washington Times. The Post has it in a collage of photos just below the fold, since they had the decency to put the President, King, and Queen above the fold. The Washington City Paper has it front and center with no regard for the important guests of the night whatsoever. In every single paper, you’re right there in Marcus’s arms: being dipped low with beaming smiles and dreamy expressions on both of your faces. First Princess and Mystery Man Sweep State Dinner: What Will the Congressman Say? asks the City Paper and you drop into the nearest chair with a groan. “Oh, this is so bad…”

She winces and shrugs slightly. “In your defense, it’s just a dance.” She huffs. “If he’s so upset about a dance, that’s just unreasonable. It’s not like you were making out with him.”

“But I wanted to.” You slump over with your coffee clutched in two hands and huff loudly, knowing you sound ridiculous as you groan again. “Syd…he has my appendicitis scar…it’s not just theoretical anymore.”

“You saw your scar?” Her brows wing up as she tries to figure out how you had seen his stomach in some innocuous way.

“No, no, god no. Can you imagine? That is what would have ended up in the papers.” The papers. Ugh. “He mentioned having scars from his soulmate and his childhood all mixed together, and when I asked him about it a little later in the night he pointed to the exact place where my scar is and made a little jagged swishy motion with his finger exactly like my scar.”

“So he’s your soulmate.” She nods, having been more convinced of it than you had. “What did he say when you told him?”

“I didn’t.” A fact which makes you cringe completely. Mostly in shame. “I convinced myself on the spot that I shouldn’t tell him until I’ve broken up with Sam. Plus, ya know, he’s still dating Vanessa. So there’s that. If they’re happy then I don’t want to fuck things up for him at all. He doesn’t deserve that.”

She blows out a disappointed raspberry and rolls her eyes. “God, really?” She snorts. “I – are you scared?” She asks seriously. “I’ve never seen you hesitate this badly in your life. Not even when Bobby Brasino dared you to jump off the bridge when we were in ninth grade.”

It isn’t the first time you’ve been grateful that she can pretty much read your mind, but you flop backward in the chair and have a sip of your coffee with a deep sigh. “I’m terrified,” you admit finally, but point one stern finger at her. “And that was a very small bridge. Plus, Bobby Brasino was a dick and he deserved to be embarrassed in front of the whole football team. I stand by that.”

“You had bigger balls than Bobby Brasino.” She laughs. “I would say that you still do, but babe…” She reaches out and takes your hand. “How upset would you be if the roles were reversed?” She asks. “If he suspected for over a month that you might be his soulmate and never said a word. Wouldn’t you be hurt? Upset?”

“I would want to know why.” You can readily admit that. Wanting an explanation isn’t too much to ask. “But as long as he had a good reason I wouldn’t be too upset. And I spent the last month agonizing over wanting to be with him or talk to him every single second, so I think that should earn me back at least one or two points that I will inevitably be losing for being a fraidy cat.” Reaching for the pastry box in the middle of the table, you pull out a peaches and cream Danish and flick your eyes back to Sydney. “And…I think I came up with a plan last night. Or at least half a plan.”

“Tell me your plan.” The fact that you plan on doing something is a good thing and she picks up the blueberry Danish she had been craving.

“I’m gonna need Juan for this one, but I think it’s going to work.” Even though the breakfast she brought is absolutely perfect, it’s less important right now than telling her what you’ve been thinking. “I’m going to go over to Sam’s today and end things. No more scaredy cat procrastination. And then I’m going to mine Juan’s knowledge for all of Marcus’s favorite things and put together an actual, big grand gesture. He talks so much about meet cutes, and true love, and romantic gestures…I think he deserves to be on the receiving end for once.”

Syd hums, impressed with the idea and she is happy that you are willing to woo the agent. The man that Juan thinks is perfect for you, because he is. “I think that’s perfectly plausible.” She agrees. “Have you talked to Sam?”

"Not yet. I woke up, took a shower, and then you got here." The coffee she got you is amazing and it's already half gone, giving you a little caffeine and sugar buzz to go with your determination. "But it needs to be today. I don't want to have to fight with him about these newspaper headlines for no reason."

“I don’t think he will fight with you.” She hopes he doesn’t fight, not when you have no control over the media’s headlines. Of course they sensationalized a moment to sell papers, he should know that. It’s just heartwarming instead of scandal, which the world needed more of in her opinion.

"I'll get called a few names, probably. But at this point I might deserve it, I don't know." You shrug slightly and chew a large bite of pastry before sitting forward at the table again. "Everything he said last night...all the things that line up so well between us...I just...I want to make sure that Marcus knows he's worth having a fuss made over him. I mean, he told me how he got his ex-wife to go on a date with him and that man seems like he is all about the grand gesture."

“How did he get her to go on a date with him?” She’s curious and takes a sip of her decaf tea, wishing it was the coffee that you hold in your hand. Eager to hear some juicy details as she picks up a croissant and nibbles on it.

"According to her, playing guitar and bass wasn't enough to make him a real musician." The heavy way you roll your eyes shows how much you disagree with that, but it's clear that this particular woman had strong opinions. "So he learned violin, taught himself Bach’s Violin Concerto in E Major, and played it for her. Then she agreed to go on a date with him."

“Holy shit.” She whistles, having heard about how difficult violin concertos are, and she wasn’t even that close to someone who plays.

"See what I mean?" Your eyes light up as it seems to click in her head as well. "Grand gesture. It's the way to go."

“It seems like it might be the best thing.” She nods, taking another bite of the pastry and humming. “Juan thinks so highly of him.” She admits. “When he finds out that he’s your soulmate? He’s going to be over the moon.”

"He's having dinner with us, right?" Sydney's husband was going to spend the afternoon running their own errands and seeing some friends before the three of you sat down to dinner together, and now it seems all the more important. "My Mom called Marcus handsome, by the way. Right off the bat. I could have burst into flames in embarrassment."

“Well, babe, he is handsome.” She points out to you, like you aren’t aware of that fact. “Not has handsome as my husband, but I might be a little biased.” She snorts. “Although they look like separated at birth twins.”

"They really could be brothers," you snort, amused at the thought. "Can you imagine? If they were separated at birth or something?"

“That would be amusing.” She grins. “If they are, I vote that Marcus’s parents are my real in-laws.” She jokes, having a tumultuous relationship with the widowed Mrs. Badillo.

"Are you sure?" That has you raising an eyebrow at her over your coffee. "His mother is a psychiatrist."

“Has to be better than Juanita.” She snorts, still amused after all this time that Juan’s name was chosen after his own mother’s.

You huff, but still smile and shrug a little as the last sip of your coffee disappears up the straw. "If I ever meet her, I'll let you know."

“You don’t believe that All-American Marcus Pike isn’t the type to bring his soulmate home to mother?” She teases, pegging Marcus for exactly that.

"Just because we're soulmates doesn't mean this no longer ridiculous and now totally justified crush I have on him is actually requited." Do you hope it is? Of fucking course. But you would never expect it. You still believe in the right to make your own choice, and that goes for Marcus, too.

“Are you kidding me?” Sydney jumps up and grabs the newspaper again. “Do you see this?” She demands, shaking it in front of your face. “This is Disney Princess shit, man!”

“I don’t want to expect anything of him.” It’s a clarification, though, and you still take the paper from her and cradle it in your hands like something precious. “I swear I almost kissed him after that dip,” you tell her with the dreamiest, softest sigh. “I don’t know how I controlled myself, honestly.”

“Juan would have been dragged into a coat closet.” Sydney agrees, grinning wickedly.

“If we were both single?” You throw one hand up in a sort of resigned dismay. “You would’ve found him here when you brought breakfast this morning.”

“Too bad you weren’t single.” Sydney pouts. “It would have been cute to see Marcus blush when I ask him how does it feel seeing that tattoo on someone else for a change.”

“You’re awful.” The burning is in your cheeks, not Marcus’s, and you swat at your best friend futilely even as both of you erupt into giggles. “Maybe one day. But not yet. That’s just…I really don’t expect him to just fall into my arms or anything. I just want to make sure that he knows he has a choice.”

“That man wants his soulmate.” She groans, shaking her head at how absurd you are at times. “He wants to love and be loved. His soulmate? He will think your fart rainbows.”

“I do fart rainbows,” you tell her solemnly, adopting as sage a fine as you possibly can. “I’m adorable and medically concerning that way.”

Sydney snorts and rolls her eyes as she tosses a napkin at you. “Yes, you are a modern miracle.”

“My Mommy says I’m a national treasure,” you snort, erupting into giggles all over again.

