#Marcus Pike x OC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gasolinerainbowpuddles · 2 months ago

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𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘚𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

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This Side of Forever

| PAIRING(s): Marcus Pike x fem!OC Bodie Edunn

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 6.6k | CONTENT: angsty!Marcus throughout, pining?, Bodie talks a lil whimsical but that’s bc she’s based on a Goddess ok?, half of this is me self-therapizing, lots of allusions to magic and fruit, following your dreams, is somebody gonna match my freak? vibes, accepting fate, overly sentimental bc it’s Marcus duh

| SYNOPSIS: After back to back failed relationships, Marcus tries to find meaning and distraction in his work. When he's presented with an offer that appears to be a nudge in a whole new direction, he isn't sure he can make the leap of faith.

The consultation offer had come through at just the right time. Marcus had been burnt out with his work despite the change in scenery and job title. As it turned out, being head of the International Art Theft Task Force in D.C. wasn’t a whole lot more gratifying than being Special Agent Marcus Pike with the Austin Art Squad Unit. It was a bitter pill to swallow, the rhapsodic thrill of getting a second chance at love and life in Texas turning to nothing more than ash and heartache come Virginia.

It was torment being back in Austin for an assignment and learning that he’d ultimately been nothing more than a bridge for his would-be fiancé and her now other half to finally realize what they felt for one another. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who had told him that night at dinner she, too, felt the same things for him. That she couldn’t deny their chemistry and connection. He loved that she was independent and really thought about his offer to move to D.C. with him before she’d accepted.

And then he’d gone and followed his heart again with the proposal. The words felt like poison clinging to his lips almost the moment he uttered them, her expression one of stunned anxiety making his stomach turn. Then it all seemed okay again when she said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, too. Looking back it was easier to see that she didn’t feel as strongly for him as he did for her, but in the moment he’d thought that maybe it was just a lot for her to take in. He had a tendency to be too much for the people he cared about.

He spent a lot of time in the aftermath of the breakup lamenting over every word and action, playing them over and over again in his head to try to figure out where he’d gone wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully regret honoring his emotions in the moment. He’d been forthright and honest from the start with her because it felt real. It was real. Until it all fell apart.

So, he finished his assignment and returned home to D.C. with nothing but an empty, cold apartment waiting for him. The thought of just leaving all this behind and starting over from scratch was becoming more and more appealing. The ghosts of the past followed him everywhere, and it was beginning to feel like he’d always be chasing some phantom of a dream that resembled happiness. His voluntary sabbatical might not have been the best idea with all this inner turmoil brewing, but he had to take a step back and at least attempt to get himself together. The third night in a row of packaged ramen noodles for dinner, ass firmly parked on the couch with reruns of Antiques Roadshow playing back to back, her email had come through.

He read it twice to make sure it hadn’t been sent in error. As the sole owner of the wildly successful spa and wellness center Eternity Hill Orchard, Bodie Edunn was looking for a consultant regarding the yet to be established Art Director position and coinciding Art Program for her resort. A former colleague and shared mutual had passed his name along to her with a soft endorsement for the job. The referral name checked out and everything seemed legitimate, but Marcus had been burned too many times to believe his luck could be this good.

A phone call with her the next day had that thought going right out the window. He could hear the smile in her voice and how genuinely excited she was that he received the offer and reached out. Before he knew it, agreements were outlined and plans were made. The last few weeks of his sabbatical were going to be spent back and forth between the few hours of travel from D.C. to the mountains of Virginia where Eternity Hill Orchard was located.

The payday was already enough of an incentive, but the picturesque scenery as the vehicle climbed switchback roads wasn’t too bad, either. The ascent felt like he was heading to some other world entirely, and perhaps given the constant grind of life in D.C., this was a completely different life up here in the mountains. His first step onto the grounds already felt energizing, the inhale of fresh air crisp in his lungs.

He could just make out a distant figure atop a rather grand set of steps leading up to a striking manor structure. It was somehow modern and antique all at once, as if it had been built here so long ago that it simply transcended the concept of time. Lush greenery at every opening and slope gave an impression of liveliness and growth. Small, warm white bulbs danced in the darker recesses of the flora, and Marcus could imagine the balmy, intimate glow it would emit come nighttime.

Despite the impressive scene, he found himself eagerly skimming back to the figure coming into focus as they climbed down the stairs towards him. The pictures and videos he’d seen of her on the website did no justice to the firsthand encounter. He’d thought it was high quality editing – something to sell the whole wellness image the business touted - but seeing her here in person made it clear there was no alteration involved.

It was hard to pinpoint an age, but she looked like she’d sipped on every enchanted youth tonic from every fairytale ever told. A “glow from within” hue to her skin. Soft, supple curvature of pink appled cheeks. Piercing but kind green eyes. A sharp mouth with a delicate cupid’s bow, all balancing the mesmerizing smile underneath.

How old was she? How could someone establish and develop this level of business acumen all before the age of 50? Was she just the face of the business while some gnarled, hunched octogenarian hid away in the shadows and counted his payday? Was she some sort of trust fund baby? Was this all just an elaborate babysitting project to keep her out of the trouble that wealthy, bored children often found themselves in?

“Marcus, I’m so glad you made it,” Bodie softly greets him as she makes it to the bottom of the stairs. She envelops him before he has time to insist on a handshake, pulling back after a moment and rubbing each of his biceps in a welcoming gesture.

He isn’t sure where to put his hands, and he internally cringes at the realization of just how touch starved he is. His mouth feels a little dry, and he can only attribute some of that to the higher altitude. “Wow. Hi. I mean– Yes. You’re– It’s beautiful,” he responds a little breathlessly. “Glad to be here.”

The mischievous twinkle in her eyes blooms into the grin curving her mouth. “I’m partial, of course, but I really think there’s nowhere else as special as here. I hope you’ll come to find the same thing.”

The closer she was to him, the thinner the air felt. The sun cast a hazy blur of light around her long flax tresses, forming a little halo of brightness that made her seem all the more ethereal and divine. Bodie had several science degrees according to the website, although it didn’t say from where or when. Maybe this place was the real deal after all. Usually these retreat spaces offered little more than a whopping dose of placebo laden manipulations meant to drain desperate people’s wallets. He tried not to be so jaded about it all, very much aware of the more bitter version of himself he’d been morphing into for the past several months.

Obliging staff appeared from nowhere and whisked his things away. He really didn’t care where his things were going or where he was being led as he walked along quietly while Bodie conducted a guided tour of the grounds and the buildings. She carried herself so effortlessly and spoke so confidently. None of it sounded rehearsed, either, as they both meandered through the picturesque backdrop of the plot. She shared all the history of the resort and the scientific approach to wellness that incorporated the native resources as much as possible.

Everything he sees is nothing short of magnificent. He can envision sitting out here and painting a quick oil landscape while Bodie sits nearby and chats. He can hear her unwavering knowledge and commentary in his mind’s eye, but he forces himself to focus on the present. The sprawling backdrop of mountains and trees and orchards frame the welcoming facilities and services here. An expansive natural swimming pond lined with large rocks that lead to private cabanas and plush lounge chairs. He wonders if Bodie ever goes swimming.

An indoor heated pool with adjacent teak sauna. Three stories worth of amenities built right into the mountainside with multiple buildings above that she explains are guest rooms. One building has a long, shared balcony with large potted trees and rooftop gardens. The other building has private balconies with big, round lounge beds and floor to ceiling fireplaces. He wonders which one of them is hers and what she sees when she wakes every morning.

The winding decks that slope into each other feel endless, and yet Marcus could enjoy hours of hearing her talk about anything and everything. It was infectious and calming, almost like walking through an art museum and discovering all the tiny surprise gems amongst the overarching beauty of artistry. Even the staff looked young in the way of someone who has never experienced a day of stress in their life. They don plain uniforms – soft white linen shirts with loose taupe colored pants – with some sporting half aprons or utility belts, depending on their job.

It was one thing for every patron thus far to look relaxed and content, but the workers also appearing well and youthful? How on earth did Bodie manage all of this? She was still talking about some sort of zero gravity massage clinic when the intrusive thoughts got the better of him.

“So how old are you anyway?” he blurts out.

The back of his neck blazes with embarrassment, but he forces himself to maintain eye contact. She smiles at him again in that easy sort of way, and his stomach flips. Whatever secret restorative methods she had up here were certainly doing something to him. Either that or he hadn’t adjusted to the altitude yet.

“I’m thirty one,” she answers graciously.

His jaw parts, all agog and inelegant, while she titters and waves off his unspoken compliment.

“I apologize for the question. I’m usually not so–” He motions with his hand aimlessly in the air, floundering for a coherent end to his sentence. “Your methods and programs are obviously very effective.”

“I guess you could say between the mountain air and enough apples a day to keep the doctor away for a lifetime…,” she trails off and shrugs with a lopsided smile.

God, he could really get used to seeing that. It made his knees all jittery every time she directed that energy his way. He’s so wrapped up in it that he misses something she said and has to ask her to repeat herself.

“I said: I’m proud of everything we’ve built here, but I’m always looking for what else we can incorporate to enhance the experience,” she says again. “It’s always been a sort of bad habit of mine, always looking for something to take everything to the next level.”

She doesn't even know how much it resonates with him when she says it. If he had to identify a singular fault of his, it would be the hope of the next best thing. He had a well-worn pattern of romanticizing things and letting his thoughts run away, all buoyant and hopeful. A big part of that had been stripped from him after the failed marriage, divorce, and then failed proposal, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe he wouldn’t get hurt so much if he didn’t put himself so far out there.

“I get what you mean,” he commiserates. “It can be hard to feel like you’ve done all you can. That you’ve upturned every stone and made something as good as it can be.”

Bodie eyes him thoughtfully and, after a moment of contemplation, nods. “Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly it.”

“So, am I the ‘taking it to the next level’ in this equation?” he jokes, attempting to steer the conversation back to the consultation at hand and away from things that remind him of past failures.

Her grin is devastating and intoxicating, and Marcus turns a lovely shade of pink at the poor phrasing of his question.

“I-I meant– not me personally. I meant the art director and art program,” he stammers. “You know, me being here to help with that.”

“Something like that,” she replies with a gentle laugh.

It’s not until she’s finished showing him around and walking him to his private suite that his head feels clear. Every syllable that fell from her lips felt like a tugging thread, whipstitching musings and what-could-be’s across the divots in his mind and suturing them together with thoughts of her cinched in between and tucked away tight. The feeling doesn’t let up over the next few days where every interaction with her feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him.

This wasn’t the same sort of draw he’d experienced before with his ex-wife and ex- fiancé. This was the opposite pole of the magnet hurtling towards him and grabbing hold. This was some sameness, some kindred nucleus of existence. A funhouse mirror reflecting parts of himself back, a warped delineation. Something metaphysical and mystic putting him exactly where he was meant to be: here in this side of paradise with Bodie coming to drip soothing words of perpetuity into his ear. He belonged here, although he couldn’t exactly explain why or how he knew it to be true.

It took everything in him to focus on the task at hand. He’s better acquainted after a couple of days with the grounds, resort scheduling, and “wellness lifestyle” habits being taught and practiced. He wasn’t expecting the legitimacy in some of the newer programs, like the accredited and licensed therapists onsite who conduct group sessions as well as individualized, immersive sessions for select guests. The idea of an art based therapy program felt like a natural addition, according to Bodie. It was the “next logical step” in what Eternity Hill Orchard could offer, and he couldn’t agree more.

By the time he knew it, he’d extended his stay by three more days, but she didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, she seemed delighted that he was even able to. For some reason, he divulged his voluntary sabbatical from work and the fact that he was only able to take this job because of it. She’d simply smiled warmly and said it “sounded like fate.”

It should’ve been hokey. It should’ve been an eyeroll the moment she turned away. Instead, he found himself inclined to agree. Throughout his rapid appraisal of the resort, it started feeling less like work and more like a challenge, something stimulating and meaningful. The overwhelming sense of magic in the atmosphere had him questioning himself almost daily. He’d take breaks from his assignment and join Bodie in several of the offerings at the resort, and every time without fail his head felt cloudy and light and elastic. He hadn’t felt this way since his first few months in the FBI when the world was laid at his feet for the taking.

He almost wished this bubble would pop already so he could fall back to reality, but day after day it remained intact. Gentle brushes of her hand. Leaning closer when they spoke. Angling her body towards him whenever he sat down next to her – and there somehow was always an empty seat, like she’d saved it just for him. The warm, dizzying embrace the first day he got here was just the beginning of an endless well. He wanted so badly to know how her lips would feel against his. He tried to stop himself imagining the sorts of sounds he could pull from her, all the ways he could make her feel good. They could fall asleep here every night together, dreaming up new programs and projects.

As much as he wanted to stretch out his time with her, he loathed the idea of wearing out his welcome or, worse yet, letting hope fester long enough to make him entertain all his delusions about a life here. The trek back home to D.C. is tedious and pallid. It’s as though every foot of elevation lost on the ride down leached color and life from the world.

The dreary silence in his apartment might be the worst of all as he sets his things down and takes a long breath – one that doesn’t feel satisfying no matter how deeply he pulls for air. At least there was an objective and a deadline to keep his mind occupied and distracted from his stifling abode. He compiled his recommendations with due heed, never rushing through the retrospection and assessment he was being generously compensated to produce.

He didn’t have any legitimate reason to go back for another visit since he’d extended his initial one by so many days. Any clarifying questions could be answered via email or phone, and it better served his timeline to not travel again right now anyway. The Art Therapy Degree Program tabs in his browser stare loudly back at him. It was initially a portion of his informational findings, but he’d made the mistake of venturing into the curiosity of what it would take for him to obtain such a degree. Turns out, not very much. The extensive training and education accrued throughout his years before and during his life as an Agent meant he was fit for most bridge programs out there.

He didn’t know what to do with this new possibility, and the knowledge of it was more disquieting than anything. The awareness that something else existed out there for him felt cruel and imposing, like it was trying to force his hand to take the leap of faith. He’d done that before, and it’s what got him into the shadowlands in the first place. It started to eat at him the longer he sat with it, and what irked him most was the sole thing he knew would make him feel better: a trip to Eternity Hill Orchard.

He racked his brain for a reason – any reason – to go up there again. He concocted some weak excuse about needing to evaluate some of the spaces before making a final recommendation, and of course Bodie was immediately receptive. He steeled himself to remain professional and impartial about things as he made his way back to the fated resort. His late start out the door meant the sun was nearly setting by the time he arrived, but it was just as enchanting as he remembered it. Bodie wasn’t at the top of the stairs to greet him this time around, but he attempted to quell the disappointment of not seeing her by reminding himself that he was here for work and that he’d see her when it was appropriate. It was bad enough that he’d let his whims bring him here again.

After checking in and getting settled, he figures a walk around the grounds is his best bet at coming across Bodie organically. So, he sets off and silently scouts potential spots for an art studio and corresponding office space. The dwindling daylight makes the endeavor less than fruitful, but he isn’t really focused on it, anyway. He’s really just out here hoping to find her. When he turns onto a secluded pathway off the side of the natural pond, the first instance of dissonance in this place emerges: a man’s aggravated voice. A few beats and then what Marcus thinks might just be Bodie’s more neutral voice. He edges closer to the sound.

“Because it’s bullshit, and you know it,” the man fumes.

“I don’t think it’s anything of the so–”

“I come here spending an ungodly amount of money, and for what? For this sham of a place?”

Marcus picks up his pace and follows the voices until he finds Bodie standing face to face with a visibly angry man. She appears in no distress despite the aggression being hurled her way. He keeps his distance until he can fully assess the situation, but his extensive federal training has him ready to intervene if needed.

“You feel like your time here has been unproductive?” She poses the question tactfully, but the man doesn’t waver.

“Well I sure as hell thought I’d get more out of it than I have! I mean, how much time and money can I throw down the drain before I speak up for myself and demand answers?”

“And what is it you were hoping to get out of your visits here?”

“I dunno! Maybe some-some sort of control back in my life?! All this wishy washy feel good bullshit hasn’t done anything! It’s all some scam to take advantage of people like me who are desperate!” he snaps, taking a step forward with arms raised to the side.

Marcus starts to close the gap but stops when Bodie gestures for him to hang back. A glance isn’t even spared his way as she focuses her attention on the angry man.

“I hear you, and I hear your frustrations. I do, however, feel that you are missing a key consideration.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” the man laughs through his nose.

“Finding and using tools to help you regain control of your life is much more beneficial than some external force coming through and offering some temporary illusion of control. And, above all that, there are things that will never be under our authority.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?!”“It means that, yes, we could create some fantasy of the self-actualization you’re after and make you feel like it’s true, but the whole illusion would fall apart the moment you left because it wouldn’t be real. There is no handing ‘it’ over to you – by us or anyone. The entire notion that control is something we give or take from you defeats the entire purpose of you learning to take hold of things yourself. And, you can learn all the coping skills and interventions under the sun, but they will never be useful if you try to pit them against something that will never be in your control no matter how hard you try to force it.”

The man stands straight and blinks a few times, the words overtly taking hold of something inside him.

“Part of control is acceptance, Gordon,” she explains and extends a comforting hand to his bicep. “You have to accept there are things you cannot and will not ever be able to control, and those are the things you have to learn to let go of. No amount of fighting them or screaming or anger will ever change that.”

The man – Gordon, apparently – deflates a bit at this and hangs his head. His voice becomes so quiet Marcus can’t make out half of what he’s saying. His body language speaks to remorse and embarrassment, but Marcus moves in closer just in case he is misreading the energy. He can hear the apologies now and the all too understanding acceptance of them from Bodie. Gordon catches sight of Marcus and quickly excuses himself with Bodie calling after him that she will follow up with him tomorrow.

“Well that’s a first,” Marcus quips, trying to break the dissipating tension altogether. “I was starting to believe nobody could get upset here.”

“Glad to have you back, Marcus,” she deadpans with a budding smile that gives her away.

“In all seriousness, that was, uh, that was pretty impressive.”

“What?”

“Deescalating that situation. Keeping your cool. Maintaining control of the conversation. Actually the sort of thing that makes a really great undercover or intelligence agent.”

“Well, you’d know what it takes, wouldn’t you?” she agrees warmly.

His smile falls a little at the reminder. He was, indeed, the person that would know. At the end of the day, he was still employed with the FBI. This fairy tale in the mountains was on borrowed time, and a couple of weeks from now, he’d be back to his usual responsibilities at work. It’ll be like none of this ever happened, the souvenir of a padded bank account the only remnant of this experience. The realization that he doesn’t want to be Special Agent Marcus Pike anymore hits him like a blow to the gut.

“Marcus? Are you okay?” She reaches out and slots her hand into his.

“Hm? What? Oh, oh yeah, I’m fine.” He forces a chuckle and waves off her worries, but he knows she won’t buy it.

“If you’re not too busy right now, I’d really love for you to join me on my walk.”

And of course he agrees. How could he not? Even if he knows he’s being led to the death of his guard, he can’t turn her down. The tranquil sky and mellow breeze amidst the lines of apple trees are no match for his racing mind. The last time he was here, it felt pacifying and calming. This time it feels as though all the defenses and excuses have been stripped from his brain, leaving nothing but the bare, candid emotions underneath.

“You know,” she begins, interrupting his storming thoughts, “I was thinking back to how you were talking about never being satisfied with what you’ve got. You know, how we’re both guilty of always looking for the next best thing. Worrying about ‘leaving a stone unturned’, as you put it. It made me think back to when I almost gave this up because I thought some place closer to the interstate was a better investment.”

Marcus listens in quiet disbelief as Bodie shares the memory of when she’d come across a great plot of land that was closer to the main highways in the area but located further away from the mountains. She was content at the time with the state of Eternity Hill Orchard, but it wasn’t anything near what it is today. It wasn’t even a fraction of what it is currently because she was so consumed with worry over whether or not there was something better out there. The new plot would’ve been more readily accessible for travelers, which could’ve potentially meant more patrons and a wider reach. It wasn’t until the last moment that she rescinded the offer and decided to keep what she already had and give it the devotion and nurturing it needed to thrive.

“I’m grateful every day that I didn’t go through with it,” she reflects. “The things that I thought were drawbacks were actually what made this place special. The seclusion. The terrain. You can’t get this atmosphere anywhere else. I could’ve lost all of it if I had let my fears override my instincts.”

“I couldn’t imagine this place anywhere else,” he concurs.

“And I didn’t realize my unturned stone was right under my feet.” She levels him with a probing gaze and silently waits for him to speak.

“I’m supposed to start up my position again in a few weeks…..” he begins weakly.

She doesn’t respond beyond a gentle nod, and it compels him to keep going.

“But I don’t think– I feel like maybe there’s… maybe there’s something else for me.” He swallows hard and drops her hand, opting instead to lean against the sturdy base of an apple tree for some kind of support.

“You found a new opportunity, but you’re afraid it’s just another case of chasing after the next best thing?” she surmises.

“Yeah, I– Something like that. I think.” He laughs and drops his head back. “God, this is so unprofessional. I apologize. I really shouldn’t be talking like this.”

She ignores his appeal to decorum and instead pushes for candor. “So, Marcus, where’s the line between romanticizing a hypothetical and following your heart?”

When he doesn’t have an answer, she leans against the tree beside him, and Marcus feels a thousand fiery licks of magnetic pull.

“This whole experience with you has made me consider leaving my work to become an Art Therapist.” It comes out before he can stop it, but he’s rewarded with a beatific smile that makes his insides feel warm and syrupy.

“You know, I have it on good intel that there’s a really nice place up in the mountains that’s in the market for an Art Therapist. I mean, they’re awaiting a report from a consultant about how to implement the Program, but still. I mean, hey, one lucky Art Therapist might just find themselves with the freedom of creating the entire structure of the Program from start to finish.”