“Oh God.” Syd cackles and throws her head back. “Nic Cage is gonna want to steal you now.”

The two of you are cackling uncontrollably at the table when your phone starts to ring. It takes a few seconds to dig out of your pocket, but the image of Sam’s face taking up your phone screen is fairly sobering. With the gut instinct that this can’t possibly be a happy phone call, you reach over to squeeze Syd’s arm and wait until she stops laughing to answer. “Hello?”

“Good morning.” His voice is rough, raspy with the obvious rawness that illness brings. “I need to apologize. I only realized what day it is today.”

“No, you’ve been sick. There’s no need to apologize.” He sounds strained and still ill, but not angry. So that’s a bonus. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I could go back to bed and sleep.” He admits with a small laugh that turns into a cough.

“Then that’s probably what you should do.” It feels like a special kind of asshole move to just dismiss him, and that’s not actually what you intended to do but it’s what it sounds like. “Do you have food in the house? Medicine? All of that?”

“I actually do.” Sam sounds a little confused by your question. “Didn’t you drop off some medicine and soup?” He asks.

“I did, yeah. And I asked Vanessa to keep an eye on you, but I wasn’t sure how fast you would go through what I brought over.” It was a week ago, after all. You glance over at Sydney and chew your lip, wondering if doing this on the phone would be cowardly.

“Thank you.” He pauses for a moment and coughs again. “It looks like the dinner was a success.” He starts tactfully. “I’m glad that being sick didn’t leave you without an escort.”

There it is. You bite your lip just a touch harder, steeling yourself for the conversation, and shift at the table to sit forward. “It was better to bring a friend than to spend all night with a staffer I’ve never met before. I’m sorry you had to miss it, but it’s good that you’ve been able to rest.”

“I would have been horrible company.” Sam can acknowledge that, even if he’s not too pleased with how the picture on the front page looks. “I slept most of this week when I was thrown out of my office.”

“You were highly contagious and needed rest.” This is exactly the kind of conversation you anticipated having with him — the insistence that going easy on himself is essential to the healing process and that his staff was right to send him home. “Nobody wants an international incident because the King of Spain caught pneumonia on his visit to America.”

“That wouldn’t be a good thing.” Sam admits, although he would have been a little more settled if that picture wasn’t splashed over the front page. The headline was inflammatory, but he knows you and your feelings on cheaters.

“It’s…” Reaching for Sydney’s hand to steady yourself, you squeeze her fingers and swallow your nerves. It’s already past time to do this. “It’s good that you called, actually.”

“I know I need to apologize to you.” Sam murmurs softly. “I was out of line on Valentine’s Day. Would you let me make it up to you? Dinner tomorrow night?”

“Sam…” squeezing Syd’s fingers a hair tighter, even your eyes squeeze shut this time. “I was going to talk to you about this last week, but that turned out to not be an option. I think…” Come on, breathe. You can do this. “I think it’s fairly clear that we have different visions of our futures. It’s…I think this isn’t going to work out.”

The seconds tick by and Sam is silent as he absorbs your words and processes them. “I….see.” He’s hurt, slightly upset that you have chosen to end things without a real conversation and over the phone, but he doesn’t say that. “Well then, I guess dinner is out of the question.” He attempts to be lighthearted but the words come out hurt. There’s a flash of an incoming call and he pulls the phone away to see who is calling. “I’m sorry, I have another call coming in. I—I should let you go. Take care? I’ll call you later?”

“Of course. I still want us to be friends even if we’re not together. And I have a few things of yours to return to you.” It isn’t much. A lent book, a sweater, a scarf of his that he said brought out your eyes. “And—I am sorry, Sam. This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“Of course.” Sam clears his throat. “Goodbye, Birdie.” He clicks off the line quickly.

All you can do at that point is put down your phone and groan quietly. You let go of Sydney’s hand and rub your face with both hands, shaking your head the entire time. “I shouldn’t have done that on the phone,” you sigh after a second. “I just got so anxious when he apologized and asked me to dinner — I almost said yes.”

“I’m sure it will be alright.” She comforts. “I didn’t hear any yelling, so it doesn’t seem like he was angry.”

“Worse than that,” you sigh and let your forehead hit the table with a soft thunk. “He got quiet and cold. Which means he’s very upset.”

“Of course he’s upset.” Sydney will always be on your side, and boost you up. “You’re amazing, for one. Two, he loves you. Thirdly, he probably knows him being a dickhead on Valentine’s Day caused this. And fourth…” she doesn’t have a fourth point so she just shrugs. “Did I mention you’re amazing and a hottie?”

“I love you, too, Syd.” Turning your head to the side on the table, you huff at yourself for a moment before straightening up. “I guess we can cross driving to Maryland off the list for today. Do you still want to go food shopping with me? I think there’s going to be extra sweets in this trip.” Even though you’re the one who did the breaking, breaking up still sucks. And it’s going to require chocolate.

“Of course!” She grins at you. “I’ve already told Juan; I’m craving macaroons now.”

“We’ve moved on to a fancy craving! You must be ecstatic.” It’s just a little tease, but you can feel a little of the tension slip away almost immediately. “Agent Bailey should be here for the shift change in a few minutes. I’ll throw on some shoes and we can go to the market when she gets here?”

“That works.” She smiles and wonders if you are planning on calling Marcus today, just to keep in touch while you plan your grand gesture.

You stand from the table but pause to look at the papers again, smiling with a touch of relief as you look over the photos of you and Marcus dancing together. “I have to admit…we do look good together.”

“‘Atta girl.” She belts out a laugh and takes her last sip of tea. “You go get ready and I’ll poke through your cabinets to see what you need.”

“I have a list, but check my spice cupboard and make sure I’m not out of anything you consider mandatory.” Quickly arranging the papers on your table, you snap a photo and send the text off to Marcus.

To Marcus: In case you haven’t seen the papers today, we seem to have made a splash.

Marcus is sitting in a moderately comfortable chair, drinking subpar coffee to try and keep himself awake so he doesn’t miss the announcement. When his phone digs, he looks down at it and hates the way his heart flutters when he sees that it’s from you. Smiling slightly as he replies: It seems as if the press corps was enjoying themselves. I’ve seen that video running through the news cycle…First Princess.

I’m not sure I’ll get used to that moniker anytime soon, but it’s all thanks to you. I hope you had as wonderful a time as I did last night. You hit send but continue to stare at your phone, chewing the idea over and over while you shove your feet into your favourite pair of boots by the door. Any chance you’re free next weekend? I still owe you that rescheduled dinner.

Marcus winces, sighing softly as he types back: Depends on if I’m back by then. I’m sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to London to board. Interpol called me at 4:30 this morning.

The thud you make when you lean against the doorway with a pout is very audible, making both Syd and the newly arrived Agent Bailey peek around the corner to make sure you’re okay. When they find you still face down in your cellphone, they stop worrying.

Did you manage to get any sleep or can you maybe rest on the flight? We’ll go for Indian whenever you get back. Frowning at the message, you added one more thought to the end before hitting send. And stay safe out there. I know you can take care of yourself, but still. Stay safe.

It’s a little gratifying that you think of his safety at all, making Marcus soften slightly. Thanks. I’m planning on sleeping on the flight. I had a great time at the dinner, hopefully you aren’t getting too much shit for the photos.

Sydney thinks they’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. I think she might be right. Thank you for an amazing night. Sleep well and I’ll talk to you soon? It’s a relief to be able to be honest. With yourself as much as with him. If you could tell him his much you’ll miss him — how you already miss him — without coming in too strong? You would do it without hesitation.

Marcus stares at the message for a moment, wondering what you mean by that, and he pops up when he hears his section being called. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he stands up, wishing that he could have seen you again before he left.

It's hours later, after errands are done and you have had a chance to let a little of the guilt roll off your shoulders about the break up, that you and Sydney and Juan are sitting down in their dining room with an overflowing bag of Indian take-out and a copy of every single paper or tabloid you could find with your face on it.

It's surreal to see them all – because there are so many of them – and even more surreal that you've decided you don't really mind very much. Because it's Marcus on that page with you. You're so happy in these photos and it's a kind of radiating joy that you wouldn't have ever expected from yourself.

“I have to say, I never expected this reaction.” Juan admits as he gestures to all the papers and magazines. When you and Sam Chase were first spotted together, you hadn’t wanted to see the photos or articles until your mother’s PR team wanted to chat.

"I guess it's different this time?" Admitting it feels silly, and your cheeks are burning all over again, but the smile on your face is undeniable. "I'm less nervous with him."

“I can tell.” He grins, having already been informed of the soulmate status, and leans back. “He’s a good man, Birdie.” He promises you. “The best. I don’t know if I’ve ever known a man as good as him.”

"He's so sweet, and such a good dancer..." You cringe slightly, but end up giggling. "And so hot. I really...I'm not even holding back anymore."

He laughs at your almost defiant expression and holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m not saying a word. But it sounds like you’ve fallen head over heels at the idea of your soulmate?”

"Does it make me a hypocrite?" You ask honestly, a little worried about that fact as you unpack the take out bag and start spreading various containers of curry, rice, samosas, and onion bhaji around the table. Syd grabs the gulab jamun container to bring into the kitchen so she doesn't forget to get the ice cream to go with it and gets some plates in the process, but you're busy pairing serving spoons with all the various containers while you talk to Juan. "That's the only thing I'm really getting stuck on now. After spending a year talking loudly about freedom of affection, to then go and find myself feeling like this for my soulmate? It's...a lot."

“I don’t think that it makes you a hypocrite.” Juan shakes his head. “You’ve never bashed soulmates or said that you would never be with your soulmate, and you and Sam were in a real relationship.” He shrugs slightly and his arm curls around his own soulmate’s shoulder when she drops back down onto the seat next to him. “What would be the difference between the spark fizzling out or you finding you’re incompatible without knowing about Marcus?” He poses. “Just because you didn’t see the flaws in your relationship with Sam doesn’t mean they weren’t there.”

“It’s very adult, right?” You hope it is, at least, as the three of you dig into various take out containers with aplomb. “To be able to step away from a relationship with grace?”

“It is.” He can admit that, groaning at the first bite. “I swear this is the best fucking take out ever.”

“Isn’t it?” You’ve been thinking of this butter chicken for weeks, and even if it’s a Basic Bitch kind of choice for Indian take out, you don’t care. It’s amazing. “Best samosas in DC. Hands down.”

“Oh that’s perfectly accurate.” Sydney moans as she takes another one after already eating the one she had.

“Think it’s too late to tell my mother I want Indian food for my birthday?” Even asking the question makes you snort. With barely more than two weeks left until your birthday, you’re sure every single plan is set in stone. “She won’t even tell me what pub we’re going to. I assume you guys got your invitations already?”

“Of course we have.” Sydney grins. “I could hint to your mother that you want to have some Indian appetizers?”

“If the invitations are out then the menu is already set,” you shrug, knowing that it will be good no matter what it is. If you didn’t know your parents were fully capable of throwing a fantastic party, you would’ve insisted on having more input. “Frankly I’m more worried about the fact that Mom was just going to ‘tell Sam where to bring’ me.”

“Are you not planning on telling them soon?” She asks, forking up some of the rice and butter chicken sauce with peas.

“I am patently terrified to tell them.” It’s childish, you know that, but your parents love Sam. They approve of him in every way they can, largely because you never tell them about your disagreements. There is no reason to get them involved in your love life beyond having them meet the guy you’re seeing and sometimes share a meal or an event. “Dad had practically started planning the wedding.”

“Well…you don’t have to tell them right now.” She reminds you. “Just give it some time and then it will seem like you just grew apart.”

"You're right. It doesn't have to be a dramatic announcement or anything." After all, the break up itself had been fairly anticlimactic as well. It simply is what it is, and sometimes life throws you curveballs. "I have more important things to think about right now." You flash Juan a grin. "Like how to tell my soulmate that he is, in fact, my soulmate."

“Yeah.” He hums in agreement and ticks his left eyebrow up. “How are you planning on doing that?” He asks. “Get a new tattoo?”

“I was sort of hoping for some help brainstorming,” you admit sheepishly. “I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s…just a little more important than asking Garrett Hawkings to prom.”

“No, that was a big deal.” Your best friend smirks as she remembers how you almost puked when you asked him. “But this has more of a lasting meaning.” She admits with a shrug.

Juan tilts his head. “What do you have in mind so far?”

“Right now I’m thinking something music oriented, or maybe art?” That’s much too basic, and you slump in your seat a little. “I really only have one idea, but I don’t know if it will actually be fun or if he’ll just end up hating it.”

“You don’t want to announce it on the Jumbotron at a Nationals game?” Juan asks, chuckling at the idea. Even if it’s corny, it’s also cute.

“I want to tell him, not the whole world.” Even if the thought did cross your mind, you’ve already ruled it out. Marcus deserves something special. Something unique. Plus, the first game of the season is too far away. You really don’t want to wait that long.

“What do you have in mind? He might love it.” He takes a sip of his tea and then hands another samosa to his wife, the last one from his own plate.

“There’s this place in Old Town that just opened up a few months ago. It’s an art gallery, but once a week they have what they call ‘Wine and Watercolors’. They open their bar, bring in a live band, and you can pay a little materials fee for a canvas and watercolors to use for the night.” It sounded amazing and romantic to you, but Sam had had no interest. Which, in hindsight, doesn’t surprise you.

“I don’t know if Marcus likes to paint, but it’s romantic.” Juan admits. “He loves things that he can spend time doing with his significant other.”

“That’s kind of my roadblock.” There is a bite of chicken on your fork and you sigh at it like it’s personally responsible for your dilemma. “He said he’s not a very good artist, and I don’t know if that means he doesn’t like making art at all.”

“Nahhh.” Juan shakes his head. “Marcus is an experience kind of guy. He can’t cook for shit but he used to go on those ‘couples cooking’ dates with Lara. Enjoyed it because it was new and he was spending time with her.”

"Besides." After eating the offending piece of chicken, you point your fork tines at Juan. "If we're drinking while we're painting, then no one in the room is aiming for museum quality."

“I can’t argue with that logic.” He laughs. “Besides, if it’s abstract art, it’s supposed to look like shit.”

"But..." Cutting your eyes between Juan and Sydney, you can feel the heat creep up your cheeks. "If I just so happened to paint my tattoo...that would be a bit of dramatic reveal in a good way. Right?"

“Can you paint it?” Juan asks curiously. He’s never seen you paint so he has no gauge on your abilities. “To make it recognizable?”

"I'm not exactly going to be forging an Audubon anytime soon, but I'm not a terrible artist." This little plan that has been cooking in your head all day does rely on it, after all. So you need to be able to pull it off. "I'm going to have to practice a little, but I think I can do it."

“Then I would start practicing.” Juan snorts. “When are you setting up this date?” It might seem quick to some, but to most soulmates, the fact that you have suspected for a month is forever.

"Whenever he gets back from London." That little fact had certainly put a damper in your plans, but there's nothing to be done about it. You would certainly never be upset with a significant other for having to work, let alone a friend.

“Oh?” He seems surprised that Marcus is out of town so quickly and you know about that. “Did he leave right after the dinner? He didn’t say anything the other day.”

"He got the call early this morning." That creeping heat in your face is all the way down your neck though, which how very pleased you look about your little bit of insider information. Even Sydney snickers at how much like that cat that got the cream you are right now. "I texted him this morning and we chatted a little."

"I see." Juan glances over at Sydney and smirks when he glances back at you.

"What?" If it's totally innocent, then there's no reason for smirking or glancing, right? "Friends text. That's not unheard of."

"Friends is not what I see in those papers." He reminds you. "And if you texted him this morning, you were obviously dreaming about him the night before." It's a general teasing tone, winking at you playfully. "Prince Charming in your dreams."

"I'm not going to deny that." Not anymore. Not now that you're unattached and free to give affection to whomever you see fit. The part of you that rises up into your throat whenever you look at those printed pages is definitely in control of your mind right now. "I just don't want to get ahead of anything. Just because I feel whatever this is...it doesn't mean he does, too."

Juan chuckles and rolls his eyes. "That man – he said that he didn't care about soulmates, but he does. He was so sappy every time one of our fellow agents talked about finding their soulmate. He loves love, but I think that he always hoped to find you."

"I don't see any world in which Marcus isn't ecstatic to be with his soulmate," Syd agrees, although she's only known him the month or so since he first arrived at the restaurant. But already, she and Juan have spent much more time with him since then than you have.

"I just don't want to assume that kind of reaction and be disappointed," you rationalize. "It would only be my own fault."

"Caution is good." He doesn't think that it's needed, but rationally it's never a bad idea to be levelheaded about the matter. It's rare to have a soulmate interaction with clarity of thought.

"That's all it is. Just caution." Even though you're nodding your head, there is still a dreamy sort of expression on your face that you can't shake and you're not even sure you would want to if you could. "Will you tease me forever if I ask you for stories from when you guys were at the Academy?"