Marcus shakes his head, unwilling to accept the insinuation of being offered a job he wasn’t even qualified for. Yet.

“And I bet that Art Therapist would be able to help a lot of people,” she adds softly. “Could really change the lives of the people he’s around.”

He turns to meet her gaze at that and fumbles for the right thing to say. “I can’t— I couldn’t possibly ask you to—”

“You didn’t ask. I offered,” she points out.

“So, what? I’m just– I start tomorrow, just narrowing down a list of online bridge programs? Until I find one and apply? And then magically I just use that degree here?” he scoffs.

“Either that or you could spend the next few days trying and failing to talk yourself out of it,” she muses with a grin.

He balks and stalls but can’t argue with the assertion. Truth be told, he doesn’t even feel like trying to talk himself out of it. The fight left in him to ignore his heart is quickly faltering.

“And, if I might take a turn being unprofessional, I really, really wouldn’t mind you being here on a more … permanent basis. It was nice having you around.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Mmmhhmmmm.”

Marcus’s eyes flit between her glittery eyes and plush lips. All those years of unfulfilled promises melt away. Every unreciprocated outpouring of love and emotion, gone by the wayside. No more were the feelings of having so much to give without anyone to give it to.

“I really want to kiss you,” he admits in a hush.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she murmurs back.

He doesn’t give himself the opportunity to linger on hesitations. He dips his head and presses his mouth against hers and finds an ardent response. The kiss is slow and deliberate, like so much time has been lost to the absence of it that every facet must be savored. Her tongue rolls along the ridge of his lip, and he opens with a soft gasp when she pushes their bodies together.

She tastes of sugar and earth, body firm and potent. Still, he holds her like a delicate, timeless artifact meant to be admired and cherished. He follows her pull to the cool grass below and groans at the weight of his body sagging against hers. She hooks a foot behind each knee and tugs, the shift of it sending him off balance. Her pliant body eagerly accommodates his searching hands. The dip and swell of her form under his touch has his mind tracing static orbits, something barely tethered to anything resembling cognizance.

When they finally part for a breath, chests heaving and lips swollen, he sees the incisive tenacity burning bright in her eyes. She rolls their fused bodies until his back settles against the ground, and he lies as a stone unturned beneath her feet, ready to be inverted and suffused by her entirety.

“I’ve known I wanted you from the moment we spoke on the phone,” she confesses quietly. Her hand drifts down his torso, stopping carefully at the button of his waistband.

His heart lurches at the disclosure, brazen in all its laid bare inelegance. “All I could think about was getting back to you,” he confides. “All I wanted was to be back here with you.”

Bodie’s lips crash against Marcus’s with unbridled force, the curve of her tongue licking and darting its way deeper into his mouth. The light blanket of night air ripples against their exposed skin as they hastily remove piece by piece of clothing until they’re laid bare against the strewn fabric. Bodie lies staring up at him, and Marcus somehow has the inkling of clarity left enough to pause and check in.

“Is this okay?” he pants.

“Stake your claim on your path forward, Marcus,” she purrs like it’s an invitation. “Leave your mark on what fate brought to you.”

All reason and restraint leaves his body at the call. His teeth graze and nip hungrily down her neck, across her chest, and tug at the hardened nubs he finds there all pert for his attention. Her body curves up from the ground to meet the wet slip of his mouth and rocks mindlessly when it connects with her sex.“I wanna taste you, I wanna taste you” is all she hears between greedy laps of his tongue. He ruts against the mounds of fabric laid about, desperate for any sort of friction after experiencing the high of her taste. Every little moan and gasp is a brush stroke in his portrait of her pleasure. He feeds off the taction and responsiveness, using those hues and depths of bliss to bring about the definitive, live rendering. A heavenly sound slithers up her throat when he slowly inserts two stacked fingers.

“I feel you. Christ you’re so wet,” he rasps. “Come on my fingers. I wanna feel it. C’mon, baby, come for me.”

She cries out under the careful movements of his mouth and fingers, the soft tufts of his hair gripped tight in her hands as she rides it out. His groans fill the air as he laps up each and every gush of arousal. She hauls him up to share another heated kiss, almost relishing in the taste of herself on his tongue.

Marcus breaks away first, pupils blown wide, with a small shiver running up his entire body. He knows going further is risky, and he knows, just like everything else about this moment, it’s driven entirely by raw connection and want. The feeling of finally having someone to pour himself into far too overwhelming to ignore, and there’s never been anything in his life that felt more right than everything in this moment.

“I don’t usual– I just– Can I….?” He trails off with a glance down at his thick length, bobbing heavily with every movement and demanding attention.

Bodie branches her legs out wider to make room for him – for the place he wishes to be buried in. “Please.”

He wastes no time notching himself at her entrance and slowly feeding his cock inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside. They groan in unison at the assimilation of their bodies merging into one synchronous entity. He’s rambling now, unable to stop the torrent of declarations and hopes and craving. Admitting to having already imagined pinning her down just like he is right now, legs pressed against her chest so he can drive deeper. Not hiding the multitudes of ways he wants to profess and display his affection for her.

Bodie responds in kind. Each kiss of his cockhead against the mouth of her womb punctuated with a rush of oaths and calls to freefall into one another. She clings to him like he holds her next breath. They sway and pitch in turn with heavy breaths and wanton cries of bliss released to the sky. Her lids are heavy with exertion when he brings her upright and back flush against his chest, both of their knees digging into the ground.

“I wanna fuck you slow,” he pants, gently rocking his hips against the swell of her ass. “Wanna feel this forever. Want to take my time with you.”

She grinds back onto him, meeting stroke for stroke, and hums contentedly. “You feel so good. Feels so good.”

“Yeah? You like when I make you feel good? You gonna let me make you feel good?”

“You always make me feel good,” she breathes.

He groans and rolls his hips faster, harder. She turns her head to kiss him, latching a hand onto his neck to hold him there. The momentum of his thrusts hastens and sends her to her hands and knees, and Marcus drapes himself across the plane of her back with an arm winding tight around her chest as he drives deeper. All the noises he imagined are nothing compared to the real thing. He can feel her getting closer, and he goads her on.

“There you go–there you go–yeah–let me have it–let me have it, baby.”

He sinks his teeth into the rounded skin on her shoulder and bares down as she moans and clenches around him. Her soft flesh pillows around his bite as the kick of his cock pulses against her walls. She cries out from the sting of his marking but leans into it all the same. Their bodies slump to the ground, still connected at the crux of her thighs, but it’s still not close enough for him.

They lay together in quiet content as their highs level off. He presses the wet of his lips to each little indentation he left, and he hopes they’ll be gone by morning. The guilt of having marked her so deeply – and the guilt of how much that turns him on – occupy his thoughts as he pays his penitence with each kiss. She interrupts his amends and turns to face him, a playful smirk emerging when he hisses at the last drag of her satiny clutches.

His half-lidded, nebulous expression is mirrored, and she can’t stop herself from seeking intimacy again by way of a kiss, which he readily returns. He cradles her to the sinuous line of his body, and it’s as though she was always meant to fit there. The night sky looks down on them as they struggle to not let sleep take them right then and there.

“We should really head back,” Bodie reluctantly points out.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Marcus agrees.

The task of dressing is much more appealing with one another’s help, and they do so until each is as put together as before they came up the hill. They walk hand in hand back toward the main buildings with easy, lulling conversation to pass the time. Marcus smiles ear to ear when Bodie asks a staff member to move his things to her room.

“Wow, moving in together already?” he jokes.

“I feel like it just makes things easier since we’re going to be planning the rest of our lives, you know?” she lobs back with a cheeky grin. “Logistics and all that.”

“So I guess tomorrow is the start of my new life, huh?” he half-teases, but the undercurrent of nerves still comes through.

“I think you knowing about it is new, but I’m pretty sure it was waiting here for you all along.”

And in that moment he wanted to tell her all the ways he adored her. Confess all the varieties of hope she instilled in him. Scream from the rooftops how much he loved her.

But there was no need to rush. Those things could wait, now that he had forever to say them.

This fic was my contribution to @perotovar's Frith Challenge where I received Marcus Pike x Idun. I don't even know where to start with how wild of a journey this fic was to write, and honestly idek if y'all would believe me if I told you lmao.

As always, thank you for reading and sharing!

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike smut #the mentalist #pedro pascal characters #frith challenge #marcus pike x oc

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trulybetty · 1 year ago

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marcus pike x masterlist

x. main masterlist

Sweet Janes Series (Marcus x f!reader) Can all be read individually, or read in order as one whole series.

Art Gallery You and Marcus have been dating for a while and surprisingly it's the first time he's gone to an art gallery with you. It's also an afternoon for another first... Sick Day Marcus never cancels dates, and if he does it usually comes with his own brand of romantic gestures to make up for it. So when he doesn't, you know something isn't quite right. New York | Part I You were supposed to spend a week off with Marcus for a staycation, the FBI had other plans… and so did Marcus. Baked Goods Easy Sunday mornings with the impossible task of choosing the right pastry, pure fluff. Bad Day You arrive home after a terrible day at work and Marcus wants to help turn it around. Marcus fluff. Sleep Marcus is leaving for a week for work. Cake At the end of a long week of hosting duties, it's late at night and you're unable to sleep.

Baker!Marcus Series:

Something Sweet this way Comes Something Festive this way Comes

One Shots:

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x gn reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x ofc #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x female oc

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guess-my-next-obsession · 2 years ago

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‘Tis The Damn Season: Chapter Three

pairing: marcus pike x f!ofc (nathalie moss)

chapter rating: E (18+ Only, no explicit smut but lots of steamy makeouts and wandering hands so putting an explicit warning just to be safe, talks of anxiety, talks of breakups/cheating, smooch city basically)

word count: 4k

series masterlist | series playlist

Nathalie hadn’t been on a first date in seven years.

The last time she’d done this—getting pampered and getting ready, squeezing on her best dress and making sure her red lipstick wasn’t bleeding onto her pearly whites—she’d was only twenty-one years old. She knew so little about herself, about what she wanted and didn’t want in a parter and in life. She used to be content with simply being desired, but now, after years and years of hard lessons and harsh truths, she craved so much more from this silly little thing called love.

As she stood in front of her full-length mirror examining herself, her hands smoothing over the fabric of the little black dress she’d worn for Valentine’s Day—back when she was still a bride-to-be, she couldn’t help but wonder how many of these newfound cravings were sated by Marcus’s presence in her life.

Most, her brain was quick to answer.

Marcus was kind, intelligent, funny, gentle, romantic, handsome, but above all that, he seemed to know her in a way her ex never did, even after years of living with her.

Marcus made her feel faint with his sort of natural ease in understanding her. She always had to fight so hard to be understood by her friends, partners, and even her own family at times. She was so used to feeling like she had to convince people to like her—to get her—and here comes Marcus, doing it as though it was as easy as breathing, flipping her world upside down.