"Of course." He snorts, as if it's ridiculous for you to even ask that question. "I will lovingly tease you forever while still thinking that it's adorable to witness you fall for Marcus even more through stories."

"I am not falling for anyone." The biggest lie you have ever told in your life and everyone here knows it. "I just have a teeny, tiny, ever-growing crush. That's all."

“Teeny, tiny my baby-growing ass.” Sydney snorts. “I think if you had been single last night, Marcus Pike would have been having breakfast with us.”

"Maybe." It's not even worth disputing, if you're honest. You would have brought Marcus home with you last night in a heartbeat except for a few very important factors. "But there's still the whole Vanessa thing. For all I know they're madly in love."

“I doubt that.” Sydney scoffs. “That woman – I’m sorry – she was, is, in love with Sam.”

"That probably should have been something you pointed out to be while I was dating him," you roll your eyes at her while the takeout containers are getting passed around for everyone to have seconds.

“There was no reason to spike jealousy when you know that Sam never would have risked a scandal.” She reminds you. “He always talks about those who do have infidelity scandals need to resign.”

"To be honest?" Another piece of honey ginger naan hits your plate and you suck a drip of honey off your thumb after putting the container down. "I could never tell if it's cheating he hates or just being sloppy about it."

“I would hope it’s the cheating.” Juan huffs, knowing that he and the congressman would have gotten sideways if he had cheated on you. Being Sydney’s best friend puts you firmly in little sister territory for him.

“I would hope so, too.” You just shrug though, knowing it’s a moot point. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Juan agrees. “Are you planning to talk to Marcus while he’s gone? Where did he go?”

“He said he was going to London and he wasn’t sure for how long.” The sticky sweet naan on your plate is early dessert and you dab at the spicy ginger honey happily. “I said we should talk later but I haven’t heard from him since. They probably had him working the second he touched down, though.”

“Probably.” Juan agrees. “Marcus, the few cases we worked on together, was always one to hit the ground running.”

“A man of action,” Sydney teases, grinning at the way your expression turns even dreamier.

“Marcus was always popular among the female agents.” Juan warns you. “But the man I know would rather take a bullet than cheat.”

“Good.” Though you had a feeling that he trended that way, it’s nice to have confirmation. “It would be nice to not have to think about that at all.”

“No, you don’t have to worry about that.” Even though it’s been a number of years since he’s spent a lot of time with Marcus, some values are just true to their base layer and that’s one of them for the other man. “But—” he holds up a finger. “You could consider his job his mistress. The Bureau can be a demanding one at times. Stealing him away during dinner when that damn phone goes off. So…beware.”

“I love that he’s dedicated to his job. And that it’s a job that actually helps people. I’d rather have that than a partner who comes home miserable after work every day.” Spouses busy with work is something you’ve seen. Something you’ve lived through. Something that you were directly in the middle of as a kid, before your dad decided to stay home with you and your siblings.

“I know you can handle it.” He assures you. “I don’t know if Lara understood for some time though.” He admits with a sigh. “He was stretched thin for a bit when she was upset about all the training. That man will pull himself apart at the seams to making someone he loves happy.”

Looking up at Juan, you sit forward in your chair a little and frown, almost shaking your head. “When was the last time he actually had someone put him first? It…sounds like he’s always the one making accommodations or bending to his job or his partner. Do they ever do the same?”

“From what I’ve heard….not really.” Juan admits. “With Lara, he was already married when we were at the academy together, but he told me about Teresa.” He shrugs. “They were both agents, but it seems like she had an interest in a consultant she worked with and used Marcus to either make him jealous or try to get over the other guy.” He sighs. “They got engaged and she was supposed to move out here with him to DC in the position he pulled strings to get her.” His frown is very judgmental. “She called him from the plane and then the other guy did the grand gesture of boarding the flight to ‘win her’ and she never showed up.”

There is an intense moment of silence at the table, followed by you very firmly putting your glass down with your jaw on the floor. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wish I was.” He sighs again, thinking back to the conversation he had with Marcus. Feeling slightly guilty about sharing it when it should be his story to tell, but hopefully it will give you some good insight into the man the universe linked you with. “He stopped dating for nearly a year, enrolled in therapy and worked on himself after that.”

“How could a man that sweet just never have been anyone’s priority?” It’s enough to make you actually mad, which is something you hadn’t expected, but you’re deeply upset on his behalf. And with the realization that you had done it too — contributing to the problem when you cancelled dinner on him a few weeks ago. No wonder he was upset with you. At that point you were just one more person in a pattern. “Well,” you decide firmly. “It stops now.”

“Uh oh.” Juan snorts, recognizing the determined tone of voice. He hasn’t been married to Sydney and not spent enough time with you to see the stubborn streak ten miles wide inside you. “Are you planning on love bombing him?”

“I would definitely not call it love bombing,” you insist, since the term has some fairly extreme negative connotations. “But I am going to make sure he knows that he’s valued and appreciated.”

“Poor guy won’t know what to think.” He hums sadly.

With the idea that you’re going to take Marcus to Wine and Watercolors when he comes home from London, you find yourself doodling on a pad of paper in your office the next morning while you review the bookings for the coming week. There are a few repeat customers on the books and you want to make sure you anticipate anything they might need, and you’ve also had a few room cancellations over the weekend that you need to clear out of the system so they can be snatched back up by new guests.

The time difference is vast and he's happy that it's later in London. Having just got off the phone with a nearly hysterical Cameron, Marcus hopes you aren't too busy and can help. He dials your number, figuring this would be best to talk about in person than text.

"Hey, have you seen this?" Sydney opens the door to your office and waves a paper around. "Derby Farms burned to the ground yesterday." She huffs, walking over to your desk and depositing the newspaper down so you can read the article and see the photographs of the burnt rubble. "The entire venue is gone."

“What the hell happened! I loved that place.” But just as soon as you pick up the paper to begin to read, your cell phone goes off on the desk on your other side. Marcus’s name is splashed across the screen with one of the media photos from the State dinner that you had put with his contact info. Flashing a grin at Sydney, you scoop up your phone and answer it quickly. “Good morning, sunshine,” you greet easily. “And good afternoon, too, since it’s…almost tea time there?”

"Hey." It's a much warmer reception than he had anticipated, but he reminds himself that you are friendly, not to read too much into it. "I hate to call and start off with 'I need a favor'." He huffs. "But...I need a favor."

“Of course.” It wasn’t so long ago, after all, that you were talking to Sydney and Juan about people not making Marcus a priority so you’re going to stop that trend in its tracks. With a little humor, of course. “Are we talking treason, because that does get sticky. Agent Bailey is very good at her job.”

He laughs, slightly relieved that you are willing to hear him out. "So I have an agent on my team. Lovely woman. She was set to be married in two weeks at Derby Farms but apparently that entire venue burned down yesterday." He explains. "She took off work today and when I called to check on her – because she never calls off – she was nearly catatonic with grief. She's already paid for everything."

"In two weeks?" Your eyes blow wide and you glance up at Sydney before opening the inn's operations calendar on your computer. "Do you know the exact wedding date? Sydney just brought me the article about the Farm to read, I loved that place."

Marcus gives you the day and sighs. “I know it’s a lot to ask. Is there any way you could help her out?” He asks. “Even if you aren’t available, do you know someone who is? She’s lost all of her wedding plans. Up in smoke – literally.”

The second he says the date, you know you don't have anything booked. There is a reason that you don't have anything booked. Juan had asked for the weekend off almost a year ago so he could go on a ride with his friends, who were all planning on taking their bikes out along Route 66 for a few days for the nostalgia factor. Without your wedding planner on premises, you hadn't booked in a wedding.

It's not that you can't do a wedding yourself. You used to do them before, when you managed the inn under the previous owners. And this is Marcus asking. Marcus who you fully intend to support and make feel valued. "Absolutely," you tell him, changing the date in the inn's calendar to a saved booking. You can absolutely handle this, and the poor bride doesn't deserve to have her day ruined through no fault of her own. "We don't have a booking that weekend, so she can have it here if she wants to. Do you want to give me her number so I can contact her, or is it easier for her if you just pass her my number?"

“I can give you her number. Cameron is really sweet and right now, I know she’s overwhelmed. Her and her fiancé are debating postponing, although they don’t want to.”

"That won't be necessary," you promise him, already mentally clearing your schedule of absolutely everything else to make this happen. "I'll give her a call as soon as we hang up. Everything will be fine." The small smile that graces your lips can only be seen by Sydney beside you, but he can probably hear it over the phone line. "You're a good man, Marcus. Helping her with this is a huge deal, and I hope she knows she's lucky to have you in her corner."

“I feel bad for her.” He waves off your praise, even though it’s a lovely little warm spot inside him and his cheeks heat up. “It’s not her fault the place burned down and I doubt the owners can help her right now.”

"I'm sure they have plenty of their own problems to deal with right now." The nightmare of losing the place had kept you up at night for months after you bought your own inn, you can only imagine how the owners of the farm are feeling right about now. "But we'll make sure Cameron's wedding is still beautiful. Cross my heart."

“Thank you.” He murmurs softly. “I will owe you any favor you want.” He promises with a small laugh. “Are you ready for her number?”

"I'll remember that," you tease, just keeping the thought light and having no intention whatsoever of cashing it in. This is for him. "Go ahead. I have a pen."

Marcus gives you Cameron’s number and sighs softly in relief when you repeat it back to him. “Thank you….seriously. I hate when I can’t help someone and I can’t do anything over here.”

"You've done something enormous." He really does put everyone else first, and you would just shake your head at him if he were in the room with you. "Don't worry about a thing, Marcus. I'll take care of this. Your agent is in good hands."

“Thanks again.” Marcus hums. “Well, I hate to ask for a favor and running, but I have to meet Interpol in about twenty minutes. Talk later?”

"Absolutely." That has you grinning like a mad woman, and you don't care to apologize for it. "Call me when you stop moving for the night. I'll let you know what's been worked out and you can vent about whatever you need to. Deal?"

“That works.” He agrees, smiling through the phone at the care you are showing. “Bye.” He waits for you to acknowledge and then hangs up, staring at his phone and wishing that he could say something to you about the fact you have shared tattoos.

"I apologize in advance for keeping you very busy coming up, but we are going to do Marcus a favor." Even if you bite your lip when you put your phone down, you're serious by the time you look over at Sydney who is now sitting on the edge of your desk. "One of the agents in his department had their wedding scheduled at Derby Farms in two weeks. I'm going to call her and offer her the date here. But it's the weekend Juan is going to be away, so it'll be just you and me running the show."

“Holy shit….poor girl.” Sydney huffs, motioning to the paper. “They reported that the Derby doesn’t have fucking insurance.” She groans. “They let it lapse.”

"Of all the stupid ass things to do." You shake your head and groan. "If I ever say something as dumb as that to you, please wave this article in my face and slap me with it." Picking up your office phone, you glance down at Cameron's number and nod to no one in particular. "Alright, I'm going to make this call and then I'll come and let you know what's up?"

“Sure, let me know. I can throw a tasting box together quickly.” She promises, walking towards the door as she starts to think of what cakes to make samples of for the unhappy couple to hopefully cheer them up.

"You're the best!" You call after her, already dialing the number you wrote down as the door to your office clicks shut again. It rings three times and you start mentally preparing a message to leave before the call connects on the other end and a sniffling voice answers.

"Hi, Agent Cameron?" You introduce yourself by name, careful not to talk too fast and overwhelm the upset bride. "I'm the owner of The Inn at Jones Point in Alexandria. I got a call from Special Agent Pike just a few minutes ago and he let me know about your situation with Derby Farms. With your wedding day coming up so quickly and the situation being so unusual, I'm calling to see if you would like to relocate your big day."

“I— what?” She is completely confused and on the brink of tears again when she registers what you are saying. “He— he called you? To see if you had availability?” Wiping away tears on her cheeks, she hates how nasally she sounds right now. Crying always makes her sound like she has a head cold. “I— I don’t— it’s all been such a mess. I’ve heard of the Inn but I don’t— I’ve never been there.”

"I know you're very busy with everything that has happened, but I'm confident that my chef and I can help you straighten things out and get them back on track." Trying to sound as confident as possible on the phone might come across as arrogant to some people, but when you're in the middle of a mess sometimes confidence can be a buoy. "If you would like, and if you're able to, why don't you and your fiancé come out to the Inn today so we can talk through everything? Our in-house restaurant caters all the weddings that we do here and our chef will have some fantastic samples for you to try out."

“Really?” The first threads of hope rush through her only to be deflated a minute later. “We— I don’t know if we can. We had already paid for everything, and now— I don’t know if I’m getting my money back.”

"I understand things are up in the air right now. And weddings are a very costly day. Why don't you bring your vendor contracts and assorted paperwork with you when you come, and we can go through things together?" It's going far above and beyond what you would normally do for a couple that has had scheduling mishaps, but again – this is for Marcus. "We'll find a way to make it work."

“I— do you know Marcus?” She asks curiously, sure that this isn’t something that would be done for everyone, although she’s about to start crying in gratitude.

"Yes, I do." Clearly his agent hasn't been reading the papers lately but that is neither here nor there for you, you just smile into the phone. "He's a very good friend, so I'm going to do everything I can to help."

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” She gushes. “I— my fiancé and I can be there in an hour? Is that too soon?”

"That's just fine. I'll take you on a tour of the property when you get here so you can make sure you like the place before we sit down and start working through the details." You give her the address and the phone number to call back if she has any questions, and assure her once again that you'll make sure things are taken care of before hanging up the phone and heading straight to the kitchen where Sydney is working with some cake batters already. "I hate to tear you away from brunch, but our couple is going to be here in an hour. Thank you so much for jumping on board with this."

“I can’t imagine how stressed she is right now.” Sydney sympathizes. “Two weeks before the wedding. Just contacting everyone on her guest list to tell them a change of venue will be a massive undertaking.”

"I'm going to take them on a tour first thing, and set up the table on the back porch to talk through things with them. Are you thinking standard tasting samples?" There are certain things that brides gravitate towards from Sydney's catering menu that you know she can put together quickly, and right now that's a bit of a boon.

“I am, but if there’s any curveballs in their original menu, let me know and I’ll adjust.” She promises. “I’ve already got six different mini cakes baking.” She had dry ingredients mixed together all the time for the most common cakes so all she had to do was measure and mix in the wet.

"You're an angel, I love you, and I owe you a spa day." Blowing her a kiss, you gather up a tray of glasses and tasting plates to set on the table on the back porch with a reserved sign. That can be set up immediately, to sit and wait while you do a perimeter walk of the property and think through everything that will need to be arranged.

Two minutes before the hour is up, a sedan pulls up into the gravel parking lot. A couple gets out and the man immediately walks around the car to wrap his arm around the woman, pretty and petite, although it’s clear from her puffy eyes that she’s been crying.

"Agent Cameron?" Having stopped to check your clipboard at the front desk just a moment ago, you step out onto the front steps of the inn with your best reassuring smile when the couple get out of their car. "I'm so glad you could make it on such short notice."

“Soon to be Agent Wiley.” The man who is protectively holding her extends his right hand to shake yours. “Michael Wiley. We are so very grateful for your time.”

Cameron nods, almost ready to cry. “I’m sorry— I’ve been so emotional about all this.” She explains, fanning her face to try to keep the tears away.

"There's no need to apologize. You've been through the wringer today but hopefully we're going to bring that to a halt for you." You shake both of their hands and nod to the path that takes visitors around the grounds behind the inn. "Let's just start with a walk. I'll show you the facilities here and you can tell me what things you had picked out at Derby Farms so we can try to bring the two things together."

“It’s a lovely place….but—” she bites her lip and looks up at Michael who nods slightly. “We have already spent so much. My— um— we aren’t soulmates, and my family won’t pay for the wedding.” She admits, aware that some wedding venues will not marry non-soulmate couples. “Now that we might not get anything back…”

"We don't discriminate here. My staff is made up of all kinds of people in all kinds of relationships from all kinds of backgrounds. So don't worry about that at all." It's part of what you talked about when you would talk about freedom of affection on the campaign trail, so you're sure as hell not going to let it stand in your own business. "Did you bring the vendor paperwork that I mentioned when we spoke on the phone?"

“Yes!” Almost forgetting it, she breaks away from her fiancé she dives back into the car to pull out a thick binder. “I’ve got all the contracts and, well, everything for the wedding here.” She promises you, hesitating a moment before holding it out to you.

"Sometimes there are clauses in these contracts that have contingencies, and wording can be tricky," you explain, accepting the thick file and setting it on top of your clipboard. "Something terrible happened outside of the realm of your control, but we're not going to let it ruin your wedding. We'll find a way to make the money work." In that, at least, you can make a real promise to this couple. "I own the place. No middle managers in this conversation."