“Who are you and what did you do with my gremlin daughter?” Mr. Moss leaned against the opened door of her bedroom as she fussed over her hair, combing through the curls so that they fell more like waves. Nathalie turned around with an eye roll and a chuckle, shaking her head at him as he grinned proudly at his teasing, a half-melted bowl of ice cream in his hands as it was “Sundae Night” at the Moss house. “You look nice, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, dad.” Nathalie walked over to her bed and grabbed her purse, making sure she had everything she might need in it.

“Oh, would you look at that!” Mrs. Moss gushed at her daughter’s done up appearance as she joined her husband in the doorway. “I hardly recognize you.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment, mom?” She asked with a nervous chuckle, their reactions to her appearance making her question whether or not she’d gone a bit over the top.

“Well…we’re just used to seeing you a bit more casual is all,” Mrs. Moss assured, though it did little to quell her daughters building anxiety. “Not that you don’t look stunning in your pajamas and sweats and pimple patches—“

“Thanks, mom.” Nathalie felt her stomach start to flip with anxiety, but thankfully, Marcus didn’t give her any time to simmer with it, his knocks on the front door making all three pairs of eyes widen with differing emotions—elation, amusement, and puke-your-brains-out panic.

“Let me go grab my shotgun,” Mr. Moss joked, earning a swat on his stomach from his wife.

“Hush,” she scolded before turning back to Nathalie. “You don’t even own a water-gun, you big idiot.” Mrs. Moss quickly turned her attention back to Nathalie, flashing her a bright, hopeful smile. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she spoke through an exhale as she grabbed her clutch and followed her nosy parents down to the front door, quickly throwing her coat and scarf on. Taking one last breath of confidence, she opened the door and instead of beaming at Marcus, she was greeted by someone she never expected to see again. “James?”

“Nat,” her ex-fiancé breathed out in relief upon seeing her, until his blue eyes focused and he took in her outfit, clearly not remembering he’d already seen her in that dress earlier that year. “Holy…you look incredible.”

“James, what are you doing here?” She asked in a sharp tone, her parents eavesdropping and hiding behind the open door.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, boldly taking a step forward while Nathalie took two steps back. Sensing her hesitation, James froze and held his hands up apologetically. “Listen, I know we left things sort of…messily—“

“Messily? ” She asked in disbelief, turning to look at her parents for help. Her father was quick to make his presence known, staring down the man he used to view as his son. Nathalie begged him again, disgusted by his presence, “James, I don’t want to see you. I want you to leave.”

“Nat,” he pleaded softly, as if a little pout could remedy all the hurt he bestowed upon her over the years.

“James,” Marcus’ voice was both soothing and worrying as he approached her ex, taking slow strides up the porch steps until he was standing beside him, his eyes taking over Nathalie’s state for only a moment before turning back to her ex. Nathalie cringed. She didn’t want this to be the way their first date began, and she especially didn’t want Marcus to get the wrong idea about her and James—she’d much rather die than to be with him again. “What an unpleasant surprise.”

“Marcus,” James nodded at him, his tone full of irritation at the lack of privacy he was likely hoping for. The privacy that would increase his odds at appealing to her desperation and stupidity. “Nat, is there anywhere we can go to talk? Just the two of us?”

“No,” she chuckled, appalled by his casual persistence. “I told you. I don’t want to talk to you.”

He stared at her with pure shock. This wasn’t the woman he remembered—the living, breathing doormat he loved to walk all over was long gone.

“Besides,” she stepped passed him to where Marcus patiently waited on the porch, her arm looping with his. “I’m busy tonight.”

“With him?” James chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Marcus nodded, suddenly looking so much different than the man she knew. He looked more masculine, more threatening, the change in posture even making him appear bigger. “With me.”

“Don’t worry, Nattie,” Mr. Moss assured. “If this asshead is still around by the time you get home, I’ll be sure to handle it.”

Nathalie couldn’t help but smile at her father’s protectiveness, the man usually so gentle he refused to hurt even a fly, but when it came to his baby girl he would stop at nothing to make sure she was not only safe, but happy.

“Nat!” James called out from the porch as Marcus walked her down her porch and freshly shoveled walkway to his car waiting by the curb. “C’mon!”

“Well…he’s persistent, I’ll give him that,” she chided as Marcus reached to open her door.

“He’s an asshole.” Marcus looked tense, his eyes hardly meeting hers as he held her door open, Nathalie carefully seating herself without flashing him.

As she waited in the car for him to walk around and climb in beside her, she felt panic start to bubble up in her again. Was he angry with her? Did he no longer want to go out? Was her drama too much drama for him to handle?

“Marcus, I’m sorr—“

“You look so fucking good,” he confessed as he sat down and shut his door, shooing all worry out of her mind yet again. His eyes turned to meet hers, a longing in them that made her thighs squeeze together out of instinct. Marcus tried not to notice, but the knowing smile that grew on his face told her he was far too vigilant to miss it. “I had a whole thing rehearsed in my head for when I first saw you. But that was before your idiot of an ex showed up to try and win you back.”

“Emphasis on try.” She reached over the center console and placed her hand on his knee, one of Marcus’ hands quickly dropping from the steering wheel to intertwine with hers. “I was worried I went a little overboard with the makeup, and the heels, and the hair, and the dress—“

“No, I love the dress.” He glanced over at her with a smirk, his eyes flickering down to her cleavage before lifting back to her own. “You look beautiful.”

“All this sweetness is gonna take some getting used to,” she confessed softly, unable to believe his compliments after years of being picked apart by James. Marcus lifted the hand holding hers up to her chin, lovingly pinching it.

“I’m a patient man,” he assured with a knee-weakening smile.

“You’re…a saint, apparently,” she chuckled, turning to look out of the window at their snow-covered town.

“Trust me, I’m not a saint.” Her eyes wandered back to his profile, studying him to try and find any sort of flaw or sin lying beneath the surface but she couldn’t see any from where she sat—just a handsome man that made her feel at home whenever she looked into his eyes.

“I’m struggling to see where your faults are,” she challenged, earning a bashful chuckle. “I’ve always thought you were so much better than everyone. Not even just your looks—“

“Tell me more about my good looks.” He glanced at her with a smirk.

“I think I’ll save that ego-boost for another time,” she winked, forcing a blush to his cheeks. “But no, beyond all that physical stuff, you’ve always just been such a good guy. You sorta set a standard, intentionally or not.”

“Well,” he laughed. “I’m good at seeming a lot better than I am, I guess.”

“Well, go on, then. What’s going on beneath the surface that I haven’t seen yet?” She challenged with an eyebrow raise and a smirk, Marcus shrugging through his shyness.

“I don’t know,” he spoke with a boyish bashfulness and a smile. When he turned to look at her, his train of thought was interrupted by the passing yellow light of the street lamps illuminating her face. Suddenly every word he knew seemed more meaningless than they did a few seconds prior, none of them quite able to describe her beauty well enough to earn being voiced to her listening ears. So, he settled on saying nothing at all, his eyes choosing to keep this moment of admiration a private one for now. “There’s lots of things.”

“Just give me one thing that makes you anything less than perfect,” she asked sweetly, oblivious to the fact that Marcus would already do whatever for her, including laying his heart out for her to judge and pick apart at her will.

“Okay, I rush into things a lot. That’s a big one,” he finally managed a response as they pulled into the parking lot of an upscale Italian restaurant. “Yeah, I just…in the past, I’ve gotten swept up in the romance of it all and I suppose I had a tendency to move a little quick.”

“I don’t mind moving a little quick every now and then,” she replied, tone thick with suggestion. Marcus chuckled and let out a sigh, struggling to find the willpower to do as his mother told and take things slow with Nathalie.

“You’re…” he chuckled as he struggled to find an adequate adjective to describe her. “I’d say perfect but that makes it sound like having flaws is a bad thing.“

“They’re not?” She questioned, shifting in her seat to better face him, content to spend the entire night right there in this parking lot listening to him speak.

“I don’t think so,” he shrugged, turning a bit in his own seat. Nathalie quirked an eyebrow at him in a silent demand for him to elaborate and he chuckled. “They go into making you, you just as much as the good stuff does.”

Nathalie smiled and nodded, her eyes locked on his. With her smile growing wider and more playful, she looked down at her lap and spoke, “So…if you don’t want to call me perfect, what am I then?”

“Thought-consuming, how about that?” He sounded bashful, his voice quieted to a rasp just above a whisper.

Nathalie didn’t care that they were in a parking lot, she didn’t care that anyone could walk past and judge them, she only cared about feeling his lips on hers again, his taste and feel intoxicating and soothing at the same time.

“Think that’s two words,” she breathed out as she leaned over the console between them, Marcus grinning as he met her halfway into a nearly painful kiss. Her hands held the curve of where his jaw met his neck while his rested on her face, keeping her close. When Nathalie tested out something needier, a swipe of her tongue over his lips, Marcus let out a groan that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core.

“Mm,” he hummed as he found the strength to pull away, chuckling against her lips. “Taking it slow, remember.”

“That’s gonna be…”

“Impossible, yeah.” He laughed through a sigh and ran his hands over his face as he sat back in his seat.

“You okay?” She asked with genuine concern. Marcus was quick to nod and give her a soft smile to reassure her.

“Yeah, I’m just trying to…calm down,” he chuckled in embarrassment as Nathalie’s eyes lowered to his pants, his unexpected (and impressive) bulge causing her eyes to widen.

“Yeah, this is…gonna be difficult,” she laughed and lifted her eyes back to his, reaching over to pinch his bearded chin. “And really fun.”

“Yeah,” he beamed. “I think so too.”

“Do you still wanna go in?” She asked after a beat, earning a curious look from Marcus. “Honestly, we could just grab McDonald’s and sit in the car all night talking and I’d be happy.”

“Yeah?” He asked with a curl of his lips. “We can do whatever you want. I’m just glad to be here.”

“Me too.” She reached over and tugged him in for one more kiss, this time something soft and sweet rather than needy and heated. She wanted him to feel how happy he was already making her, how downright into him she was. His soft hum buzzing against her lips told her that he was hoping to do the same. “Okay, McDonald’s now.”

“Yes, Miss Moss.”

“So…” Marcus started with a smirk, pausing to chew on the fries he’d just lifted to his lips. The couple was sat in the McDonald’s parking lot, the bright yellow and red light of the Golden Arch glowing into the car as they ate.

“So?” Nathalie asked with a look of amused interest, taking a sip of her Coke.

“What, uh, what actually went down with you and James?” He asked, turning his head to meet hers. Nathalie kept her slight smile on, though a sigh left her lips. “You don’t have to tell me—“

“No, no. It’s not…I just…the thought of him always puts me in a bad mood, and I don’t want you to have to be around me like that,” she clarified, but Marcus only creased his brows in response.

“Nat,” he spoke her name sternly, bringing her eyes back to his. “You don’t have to hide yourself away from me. I work for the government, I’m good at handling a bad mood.”