“Oh!” She takes the first really good look at you and tilts her head in surprise. You had told her your name, but it hadn’t clicked. “Oh God, you’re the President’s daughter, right? I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “I didn’t make the connection. I’ve been so frazzled.”

"Honestly, it wouldn't even have phased me if you didn't make the connection at all." The only thing that comes close to bothering you is those people who go out of their way to tell you that they did not vote for your mother, but even then you just smile politely and remind them that the beauty of democracy is that they get that choice. "Besides, this day is all about the two of you. I just want to make sure you're able to enjoy your wedding."

She’s wary, but she nods with a smile. “I appreciate this so much; I know that it’s so last minute.”

The tour goes reasonably well for the overwhelmed and emotional couple, and you show them the manicured gardens for pictures, the main grounds for their ceremony, and the old carriage house which will easily transform into a full reception space in the event of rain. It mirrors the tone of the barn at Derby Farms that they had originally planned on using and allows them to breathe away a little bit of worry. By the time you make it back to the porch for cold water and a tasting, they are looking just a little less harried and you take that as a good sign. "How are you feeling about the space?" You ask them once they're sitting again, and you smile at the pitcher of ice water that Syd has put out before pouring out three glasses.

“It’s gorgeous.” She admits with a shy smile. “This is an incredible place and I’m so surprised you are not booked up.”

"We are, most of the time," you admit. "The reason your weekend is still open is that my event planner is away. So I would be coordinating your wedding personally."

“Oh.” She shoots you a guilty look. “That’s— you are okay with that? If it’s too much— I, we, understand.”

"I'm perfectly okay with that. In fact, from what you've told me about your original plans for the day, it sounds like it will be beautiful." The file of their contracts still sits next to you, and you already know you aren't going to charge these folks a dime. "But it's also why I'm prepared to offer the space to you. I'm the only one taking on extra work beyond a normal wedding weekend, and I'm happy to do that. I will work through your contracts and contact Derby Farms regarding their lack of insurance to take that off your plate. You already have your photographer and florist, correct? Did the Farms' in house catering include your wedding cake?"

“It did.” Her mouth drops open in a small sigh. “Another detail to work through.”

Michael squeezes her hand. “We will figure it out, baby. Even if we are serving cupcakes.” He promises softly bringing their joined hands up to kiss hers.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." Sydney emerges from the back door of the inn with her tasting plate and a smile, the ever-growing bump under her chef's coat on display as she comes to the table. "I prepared a tasting of our most popular cake options for you to try out today, and while you do that I'm going to go ahead and make us all some lunch. Can you tell me about what you planned on serving originally?" You had discreetly texted her during your tour, letting her know the relatively small size of the guest list and the good impression you had of the couple. It sounds like an intimate wedding that will be beautiful, and she wants to make sure it's perfect.

"Sydney Badillo is our chef at Il Corvo," you introduce with a smile. "She's going to be your caterer."

“Oh my god!” Cameron’s eyes light up when she sees the plates with the mini decorated cakes. “I— okay, we had gone with the most popular choice according to Derby.” She explains. “Sliced roasted beef or baked chicken with a vegetable medley and whipped garlic mashed potatoes.”

"Sounds like a very nice, popular option." Sydney isn't going to pan the options that the other venue gave them considering the disaster they got stuck in, but she knows she can do better. "Did you need a vegetarian or pasta option? Our restaurant's menu is Italian so we have a little bit of room to play in."

“I— um,” she looks to Michael, who nods.

“Tanya is vegetarian, babe.” He shrugs and looks back at the two of you. “Perhaps a few plates?”

"We can definitely do that," Sydney assures them. "I'm going to go make us some lunch and you have your dessert first." She scoots back into the building quickly, gone in the blink of an eye.

“I love Italian, what do you think?” Cameron asks her fiancé before looking at the cakes closely.

"At this point, I'm ecstatic to not have to reschedule and to not lose all of our invested money," he admits with something akin to a grateful laugh. He finally feels like he can breathe for the first time since they got the news. "We had just gone for a simple white cake with raspberry at the Farms," he tells you honestly. "Nothing was revolutionary but it was all good quality. We just want to have a nice night with our friends and our family."

"If you want to stick with that, we can definitely do it." You take the raspberry cake off the tasting plate and cut it half, setting both pieces on plates with forks for them to try. "This is our vanilla cake with raspberry jam."

Cameron forks up a bite and her eyes flutter closed on a moan. Michael chuckles but he is also groaning when his own bite hits his tongue. “Oh, this is so good.”

"The other three mini cakes are our house chocolate, which we do with a strawberry layer and ganache, a lemon cake with fresh blueberries, and an almond cake with fresh plums and buttercream." It's good to see them smile a little, and enjoy themselves in the face of so much adversity.

“That sounds amazing.” She gushes. “All of them.” There is a small idea that is forming, but it might be way too much to ask with the short time left before the wedding.

“Give them a try, and if none of these quite hit the mark, we can talk about other options.” You’re going to make this work come hell or high water. It’s far more than Marcus asked of you, and maybe it’s not awesome that you have an ulterior motive in helping these very sweet people, but the fact is that they’re going to get a great wedding out of the fact that you want Marcus to think of you as someone he can rely on.

The couple digs into the cakes with gusto, enjoying themselves and unwinding as they cheerfully debate the best one, grinning and laughing as they feed each other small bites.

“What do you think?” When they’ve tried everything and managed to pause before filling up on cake alone, you fill up water glasses and take out your pad of paper to start taking note of any ideas or questions they might have.

"They are all so amazing." Cameron admits, looking longingly at the pieces of cake left. "If I had booked with you to start with, I would say do miniatures of all of them, but...." She glances at Michael to confirm and grins as she looks back at you. "We want the lemon cake with blueberries."

“Well when it comes time to do your anniversary party, we’ll have a big batch of miniatures.” Jotting down the cake choice, you nod and sit up again with ease. “Obviously with just a few weeks to go we’re not looking at a terribly elaborate cake, but it will be beautiful and delicious.”

"No," She shakes her head and leans forward. "We were— are planning to have the florist bring flowers to decorate." She explains. "I guess I need to call them and tell them that they will be bringing the flowers here?"

“That would probably be best.” At least they’re smiling again, which is an enormous boon as far as you’re concerned. “Flowers in the cake will be gorgeous.”

“Oo, did we pick?” When Sydney comes out the door again, she has a heavy tray of three family-sized plates and a stack of lunch plates alongside it.

"We did." Cameron informs her with an awe inspired gaze. "Your lemon blueberry cake is amazing. I've never had one that isn't too sweet."

“It’s all about balance,” Sydney smiles proudly. “That’s what we had at my wedding, too. It’s honestly one of the most popular choices.” The tray beside her starts to be unloaded, and there are more happy groans all around. “These are our versions of beef, chicken, and pasta for a wedding day. Veal Marsala with roasted garlic mashed potatoes, chicken piccata with roasted delicata squash and parmesan polenta, and a mushroom and ricotta rigatoni al forno.”

Michael's eyes are wide, unsure of where to begin and Cameron just moans again as the smells tingle and tease her nostrils. "You are amazing." She huffs. "It smells so good."

“If you don’t like the side, we can switch things up,” Sydney promises. She also brought plates for the two of you, and grins as all four of you start to eat together.

"If you don't mind me asking, how do you know Agent Pike?" Cameron asks curiously. "He never said a word and then when he showed up on the front page of the papers, he conveniently had to fly out of the country."

"He is an old friend of Sydney's husband, actually." Deflecting a little from the newspaper story, you will give your friend all the credit here for providing the connection for you to meet your soulmate – though that detail will remain quiet. "They were at the Academy together. One day last month he came by to see Juan and to check out the restaurant, and we made fast friends."

"Wow. It's a small world." She hums. "He's a fantastic friend so I can see why it was so easy. He's a real sweetheart."

"He's fantastic." The side eye Sydney gives you when you say it is subtle, and you ignore it so you don't say anything gushing and give yourself away. "We haven't known each other long but I'd call him a good friend already."

"Obviously." Cameron agrees. "He never asks anyone for favors and he asked you for a big one."

"He knows how important this day is to you." The warmth that spreads through your chest at the recognition that Marcus might think a little highly of you in any way is elated and giggly in a way that you have to work very hard to contain. "And I'm glad to do anything I can to help you – and him – out."

"I don't know how we are going to pay you, but we are eternally grateful to you." Michael tells you. "You have changed our lives. We had thought we were going to have to cancel."

"I'm going to comb through these contracts of yours to see what sort of money I can recoup for you, and that will be plenty enough payment." You got a glance at it earlier and saw a few clauses about fault for cancellation that will probably bring in enough money to cover expenses for the night. Beyond that, you and Sydney already agreed to forgo taking payment for yourselves for the wedding to make sure that your staffs don't have to worry about pay cuts. It's going above and beyond, but hopefully you'll come out of this with a few room reservations in the future from the wedding party and guests, and plenty of business for the restaurant. It wouldn't be the first time you accomplished a hell of a lot on a shoestring budget. "Focus on enjoying your wedding, that's what matters."

There's a moment where he stares at you before he nods. Reaching for Cameron's hand again. "Thank you. You don't know how much this means to us."

"Is there anything else you'd like us to know about your day?" Sydney prompts, noting that the couple have dug into the plates she prepared with enthusiasm. They seem to love her food, so her part in this should be fairly easygoing. At least as far as weddings go.

"We— we've invited our families, but we don't know if they will show." The bride admits, looking down at her plate and sighing softly. "I would love to say that we won't need security, but I'm just not sure."

"Do you have reason to think that any of your family members might try to interfere with your day?" Scribbling quickly on your notepad makes the bride and groom flinch in front of you, but you stop immediately to reassure them. "We have had events that need security plenty of time before. We can manage it. I just want to make sure that you're safe."

“I don’t think so.” Michael clarifies. “We just aren’t sure. Most of our family acts like we’ve not ever said anything about getting engaged.”

"Alright." You nod at that, knowing that the trend of families being particularly hard on children who choose partners other than their soulmates can...particularly fierce. "Try not to worry over it if you can help it. We have plenty of practice at handling that sort of thing here and I promise you that we can handle it. Just focus on making sure your guests go to the right place and your vendors know about your change of venue. We'll handle everything else."

There's a release of tension from both of them that seems to just make them sag with exhaustion. They hadn't slept, couldn't, after learning of the fire and the worry had been so palpable. Now that it's nearly fixed, they lean against each other happily. "God, I'm going to sleep for twelve hours tonight." The female agent groans.

"I hope it's fantastically restful sleep." With everyone set the way it is now, you hope these two lovely people get all the rest they could possibly need. They've had a hell of a day. "If either Sydney or I have anything we need cleared up, I will give you a call. And of course you can call me about anything you need."

“I think I should get her home.” Michael apologizes. “We didn’t sleep last night and…”

"Of course." You stand to shake their hands, glad to see reassurance and relief on their faces. "I'm very glad to meet you both."

“Thank you.” Their gratitude cannot be expressed enough and their protests about paying for the tastings go unheard as you usher them to their car, the dwindling energy apparent when the first yawn breaks.

"Well." When you turn back to Sydney after they've left to help her load up the tray, you heave a sigh of relief. "They're absolutely sweet, and I'm glad they won't have to postpone their wedding."

“I can see why Marcus called you to help.” She agrees. “They are wonderful.”

"They really are." Offering Sydney a smile, you blow out a steady breath. But before it's even done, you're laughing at yourself. "Ready to throw an entire wedding for people I've never met at the drop of a hat just because he asked. Maybe it's a tiny shade more than just a crush."

“You think?” She snorts playfully, hip checking you. “I think we’ve crossed over into at least head over heels territory.”

Huffing at your best friend, you heft the tray up in your arms and stick your tongue out at her in what is clearly a very mature gesture. "Shut up," you grumble, following her back into the inn as she laughs all the way.

It’s been agonizing to watch the clock and wonder what is happening. Marcus checks his phone and sighs. It’s getting late and he’s already back in his room, meal eaten and the beer he had ordered still in the bucket.

By the time you're back in your apartment with the dinner dishes washed and your shoes kicked into a corner, you look up at the clock and calculate the time difference. It's late in London, and you should have called earlier, but there was an issue with a guest's room that you had to deal with to free Malachi up to be able to take care of the regular check-ins. Selecting Marcus's entry in your phonebook, you tap the call button and tuck your phone between your shoulder and chin, pouring yourself a glass of cheap, sweet wine to relax with.

“Hello?” Marcus isn’t asleep, the time charge has messed with him and he is not even tired. Sitting in his surprisingly spacious bathtub with a beer in his hand.

“Hey.” You can hear yourself smile down the line, even sounding perpetually dreamy now. “It’s Birdie. How was your day?”

“Hey.” There’s a softness to your voice that has Marcus longing to believe that it’s directed towards him. “It was good. Did you and Cameron talk?”

“We did. She brought her fiancé in for a meeting and we got everything squared away.” Leaning against your kitchen counter, drinking wine, and on the phone with Marcus…the combination of things sends a shiver of rightness down your spine. “They’re so sweet, and I hate that such a bad thing happened to them. You’re an angel for reaching out to help them.”

“They are fantastic. Cameron has asked if I can give her away if her father doesn’t show up.” He admits, shuffling slightly and the water splashes.

“You must be a hell of a boss if—” The sound cuts your thought off at the root, leaving you confused but amused on your end of the phone. “Are you in the hotel pool or something?” Don’t think about Marcus in a bathing suit…Don’t think about Marcus in a bathing suit…

“I-” Marcus coughs slightly, hoping you won’t be offended. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, a beer in the bathtub helps.” He admits sheepishly. “Needed to get my second beer.”

“That…” You look down at the glass of wine in your hand, imagining sitting in a screaming hot bubble bath with beautifully scented bubbles all around you and letting the stress melt away. “Sounds incredibly comfy.” Almost as soon as you’ve decided you like the sound of it, you’re grabbing you wine bottle and heading for the bathroom.

“Yeah? You aren’t offended?” He asks, almost jokingly. “Technically I answered the phone in the bathroom, which is completely frowned upon.”

“Offended?” The psshh sound of disagreement you make is an immediate dismissal of that idea. “It’s not like you picked up the phone and ripped a massive fart or anything. Although honestly? I probably would have laughed. I’m actually thinking I might join you,” you admit, rummaging through your bottles of bubble bath that have stood untouched for ages.

He pulls the phone away from his ear and calculates the time difference. “You should.” He agrees. “Done with work for the day and needing to relax. Hot baths and alcohol are some of the best ways, especially if you can’t have a massage.”

“Can’t have a massage for the next four years.” You remind him, laughing at the ridiculousness of it. “Or eight. Depending.”

“Why is that?” He frowns, not understanding.

“President Mom’s rules of deportment.” Selecting a bottle of foaming bath salts from the shelf, you plug up the tub and dump the appropriate amount in. The hot running water will start dissolving them in no time. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for the First Kids to have intimate contact with strangers. Even professionals who sign NDAs.”

“Oh I wasn’t- talking about a professional massage or anything.” He admits, figuring that you would ask Sam for a back rub sometimes. He shrugs even though you can’t see that. “I didn’t think about the rules of deportment honestly. That sucks.”

“It’s mostly things for safety. Like having a P.O. Box for my mail so it’s hard for paparazzi or people who disagree with my mother’s politics to figure out where I live.” The bathtub in your apartment fills up slowly, and you sit on the edge to pull off your socks and sweater while you talk. “My parents would prefer me to being living in the White House but I can’t see doing that at almost thirty years old.”

“No, you can’t do that.” Marcus agrees. “Plus you run a business, you can’t just leave it in someone else hands, that would drive you insane. Plus you enjoy your work.”

“I do enjoy my work!” It’s almost exasperating that Marcus sees that so clearly when Sam needed to have it rammed through his thick skull. “The only way I’m ever moving out of this apartment is when I’m ready to live with my partner and get married, and then this goes back to being the caretaker’s apartment. Hang on.” Huffing at yourself, you put Marcus on speaker and set down your phone so you can get undressed. “The bath is ready.”

Marcus swallows and looks up at the ceiling as he tries to not imagine you undressing. It’s not technically wrong, he’s single, but you are seeing someone and he’s never been the type to cause issues.

It takes a minute or two, but the sound of water plopping comes next, and you pick up the phone again with a sigh. “So what was for dinner?” Just as conversationally as if you were in the same room, you set your phone on speaker on a shelf in the small, open cabinet beside your head and just talk.

“I thought it was a requirement to have bangers and mash when in London?” Marcus asks as a joke. “Or is it fish and chips? Anyway, I had the bangers and mash in this tiny little hole in the wall. It was amazing, but I’ve learned something about myself.” He tells you. “I hate mashed peas.”