She chuckled and nodded before reaching over and stealing one of his fries. “Well, I thought everything was perfect between him and I. That entire seven years, I was delusional and happy and peacefully ignorant to how just plain fucking awful he was to me.”

Marcus didn’t say anything, simply shifting in his seat to better face her, his fingers quietly lifting his fries to his mouth as she continued.

“Anyways, one night I’d been working pretty late at the museum, and so I’d texted him and let him know that I probably wouldn’t be home until around midnight.” Nathalie paused to take a bite out of her burger, missing the way Marcus watched her in endearment as she tried to hurry her chews, her hand waving as though it would help. “Sorry, this burger is so good.”

“I know, I finished mine in three bites.” Nathalie chuckled as she looked over at Marcus’ empty burger box. “Alright, so you’re at the museum—“

“Right,” she nodded, regaining her focus. “I texted him that I’d be home late or whatever, but then I managed to finish early, so instead of showing up at midnight like he thought, I ended up showing up around ten—and the first thing I see when I unlock my door? My fiancé and my fucking boss fully going at it on the couch I bought. Straight up naked, spread eagle.”

“Oh, god,” Marcus sympathized, shaking his head at her as she nodded.

“Yeah. So, I left immediately and spent the night at a friend’s place. I just remember feeling like I’d finally turned the fucking light on and could see that this past seven years of my life, I’d been so unhappy. Sleeping on my friends couch I finally realized that I actually hated James. I was only still with him because I was comfortable. Because he was gonna give me the life I dreamed of or whatever. But after seeing him with someone else, there was no way I could go back. So I packed all my shit up and left town, left my job, left everything. Now I’m just here…recovering.”

“Jesus,” Marcus sighed, his eyes full of sincere sympathy. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“It’s alright,” Nathalie chuckled bashfully, shrugging her shoulders. “After all, it brought me here.”

Marcus smiled as he leaned over, his hand cradling her jaw as he gave her enough space to reject him but there was no need. Nathalie quickly leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

What started out as a tender kiss soon became ravenous, Marcus’ strength seemingly to dwindle with each little burst of a makeout. His hand slid up her sheer stockings, warming the outside of her thigh as his fingertips reached the hem of her dress. Nathalie let out a soft, hardly audible moan as he allowed his fingers to continue traveling up underneath her skirt until he was gripping her hip.

“Marcus,” she breathed against his lips, suddenly aware of the public nature of their makeout.

“Sorry,” he panted as he pulled back, readjusting her skirt as he slid his hand back down to her knee.

“Don’t be too sorry,” she reached over for his chin, her fingertips smoothing along his bearded jaw. “Just maybe not in a McDonald’s parking lot.”

“Or your parent’s house…or my parent’s house,” he added, a frown forming on both their faces until Marcus seemingly got an idea. “Hey, I have to go into the city to finish up my shopping this weekend. Do you maybe wanna come with me?”

Nathalie looked stunned, but in a good way. The prospect of spending a weekend away in New York City with Marcus fucking Pike during Christmastime was the stuff of her teenage dreams.

“Oh no, is that too much, too fast?” He asked with panic all over his face, the first sign of that emotion that she knew intimately coming from him.

“No,” she reached her hand back to rest on his neck, scratching at the hairs on the base of his skull. “It sounds like a fucking dream.”

Marcus brightened again, leaning in to place a singular peck onto her lips.

“I can’t wait,” he smiled as he pulled away and packed his trash into the brown bag while Nathalie ate her last bite of burger before doing the same. “I, uh, think my parents are still out at church…if you wanted to watch a movie at my place or something? I’ve got…puzzles?”

Nathalie couldn’t help but chuckle at the boyish nature of his smile, his eyes clearly filled with hope for more time in her company. How could she ever say no when he was looking at her with his big brown eyes?

“I’m pretty good at puzzles.”

Marcus’s parents had indeed still been out of the house when they pulled into his driveway, but that was just about all that went according to plan.

As soon as the couple crossed the threshold of his front door, they couldn’t keep their hands off one another. Marcus walked her back against the wall of the entryway, making a family portrait rattle against the wall as she hit it with a soft thud. Nathalie giggled as his lips trailed down to her neck, the scruff of his beard tickling her the entire time.

“You smell so good,” he praised, too swept up in her to join her in her giggles. His voice sent a chill down her spine and she tightened her grip on his coat, tugging him closer until he was pressing his hips into hers. She gasped as she felt his bulge against her hip, quickly stiffening with each passing second. It wasn’t long before Marcus was breathing out against her neck, “fuck, I want you”.

“Take me upstairs,” she panted, her hand lowering from the lapel of his coat down to his cock, rubbing it through the fabric of his pants.

“Can’t,” he sucked a mark on her collarbone, a considerate one that could easily be hidden under a sweater. “My parents are gonna be home soon.”

“We can be quick,” she persisted, pulling his face from her neck and holding it as she looked into his eyes with a mischievous pout. Marcus beamed at her full of affection, his thumb lifting to stroke over her bottom lip.

“I don’t want our first time to be quick, baby.”

Nathalie felt like she was floating and melting and burning all at the same time as she listened to him call her ‘baby’, the look in his eyes just the cherry on top of an already dream-worthy moment that she never in her wildest dreams would’ve imagined happening.

“If you call me baby again, I’m gonna pass out, I think,” she whispered through her grin, her eyes falling to his lips as she pulled him closer for a kiss, Marcus chuckling into it when their lips met.

“Well, I’ll be here to catch you…baby,” he felt her smile grow against his lips, her giggle being kissed away.

As Marcus moved to deepen the kiss again, the couple was surprised by the front door opening abruptly, not giving them enough time to sort themselves out before his parents were taking in their flushed states.

“Marcus…Nathalie,” Mr. Pike greeted awkwardly as Mrs. Pike gave the couple a beaming smile, clearly approving of their romance. She tugged her husband out of the entryway to give the pair some privacy again, noticing the blushes on Marcus and Nathalie’s faces.

“Walk me home?” Nathalie asked once they were alone again. Marcus nodded, slipping his hand into hers and opening the front door.

Once they were out in the cold, Marcus wrapped his arm around Nathalie’s waist, holding her close to his side.

“So you got to ask me about my ex,” she started with a smirk, her eyes facing forward. “What happened with yours?”

“I don’t know if we have the time,” he chuckled.

“You can come in for some tea,” she offered, turning her head to look at him with round, hopeful eyes.

“Okay,” he agreed softly.

He was sure that she could get him to do anything with those eyes.

After unlocking her door, she welcomed him into her home, the lights on the downstairs all off signaling that her parents had gone to bed. Flicking through light switch on in the entryway, she kicked her boots off before shedding her coat, hanging it on the hook by her parent’s. Marcus did the same, except he chose to drape his coat over his arm, holding onto it until they reached the kitchen, then setting it down on the barstool of the island.

“So, what was her name?” Nathalie asked in a hushed voice as she started to prepare the kettle on the stove.

“Teresa,” he sighed, pulling out the barstool as silently as he could before sitting down in it. “We worked together on a case, art theft. I, uh, liked her a lot. But there was another guy who was always sort of there—in between us. I guess I thought I needed to hurry up and settle down with her before he could, I don’t know. I definitely wasn’t doing it because I was sure that I wanted to marry her. I knew she didn’t love me like she loved him, but I wasn’t ready to give up on the fantasy I’d created in my head of a wife and kids.”

Nathalie turned around once the kettle had been set on the flame, resting her elbows on the island and studying the hurt in his eyes.

“Have you given up on that?” She asked, watching as he shook his head.

“No,” he chuckled. “I still believe in real love and want to have a family someday, I just…I’d like to think I’ve gotten better about being realistic about it.”

“Did you think Emily was gonna be the one?” She teased, earning a guffaw from him.

“Emily was my complete and total opposite in every sense of the word,” he assured, standing up to go join her on the other side of the island, his hand tilting her jaw up.

“Did you two…”

“No.” He shook his head. “She’s saving herself for marriage. Apparently she’s very devout. I didn’t know that.”

“I think that’s the first time religion’s paid off for me,” Nathalie chuckled to herself, lowering her eyes to his belt, her fingertip reaching to trace the metal of it, Marcus’s breath catching in response.

“Thought I heard a noise down here,” Mrs. Moss walked into the kitchen and broke the pair apart, Marcus clearing his throat while Nathalie moved to take the whistling kettle off the heat. “How was dinner?”

“It was good,” Nathalie replied through a still fuzzy mind, Marcus’s cologne still permeating her senses.

“Good!” Her mother’s attention turned to Marcus as he fetched a couple mugs out of one of the cabinets, having become familiar with the Moss kitchen over the years. “Marcus, any ideas for date number two?”

“Mom.” Nathalie scolded as she stood beside a chuckling Marcus, dropping a tea bag in each mug before filling them with water.

“Actually, yeah. I’m going into the city for some last minute Christmas shopping this weekend and I invited Nat to come,” he smiled as he glanced over at Nathalie, carefully measuring honey on a spoon before dropping it into the hot tea.

“Oh, how fun! It’s been half a year since she’s left our little town.” Her mom teased, earning another embarrassed groan from her daughter. Marcus couldn’t help but feel even more endeared to her as she blushed her way through fixing him a cup of tea, avoiding both pairs of eyes locked onto her.

“Mom, Marcus and I were talking,” Nathalie gave her mom a look that she hoped conveyed her desperation for more alone time with her date, but of course, Mrs. Moss couldn’t be subtle about it—not so long as it embarrassed her daughter.

“Oh! Talking. Right. Wink, wink.” Mrs. Moss retired back upstairs while Nathalie groaned and covered her face.

“I’m so sorry—“

“Don’t be, I love your mom,” he assured, rubbing her back. “I think it’s sweet how invested in your life she is. My mom’s the same way.”

“I think we have them to thank for us finally getting together,” she raised her mug up as though to toast, Marcus beaming as he lifted his own and clinked it against hers.

“To our meddling mothers,” he proposed.

“Gotta love ‘em.”

taglist: @joelmillerscoffee @ajeff855 @wildemaven @axshadows @sherala007 @browneyes-issac @tooflef @mariasabana @tae27 @kimm4710 @stxrrylunatic @sara-alonso @paulalikestuff @jbh-castaway @oceandolores @mandomover @chxpsi @auberosier @mashomasho @vanemando15 @wickedmunson @marvel-sw-lover @jediknight122 @harriedandharassed @star-wars-fan-2005 @alwaysdjarin @jalobro @trickstersp8 @mccn-bcys @manuymesut @trinkets01 @tanzthompson @jlmaddinson @hopeamarsu @fanofverymanythings @lovesbiggerthanpride @pinkything @fireproofmarta @littlenosoul @tryonmyworld @berriesarepunk @laureliciousdefinition @camishadjarin @rav3n-pascal22 @fishingforpike @rocketrhap3000 @amneris21 @lexloon @alwayslurkinginthebackground @myrealmofchaos @under-the-seas

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike angst #marcus pike smut #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike #the mentalist fanfic #tis the damn season

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karlurbanism · 2 months ago

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Question for Marcus Pike x reader / OFC writers:

Every character needs flaws but what flaws do you give a pretty much perfect character? 😅

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #the mentalist #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x oc #jenna's stuff

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nrthernsong · 1 year ago

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I'd pay money to read all of these again for the first time. Now I get to twiddle my thumbs and re-read everything while I wait for updates!

WardenParker’s Masterlist!

Support the writer and Buy Me a Coffee 🧡☕

This blog is 18+ ONLY but you’ll find ** below for pieces that contain explicit smut. Enjoy!

Pedro Pascal Characters, My Beloveds:

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales Triple Frontier

The Alewife Soulmate AU

“Together” Universe (Frankie x female Reader x Benny Miller): Better Together** Taking Care Together Waking Up Together** Celebrating Together** Together for Christmas

Flyboy**

Full Moon Fury** (Spooktober)

Better Than a Date** (Frankie x reader x Santiago Garcia)

“I have no idea what you just said to me.” (Santi x reader x Frankie microfic)

Frankie and Maggie Miller: Beach House Gone Fishin’

Marcus Pike The Mentalist

Ménage à Trois** (Marcus Pike x f!reader x modern!Oberyn Martell)

Sexus, Ars, Amor (Marcus Pike x f!reader x Ezra)

More Than Mistletoe** (Christmas fic!)

Starting Over

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3** Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7** Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Epilogue

I’m Yours: (on hiatus) Prologue: Mondays Suck Chapter 1: Two Terrible Ideas Chapter 2: More Evil Than Genius

Agent Whiskey Kingsman: Golden Circle

A Second Chance at Love** A Second Chance at Love pt 2** A Second Chance at Life** (Jack Daniels x reader/Zach Wellison x f!OC)

Bad Moon Rising: pt 1** Bad Moon Rising: pt 2**

You, Me & Mexico**

Ghostly Touch** (Spooktober)

Down the Rabbit Hole Soulmate AU: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5** Chapter 6 Chapter 7** (E for violence) Chapter 8** Chapter 9 Chapter 10** Chapter 11** Chapter 12 Chapter 13** (E for references to violence) Chapter 14** Chapter 15 Epilogue

Oberyn Martell Game of Thrones

Ménage à Trois** (Marcus Pike x f!reader x modern!Oberyn Martell)

From Dorne, with Love (modern!Oberyn x female reader) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3** Part 4** Part 5 Part 6 Epilogue

The Viper’s Bride soulmate au (Oberyn x reader x Ellaria x male OC) Chapter 1** Chapter 2** Chapter 3** (Explicit for violence) Chapter 4**

Javier Peña Narcos

The Meeting Place (Javier Peña x reader x Steve Murphy x Connie Murphy)

Broken Road

“There is no us.” (microfic)

Marcus Moreno We Can Be Heroes

Wish You Were Here Soulmate AU

The Date**

What are you doing here? (microfic)

What Happens in Vegas, part 1** What Happens in Vegas, part 2**

Ezra Prospect

Sexus, Ars, Amor (Marcus Pike x f!reader x Ezra)

Louder (microfic)

Dave York Equalizer 2

Table for Four** (Dave York x Carol York x f!reader x Quinn McKenna) Couch for Four

Killer Writing Soulmate AU (Dave York x plus size reader)

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” (microfic)

Zach Wellison Brothers and Sisters

Once Upon a Time… (Zach Wellison x plus size reader)

A Second Chance at Life** (Jack Daniels x reader/Zach Wellison x f!OC)

Dieter Bravo The Bubble

You’re So Vain Soulmate AU

Surprising Reunions, pt 1** (Joel x Dieter x reader) Surprising Reunions, pt 2**

Bright Lights & Broken Dreams, pt 1** Bright Lights & Broken Dreams, pt 2** Bright Lights & Broken Dreams, pt 3**

Pero Tovar The Great Wall

Sassenach and the Spaniard Soulmate AU: Chapter 1 Chapter 2** (E for references to assault) Chapter 3** (E for references to assault and violence) Chapter 4** Chapter 5** Chapter 6** Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9** Chapter 10** (E for violence) Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13** Chapter 14** Epilogue

“Does no one here know how to knock?” (microfic)

Max Phillips Bloodsucking Bastards

Close Encounters of the Toothy Kind** (Spooktober)

Javi Gutierrez The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Redbox Romance** (Spooktober)

Joel Miller The Last of Us

“For” Series: For Pleasure** For Her For Protection**

“I thought you loved forehead kisses.”/”Put me down.” (microfic)

Surprising Reunions, pt 1** (Joel x Dieter x reader) Surprising Reunions, pt 2**

Detective Tim Rockford Merge Mansion

“You brought me flowers?” (microfic)

Charlie Hunnam Characters, My Darlings:

Will ‘Ironhead’ Miller Triple Frontier

Necessary Arrangements (Royalty AU) - On Hiatus: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Boyd Holbrook Characters, My Sweets:

Steve Murphy Narcos

The Meeting Place (Javier Peña x reader x Steve Murphy x Connie Murphy)

Small Towns and Second Chances**

Quinn McKenna The Predator

Table for Four** (Dave York x Carol York x f!reader x Quinn McKenna) Couch for Four

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 5 months ago

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New beginnings | joel miller x f!reader, 7.8k

Summary: What happens when you run into that handsome stranger from the bar at Trish’s house? Where do the two of you stand two years after this unexpected encounter?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, some back and forth on the timeline, mutual pinning, light angst, slow-burn, a smidgen of fluff, cursing, Joel being kind of a prick, Joel being an idiot, insecurities, let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Part two of the I don’t even know your name series and yes, I know it’s been a long time coming, sorry about that! I’m confident (well, aren’t you a bold one?) that the third part will be coming much, much sooner! Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all!

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

previous | next

BEFORE

You know that warmth. You remember it. His warmth. His large, calloused hand completely encircles yours as you formally introduce yourselves. If his reflexes weren’t fast enough, you’d still be staring at him, unable to believe he’s standing right before you.

The storm of all those memories overwhelmed you and Joel realized that, unlike the rest of your company who continued to stand behind your back in blissful ignorance. Your mind had become detached from your body, which seemed to make decisions of its own; you were ready to do anything at this moment.

If he chose to show his hand and acknowledge you, you would follow his lead. If -by some miracle- he chose to lean in and kiss you, you would reciprocate. If he chose to pretend he didn’t know you, you would put up with it. You would do anything to be good for him, no common sense left in your dazed mind. But his face is serious and his warm, dry hand is firmly on yours, squeezing it lightly, in a silent form of communication, I know; it’s ok; get a grip; what the fuck. He doesn’t let go of your hand, acting as an anchor, until you decide you feel grounded enough to handle the situation. It’s at that moment that you can tell he’s waitin’ for you to be in control of the narrative. Whatever you say, goes.

You take a deep breath and tell him your name, as you finally release your hand from his and move aside to let him enter the house. The muscles between his eyebrows and around his mouth twitch imperceptibly, almost in disappointment, you think. His scent as he passes by you, hits your nostrils and your memories flood back into your mind, even stronger than before. Your body tenses and you feel your nipples tighten against the fabric of your bra. You begin to wonder how you’re gonna make it through the night.

You all move into the living room while dinner is being prepared, except for Trish who excuses herself to the kitchen. Tommy sits on the couch next to you while Joel is standing in front of the window with his arms crossed over his chest and Sarah is relaxing in her favorite spot, on some big fluffy cushions randomly scattered on the floor next to the fireplace, scrolling through her phone.

“Trish, do you need a hand?” you try to keep your voice steady, although you desperately need an excuse to leave the room. No such luck. “No babe”, comes the wrong answer, “I got it, you chill and have fun!” Why she has to be such a good friend is beyond you. You smile awkwardly and look everywhere but in Joel’s direction. Tommy puts you all out of your misery by asking you about your relationship with Trish.

“Oh, we’ve been best friends for a long time, done pretty much everything together,” you explain, deliberately raising your voice for the last part, “it’s starting to get unhealthy if you ask me,” you look towards the kitchen entrance, waiting for her reaction. “You’re not moving outta here any time soon, missy, so stop whining!” comes the reply from the kitchen. You grin as Tommy and Sarah laugh. Joel just stares at you with a scowl on his face.

“Are you staying long?” Tommy continues.

“Tommy.” Joel warns him.

“I’m just making conversation sunshine, ‘mnot being nosy!”

“It’s ok, really, no problem at all.” you intervene, feeling sorry for Tommy, still avoiding looking directly at Joel. “I’ll be out of her hair, as soon as I find a place to move to..”

“No, you won’t!” Trish protests. “Yes, I will!” you deadpan, “I told you it was getting unhealthy.”, you wink at Tommy before you could stop yourself. Why the hell did you wink at him? You need to calm down before you do something stupid. Joel’s fingers tighten, clutching his arms tighter to his chest. Shit, you don’t think straight when you’re stressed. Tommy seems to like it, though.

“Maybe we could help you”, Tommy offers, “we see lots of places ‘cause of our job, we could keep you in mind if something good comes up.”

“Tommy.” Joel drags his brother’s name across his tongue as a warning. You look at him quizzically for the first time since your handshake, wondering what they do for a living. Fortunately, you work up the courage to ask Joel directly, before Tommy has time to protest to his brother again.

“I’m a contractor” Joel informs you with the slightest hint of annoyance, as if he was reluctant to share this mundane information, “and Tommy works with me.”

“Oh, that’s cool!”, you raise your eyebrows in admiration, your eyes brightening. He takes his eyes off you and you wither inside.

“Well, never heard that one before. Joel is cool.” Tommy says in mocking surprise, giggling. You look flustered and Joel looks annoyed. “She didn’t say I was cool.” he frowns at his brother, “I know my job is far from fancy, you don’t have to just say that.” he turns his reply to you, displeased with your comment.

God, you feel like a little child in his presence, he can’t just chastise you like that, you have two kids of your own, you’re an adult, for Christ’s sake. “I know I’m not,” you say defensively and you start to get irritated. This is how the night is going to unravel? “I mean it. I have always admired people who can build and repair things with their own hands. Three pairs of eyes are now looking at you, all of them quite surprised.

Joel has absolutely no confidence in himself to start a conversation with you right now, but his curiosity gets the better of him. So, “How so?” is the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

Your eyes widen slightly in startlement at his sudden elaboration, you hadn’t expected him to continue the conversation. “Uh,” you sigh, raising your brows in deep thought and shaking your head slightly, “maybe it has something to do with my dad, he was always good at fixing things. I don’t know, it made me feel safe, taken care of. Still does, even the thought of it. I always thought that if the world ever came to an end, your kind would be the ones to survive.” you shrug, unable to look Joel in the eye and fidgeting with your fingers on your lap, the answer more intimate than you intend it to be. But you give it anyway, for him.