“No!” Your animated gasp of shock is genuine, as silly as that seems, and you laugh to yourself as you pick up your wine glass. “Were they mint mushy peas? Because if not, that’s the reason they sucked. I don’t know why but the mint saves them.”

"I don't exactly know?" He admits, laughing quietly as he picks up his beer bottle and settle back into the bath. "I just know that I reverted back to my early childhood where my mother force-fed me mushed peas and sweet potatoes and I almost lost my entire lunch on the bar."

“That will definitely do it.” The two of you laughing together is musical even if it’s soft, the sounds mingling together with the splashes of water and sipping of drinks. “Go for curry tomorrow. Stay far, far away from the mushy peas so you won’t have flashbacks.”

"Either that or the fish and chips." He hums. "You know they pour malt vinegar on them?" He asks. "It's pretty good." It's easy to talk to you and he doesn't want to stop, even if it is late for him. Taking another swallow of the beer, he waits to hear your voice again.

“I did a semester abroad in London when I was an undergrad.” You tell him with a hum. Whatever the hell this wine is that Malachi recommended, it’s amazing and sweet and fruity. “I went to London and Syd went to Rome, and the plan was to visit each other back and forth whenever we could but she never made it to London often. That’s when she fell in love with food.”

"It's hard not to fall in love with food." Marcus agrees. "It's fucking delicious."

“True. I will give you that.” Sitting back in our own tub with a relaxed sigh, you turn to look at the phone like he was sitting right next to you — though no amount of wishing will make it so. “Where’s your favourite place you’ve ever gone?”

"Is it terribly cliché if I say Paris?" Marcus asks, huffing out a small laugh at himself. "I loved Paris almost a ridiculous amount. Although I wished it hadn't been for work and for pleasure."

“It’s not cliché if it’s honest.” It’s easy to picture him there, running through sunny streets or ducking into cafes to avoid the rain. Sightseeing and lingering over dinners and walking along the Seine. It’s dreamy. Fuck it. He is dreamy and you’re not afraid to think so anymore. “I’ve always wanted to go. It sounds…perfect. But I know that’s just because I’ve seen Amélie too many times.”

"Sabrina for me." Marcus hums, acknowledging that he has a romantic streak. As if you didn't know that. "I still wish the Concord was still flying. Going to Paris for a weekend would be so much easier."

“God, I love Sabrina, too. Charade and An American in Paris.” You snort, listening to yourself list off names. “I think I might have an addiction. Or just a dream. Maybe both.” Another sip of wine is a gentle burn down your throat and with whole Booze Bath thing might be your new favorite way to unwind. Especially if he’s on the other end of the phone while you’re at it. “And I’ve always wanted to go to Harry’s New York Bar and try to sit in every seat, just so I can make sure I sat in the same place as F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

“Are we drinking Old Fashioned or Negroni’s?” He’s asks, inviting himself along on the adventure that sounds like an amazing time. “Because I think that to sit in his seat, you need to have one of his cocktails in your hand.”

“Fitzgerald’s favorite cocktail was a Gin Rickey,” you tease down the phone, enjoying the ease of having so many small things in common. It’s never felt so genuinely comfortable talking to someone new and yet so very exciting. Marcus makes you feel like you could fall asleep in his arms with your heart blazing on fire. “So I will definitely be drinking a Gin Rickey.”

“I could have sworn I read somewhere he liked those drinks too.” Marcus pouts slightly, not really caring for Gin, but if that’s the drink, that’s the drink.

“I think Hemingway was a Negroni guy along with his daiquiris.” He sounds like he’s pouting on the other end and the overwhelming urge to reach through the phone and kiss it away is stunning. “Either way, we need to sit in every seat at Harry’s. Wherever Fitzgerald’s ass was, Hemingway’s was sure to follow. And vice versa.”

“Fuck, I’m thinking of The Great Gatsby.” He groans, hanging his head at his own mistake. This is what happens when you don’t reread the classics.

“I’m always thinking of The Great Gatsby,” you admit with another laugh. “When I was a preteen I begged my parents to take me to Long Island to see his house. I refused to believe he was made up.”

“I don’t blame you.” He hums. “It would be amazing if it were real.”

“Amazing and sad. But still amazing.” Returning the sound without thinking of it consciously, you hum back to him and close your eyes in the hot bath. “What’s the book you wish you could step into? Just crack the binding and fall down into it like Alice down the rabbit hole?”

“How many nerd points and I going to accumulate if I tell you that it’s The Fellowship of the Ring?” He asks with a snort, tilting his bottle back to drain the second beer.

“That’s such a good one though!” Immediately sitting up again, the slosh and splash of water is audible but you don’t care. “Whether you’re taking the place of someone in the fellowship or just going to live your best hobbit-y life in the Shire, that is a fantastic choice. Ten thousand points and a fancy ring you should never wear for Marcus.”

He laughs, easily and freely with you. “Maybe an extra companion on the journey.” He hums. “Another Merry or Pip.”

“Oh sure.” The sound of his laugh is magical, and you know without hesitation that you’ll continue to do whatever you can to hear it. “Because that’s what they need. More trouble. You just want second breakfast and Elevensies.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus insists. “Luncheon, and supper, and tea too.”

“Why do you think I was so excited when my best friend decided she wanted to be a chef?” You pose, hoping he’ll laugh again. “It’s purely for the food benefits. I’m just a hobbit girl at heart.”

“Are you hobbity enough to have a movie marathon where you have complete meals that are inspired by the Hobbits?” Marcus asks teasingly.

The sound you make is best described as an indignant harrumph, and this time it’s your turn to pout. “I would be if I had anybody to watch them with. Syd won’t watch them with me anymore. Apparently I outplayed that hand college.”

“The only way to watch them is the director’s extended cuts.” Marcus tells you. “At least every three years or so. Because it does take an entire weekend.”

“One hundred percent. I could not agree more.” All these small, nerdy parts of you that just line up are such a deep breath of fresh air to be able to share. “And mead is proof that there is magic left in the world.”

“You know….I’ve never actually had mead.” He admits, leaning back in the tub and looking up at the ceiling again. “Do I lose points for that?”

“Hmmm…maybe?” Pretending to think about it, you shrug your shoulders like he could somehow see you. “We’ll just have to get you some mead to try when you get back. While we plan our trip to Paris and Middle Earth.”

“Can we visit Middle Earth first?” Marcus asks, indulging in a dream situation where he would be able to travel with you for real. “Never been there before.”

“Absolutely.” In fact, you might agree to just about anything he asked of you in that lazy, sleepy voice. A voice that makes you glance up at the clock and sigh. “But honey…how long have you been awake? You must be exhausted.”

He pauses when he hears you call him honey, but he figures it is a friendly term. “Uh…” he pulls the phone away from his ear and glances at the clock again. “Thirty-six and half hours?” He answers. “Give or take?”

“And how are you supposed to be the Sherlock Holmes of Fine Art if you’re sleep deprived?” It’s not that you want to stop talking to him. Quite the opposite, in fact. But you know what it’s like to be sleep deprived with something important to do. You make silly mistakes that can sometimes cost.

“Jet lagged.” Marcus hums sleepily. He’s relaxed now that he’s talked to you, or maybe because of you. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“How about now?” If you could sneak your way into that hotel room and wrap him up in a soft bathrobe and snuggle him right into bed, you would do it in a heartbeat. The following morning would probably be very dirty, but still the sentiment remains. “Are you feeling a little more relaxed?”

“I could probably catch a few hours of sleep.” He admits, eyes slipping closed. He leans back even more and yawns. “Your voice is soothing.” He mumbles.

“Yours is, too.” So much so that you’re feeling boneless in your bath. Though after you hang up the phone you might keep thinking about him…for other reasons. There’s an undeniable ache building that will eventually need relief.

“Should probably let you go.” He huffs, the slight pout to his tone one of sleepy regret. “You sound tired.”

“You wanna call me tomorrow?” After crossing this comfortable threshold into not just friends, but friends who dance and chat on the phone? You’re not inclined to give this up.

"I can try." Marcus promises. "I don't know what the day might bring, but around this same time? If I'm not sleeping?"

"Sounds good." Though you won't voice it, you know you'll be waiting by the phone hoping that he's able to call. "I'm glad you got there safe and that you're going to get some sleep tonight."

“G’night, sweetheart.” Marcus has to drag himself out of the bath, but between the bath, the beer and talking to you, he’s ready to slip off into dreamworld.

"Good night, honey." The first time you hadn't even realized you had said it, but the second is as full of warmth as a hot toddy on a snowy day. And as the call disconnects you sit back in your bath with nothing but beaming giddiness on your face.

______

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