You want him to know that you would never lie or make fun of him. That night, however indifferent it was to him, made him indelibly etched in your memory. And even though your interaction was so brief, one night out of the thousands in your life, it made you feel something for him. Childish as it may sound, you felt he deserved your respect in some way.

There’s a moment’s silence in the room, Joel staring down at his feet, not wanting to look emotional. Taken care of. He can’t get the words out of his head; it’s what he felt for you that night, what he wanted to offer you before his chance was torn apart by the fucking knoc-

“Our kind?” Tommy intervenes once more.

“Yeah,” you try not to blush, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks, “you know, resourceful, competent, reliable.” Sarah tries to hide her grin behind her mobile phone, sneaking glances in Joel’s direction, little devil, while Tommy looks so pleased with your perception of their profession.

“Then you should definitely keep us close, take full advantage of us,” Tommy fills the silence, now his turn to wink at you, oh god, what a mess, “I’m in the same business, too, like Joel said.” Subtle. “We’d be more than happy to help darlin’, right Joel?” he turns to look at his older, brooding brother. Joel seems lost in thought or uninterested in answering. “Right?” he presses eagerly. Joel slowly raises his head, looks deep into your eyes and says nothing more than “Right” in a deep drawl of a voice. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He makes you feel so small but you feel a glob of arousal pooling on your underwear, making you wonder what the hell is wrong with you.

Tommy turns to you expectantly, his eyes shining under the lights in the room.

“Maybe I intend to.”, you smile softly, glancing briefly at Joel before turning your eyes back to Tommy. Joel’s body stiffens, giving you the impression he’s trying to hold something back.

“Is it something particular you’re interested in, so we know what we’re looking for?” To your and Joel’s dismay, Tommy doesn’t let up. Your eyes turn briefly to Joel for help, but he looks down again, his arms still stiff across his chest, as if they had a mind of their own and were capable of murder if he let them go at his sides.

“Uuuuh,” you laugh nervously, “anything will do considering my situation, I can’t really be picky.”

“What’s bothering you, sweetheart?” Tommy frowns worriedly. Joel stiffens at the sound of the endearment.

Where do you start with what’s going on in your life right now? Only one person -apart from Trish- seems to know and he doesn’t look very happy at the moment. “Well, Tommy, I’ve two kids, two little girls and I can’t find a place that is decent enough, at a good price and owned by someone who doesn’t mind renting their property to a single mom.” Tommy’s brows are raised so high in shock, they would touch his hairline if they could. “Goddamn, how the hell did that happen?”

“How did what happen?” you ask confused. “You,” he says, his eyes roaming all over you in a definitively not subtle way, “being a single mom with two kids. What the hell did he d-”

“Tommy.” Joel’s tone is more raised this time, shooting daggers at his brother, warning him again to drop it. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ” Joel mutters through his teet, a look of disbelief on his face at his brother’s lack of discretion and if you weren’t already looking at him, you wouldn’t have heard it.

Trish comes out of the kitchen before you or Tommy can react.

“Ok guys, let’s move it to the dining table.” she clasps her hands together, “Dinner will be ready in ten!”

While everyone’s attention is focused on Trish, including yours, Joel’s eyes penetrate you in a silent command to look at him. You feel him staring at you and you turn your attention to him. He continues to stare at you as he asks Trish if she has any tools to fix her bathroom cabinet, since Tommy forgot the one thing he was supposed to remember. He takes his eyes off you as the others laugh at his accusation and turn to look at him.

“Yeah, I think I have a small toolbox in the supply closet upstairs, next to the bathroom. I don’t remember exac-”

“That’s ok Trish, I’m going to check on the girls anyway, I’ll help Joel look for it.” you take the opportunity to excuse yourself.

You stand up carefully, feeling your legs go numb and praying you don’t trip and make a fool of yourself in front of everyone. Joel follows behind you as you go up the stairs. You can feel the tension between you, his body heat almost warming your back. He can’t be that close though, can h-

As soon as you reach the door to the bathroom, he opens it in a hurry and pushes you in, grabbing hold of your arm as he follows suit. You gasp at his gesture and turn to face him. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something. His arms are clenched in fists at his side, giving you the impression he’s trying to control himself.

You’re both silent, despite a vocabulary so vast, none of the words seem to fit your thoughts and emotions. “You’re OK.” He speaks first. It’s not a question, not a reassurance. It’s a statement of fact. You look confused, trying to work out where he is going with this. He thought you would break down at the sight of him? Well, he wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t need to know. “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” It comes out harsher than you intended.

You see in real time a series of thoughts crossing his eyes, something fragile and vulnerable in the air. But it passes as quickly as it came.

“Nothin’, nothin’.”, he shakes his head and closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind. He opens his eyes with a sigh and looks at you. You stare at each other for a good minute and then you both realize that you are together again, the two of you, in a small bathroom, behind a closed door. Your brain is blank, the only thought crossing it is to say something, say something, say something, but he beats you to it. “It’s best if we don’t tell them we know each other.” Is he serious right now? From all the things he could have said, this is what he came up with? You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration, “Well, I think we’re already past that, that firm handshake at the front door made that quite clear.”

“You played along, though. So, don’t go around accusing m-”

“Hey, hey, I’m not accusing you of anything, where is this even coming from?” you frown in confusion. He wanted you to admit you knew him in front of everyone? In front of his daughter? “Hey, guys, how do you know each other?” “Oh, we almost fucked in a bar bathroom!”. That would have gone well.

“Yeah, I’m just sayin’-”

“Look, Joel, there’s nothing to say. It’s not like I was going to shout it over the rooftops anyway.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”, he looks offended for some reason.

“Means that there’s nothing to say.” you insist sternly. “Literally.”

He laughs nervously, obviously irritated. You don’t understand why, you thought you were making his life easier. What does he want from you? “Right, right,” is all he gives you, nodding his head a few times. You raise your hands in resignation, your eyebrows raised to your forehead, your mouth open, not knowing how to navigate the situation.

“What is your problem, what do you want me to say? You pretended not to know me when you saw me and you just told me, like 30 seconds ago, not to mention anything to anyone! I think I’m doing all right so far, don’t you? How am I pissing you of exactly?” your anger makes you raise your voice slightly.

He’s all over you in a second, pinning you between his body and the bathroom door. “Keep your goddamn voice down.” he grits through his teeth, his one hand a clenched fist at his side, the other next to your head, palm flat on the door. The sudden invasion of his scent in your nostrils and the fan of his breath on your lips is all you can register, but his words come back to you and your anger boils in your gut.

“Watch your tone with me, I’m not some child you can intimidate.” you shoot back. That seems to snap him out of his headspace and he backs away slightly. He exhales loudly from his nose and rests his forehead on his outstretched arm, the other now resting on his hip. His unruly locks are so close to your face that you can practically smell his shampoo. You clench your fist to resist running your fingers through his soft hair. “Shit,” he mumbles through closed eyes, he really doesn’t seem to be able to keep his eyes on you long enough, “’msorry”.

He smells so good, so delicious, that it takes every ounce of strength you have not to wrap your hands around his broad torso. You want this moment to yourself, to wrap your arms around him and comfort him, to plant kisses all over his face, to nuzzle your forehead where his thick neck meets his shoulder, to breathe him in. The corded muscles bulging under his tanned skin make you salivate. This guy is pissing you off and all you can think of is how you’d die to touch him. Great. You rest your head on the door behind you, close your eyes and grit your teeth, trying to regulate your breathing.

“’Msorry” he mutters again, shaking his head. He looks so worried and uncomfortable, you decide to give him another chance. Maybe he’s confused, too. You both had to make a call at such a short notice, with his whole family looking at both of you expectantly to introduce yourselves. It was the logical thing to do. Wasn’t it?

Maybe he’s afraid you’d expose your naughty deeds in front of his daughter. After all, no parent wants their child to know that they’ve almost had sex with a stranger in a bar. You totally understand. And to be honest, you did leave him all hot and bothered back in that bathroom and run the opposite way, so why would he want to be in the same room with you? He probably feels insulted by your reaction that night.

Or maybe- how did you not think of this before? Maybe he has a wife. But he’s not wearing a ring. Not that it matters, lots of people take their rings off at some point. Maybe he has a girlfriend. Wouldn’t she be here with them for dinner if that was the case? With him? He doesn’t look the type, either. The cheating one. But you hardly know him, you don’t really know much about him beyond what he told you about his past that night.

“Joel.” you call his name looking at him through your lashes, your head still resting on the door.

“Hm” he hums, still in the same position.

“Joel, hey.” you try to get his attention again, this time lifting your head to look straight at him, a gentle smile on your face.

His eyes finally meet yours in a subtle, tired hey, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

You hold each other’s gaze taking each other in, and you both laugh softly in a quiet understanding. But this feels so warm, so soft and tender, is he really that angry with you? He must be, otherwise why the tension? You should try and put him at ease.

“Look, I understand this is awkward and unexpected; I do. But we’re fine; we’re gonna be fine, Joel.” Damn, the sound of his name in your mouth. “I won’t say anything, really, don’t worry. We’ll have a nice meal, we’ll make the typical minimum small talk and when this night is over we’ll be out of each other’s hair, you won’t have to see me again if I can help it, I don’t mean any trouble, seriously.”

And there it is again, the disappointment. “Yeah, no, I know. Sorry I snapped at you.”

Joel looks as if he’s going to say something more, but at the last moment he changes his mind.

You nod in acceptance of his apology. “Let me hand you that toolbox, before they start wondering what’s taking us so long, hm?”

“Sure.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Ok, I’m gonna check on the girls and then head downstairs.”

Joel nods as he takes the toolbox from you, careful not to touch you and crouches down on his knees to inspect the damage to the cabinet. You glance in his direction one last time, admiring his wide, strong form kneeling on the floor and then close the door behind you quietly.

“Fuck.” you both exhale on either side of the door.

Two rotations of the earth around the sun had passed and Joel had become a constant in your life. He came and went like the seasons, with an orbit of his own.

Winter.

His orbit was longer and colder. The distance between you grew, more so emotionally, as if something was holding him back. The domesticity of it all was too much for him, scratching at old wounds he tried too hard to keep buried. He always cared, always kept an eye on you, but from a safe distance.

Like the time you came home late from work and cursed yourself for not cooking dinner in advance. You were starving, but the thought of making something to eat seemed like too much trouble; you were exhausted. Thank goodness the girls had their dinner ready, all you had to do was heat it up. Two minutes after you let yourself in, the doorbell rang. You rushed out of the bathroom and opened the door to a takeaway, its temperature indicating that it had just been delivered to your doorstep. You looked around but saw no one. You were pretty sure it was a mistake, but then your phone vibrated,

Eat, while it’s hot.

Did you leave these outside?

Yes.

Why?

Trish told me you were caught up at work, thought I’d save you some time.

You just kept staring at the screen, your heart warm but your mind confused. A second text came while you debated what to answer him.

Need to take better care of yourself.

No, why ‘d you leave?

Summer.

His orbit was shorter and warmer, like a pleasant summer breeze. He was around more, more involved in your life.

Like the time he was in on your house hunting trip.

Like when he talked you into buying a house and not renting because he found one for you that was beautiful and ideal and close to Trish’s so you wouldn’t be alone and your daughters would love it and it was a family house. Yes, the house was a ruin. OK, maybe not a ruin, but really old. It was beautiful, but it had definitely seen better days. It needed a lot of renovation.

“Joel, I can’t afford this.” you said as you looked around, almost pained to have to say no. It was a really lovely house.

“Listen to me-” Joel tried to make his point but you interrupted him anyway.

“I am listening to you, that’s how you convinced me to consider buying a house instead of renting an apartment. But if I do, I’ll use up all my savings, I can’t afford a renovation of this magnitude,” you continued, looking around the house, moving from room to room, imagining how you would have decorated it if it was yours.

“I’m gonna help you with that.” he said bashfully.

“How are you going to do that, Joel?” you rolled your eyes at him.

“Do you remember what I do for a living?” Joel teased you and you glared at him.

“I’m not sure, I think you mentioned something about a contracting bussiness?” you mimicked him. “Joel, I’m serious. Of course I would choose you and Tommy if i could afford it.” you said in despair, eyes wide, hands in the air as if you’re pleading with him. Which you were.

“I’ll do it in my spare time.” he suggested, looking down at his feet, avoiding eye contact and hugging his chest with his arms, as if trying to protect himself from the vulnerable position he had put himself in.

It took you a minute to register what he was implying. Your jaw dropped, unsure of what to say when you did. Your heart ached with warmth and your breath caught in your chest. It was too much.

“There’s no way I’m accepting this, you know that.”

“I really don’t min-”

“Absolutely not, not in a million years.”

“Goddamn, you’re stubborn!” he snapped, not used to not getting his way. Take the fuckin’ help, goddamn it. Your eyes looked glazed, you never had the ability to deal well with people snapping at you quite well. Especially people you cared about. Joel felt your discomfort and immediately regretted his temper. Soft things needed gentle handling. And you were soft. So soft for this world. For him.

He stepped closer to you and engulfed your hands in his with a deep sigh. “Look, I’ve done the calculation. This is the best deal you can get. The price of the house is fair. In fact, between you and me, it’s low. And I’ve already worked out what needs to be fixed.” He paused, breathing in and exhaling a little harder. “I want to do this. For y- for the girls”, he stuttered and you looked down to where your hands met. These hands. His hands. Big and warm and capable. Capable of renovating your house, capable of holding your hands in his, capable of taking you apart piece by piece. Were they capable of putting you back together again?

Your whole body tingled with another wave of warmth at his touch. But it was too much. It was always too much with him. The unbearable distance or the suffocating closeness. All because he wouldn’t make up his damn mind. He couldn’t do that to you. Give you a glimpse of affection and then pull away. Because you were sure he would eventually. As he had done so many times before. This time you had to protect yourself. So you pushed him away the only way you knew how.

You tore your hands from his tender grip as you attacked him in a raised tone pointing at him. “We are not your responsibility!” You regretted it the moment you spat it out. You didn’t have to be so harsh. So quick to anger. Please, please be angry with me. Scream at me. Turn your back and walk away. Make me feel like shit.

He looked at you in shock, his eyebrows raised, a hint of sadness on his face. And something else, more subtle. As if in understanding. As if he could hear your thoughts. You were not his to care for. You were not his to protect. “I know that.” he sighed, squeezing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Joel,-” you tried to take it back, there were not many things you hated more than what was happening right now. The fact that you couldn’t take back what you had just said. You felt terrible.

“Look,” he interrupted you, raising his arms in resignation. “I’m just trying to help. You moved states alone with two kids, starting from scratch. I just thought maybe I could ease some of the burden. It’s the decent thing to do.”

“Joel, you are cutting yourself short. This is beyond decent. Trish and you- and- and- Tommy and Sarah of course,” you mumbled embarrassingly, “you’re all I have and you have supported me in more ways than I can count. That’s why I can’t be a burden to you.”

“I didn’t mean you were a burden.”

“No, no, I know, this is not on you, this is me, I-”

His face was full of concern as he waited patiently for you to speak your mind.

“I don’t want to be a burden. Or to feel like one. Even if I know-, I know I’m not that to you. I know that. But just the thought of the possibility makes me freak out. That’s why I need to keep everything under control, because if I give it away, even a little, I don’t know how I could ever repay this kindness. I don’t even know if I’m worthy. I’m not-” your voice broke at this confession and you took a breath to recover, “my life is not easy to navigate, I don’t want anyone to stress over me.”

Joel seemed shocked for a moment, not believing what he was hearing. “You think you’re not worthy of kindness? That’s very cruel coming from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Yeah, someone good and kind and caring.”

“You must have me confused with someone else.” you joked, feeling uncomfortable at his praise.

“Darling, if I had known anyone else like you, I would have held on to them for dear life," he spat, before realizing what he had said. He laughed awkwardly, frowning at the slip of his tongue and looked around the room to avoid your gaze. Why don’t you hold on to me, then? was all you could think of, but you didn’t dare ask him. So you moved on, protecting the friendship.

“I just- Jesus, I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” you murmured through your teeth, “I was brought up to be strong, never to ask for help, otherwise it was considered a weakness. I learned to do everything myself. By the time my parents grew out of their own insecurities and urged me to be more open, more vocal, it was too late for me to change.” Why on earth are you telling him all this? Why did you mention your parents?

“So, you do kindness, but you don’t accept kindness.” Joel observed and you realized that you had never made that connection.

“I- I don’t know how to receive it; what to do with it.”

In the end, he practically forced his help on you, bit by bit, one sweet word at a time, day by day, until the house was a home. Everywhere you looked you saw Joel’s efforts.

You saw the care with which he worked on this house as if it were his own. You heard his laughter as you forced him to take a break and shoved food into his mouth, knowing he hadn’t eaten all day. Every step you took on the hardwood floors reminded you of his broad back as he knelt down to replace the old floor. Every shower you took was a painful reminder of his massive, veiny hands sweating as he reinstalled the hardware. Everything felt like Joel, even in his absence.

NOW

“What is this party for, again?” you call out from her bedroom as you apply your lipstick in front of her vanity mirror. You almost didn’t come, but you knew she’d drag your ass back to her place if you didn’t.

“This is fooor..” Trish replies from her en-suite bathroom as she searches for a good excuse, unable to find one. “You know what, I don’t need a reason to have a party! Think of it as a chance to see each other more!”

“Trish, we can do this without a million people around us and me leaving my kids with a babysitter.” you roll your eyes in fake exasperation.

“Your kids are gonna be just fine. They want you to have a good time.”

“They’re four and two years old, dude.”

“Well, in that case, they want you to find them a daddy.”

“Oh my god, Trish! Seriously?” you snort at her comment.

“That’s what’s the party’s all about! You finding yourself a daddy; if I’m being honest-”

“Please don’t!” you beg her to stop.

“-you need it more than they do. That is so perfect! I actually have a couple of guys in mind and they’re a bit older, just like you like ‘em-”

“What?” you swallow tightly and you’re glad she can’t see your face right now. “What are you talking about?”

Trish pops her head through the door and wiggles her eyebrows, “They’re about Joel’s age, is what I’m talking about.” You shake your head in denial, your eyes are closed in frustration. “Trish..”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, there’s nothing going on between you; that’s why you’re both hot and flustered every time you’re in the same room.” Your shoulders slump down but you don’t answer because this is getting old.

“What, nothing to say for yourself?” Trish weighs up your reaction and lack of response.

“Frankly, I don’t know what else to say to you.” you shrug in defeat.

“Fine, then find someone to fuck, tonight. That would clear up the air.. for all parties.” Thankfully, you’re saved by the bell, “Jesus..” you mutter to yourself as she leaves you once again to open the door for the first guests.

The party is a success by Trish’s standards, as the house is overflowing with guests. Some of them you knew, most of them you didn’t.

Joel is somewhere in the crowd, chatting to a couple of ladies who have trapped him between them, ogling him like vultures. You make it your mission to rescue him, judging by the desperate look on his face and the furtive glances he throws your way.

As you move to head to his direction, an arm gently encircles your elbow. You turn to see who it is, and are greeted by a stranger. Tall, broad, sweet brown all over his features. He exudes an earthy and secure aura.

“Hi.” the stranger smiles warmly at you, looking deep into your eyes.

“Um,” you blush, why on earth are you blushing, “hi!” you say back. Original.

“I’m Marcus, a colleague of Trish’s.”

“Oh, hi, nice to meet you!” you tell him your name and shake his hand.

“I knew I was right.” he says amusedly, as if talking to himself.

“About what?”

“Trish gave me your name and told me to come find you.”

“Excellent tracking skills, are you a detective or something?”, you tease him playfully.

“Yeah, something like that..”

“Oh- I-” the words catch on your tongue.

“But I had a great lead, wasn’t that hard, to be honest.” he adds.

“Can you share it with me, or you’ll have to kill me if you tell me?” you joke. He was so easy to talk to.

Marcus tips his head back, laughing, “I wouldn’t resort to such methods; let me buy you a drink and we’ll call it even.”

You look down at your hands, your cheeks red from his attention, rolling the bottle of beer you are holding between your palms, too tightly.

“I mean, not right now; I’m sure we could work something out if you’d indulge me.” he adds sheepishly, somehow sensing your train of thought.

God, he’s adorable and not too bad to look at. Actually, he’s quite handsome. “Well, I’ll have to see if your lead is worth my time first.”

Panic rushes through you as you realize the sound of what you said while trying to be funny, and you try to correct it quickly. “Not that- oh gosh-” you feel so embarrassed, but Marcus laughs heartily and shakes his head from side to side.

“Shit, sorry, it was a joke, that’s not the only reason I would go out with you-” Isn’t it? What are you doing? What is he doing to you? Where is Joel? Shit, Joel.

You steal a glance in his direction and he’s already watching your interaction with Marcus, his face hard and unreadable.

“Isn’t it?” Marcus’s voice draws your attention back to him, your eyelids flattering in confusion. He grins, pleased, but so sweet it’s impossible to roll your eyes at him. Your shyness pours through your body language, making Marcus want to comfort you.

“Hey, hey, it’s cool, don’t worry about it. I know it was a joke; I liked it.” he says honestly, “And even if that was the only reason I’m sure by the end of the night you would have changed your mind.” he gives you a lopsided smile, but there’s no smugness on his face.

When he starts to speak again, Trish interrupts, effectively shutting him down. “What took you so long, I thought you couldn’t find her!”

Marcus smiles again, warmth and familiarity washing over you instantly, “Oh, I found her, quite quickly.” his eyes twinkling.

Trish smirks as if she’s realized something, “Come on, I need you outside.”, she grabs your arm and pulls you along, “I’m gonna steal her for a bit, sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s OK, I’m confident I can find her again.”, Marcus winks at you and your heart skips a beat.

You start to walk away, but abruptly turn back, your curiosity overpowering you.

“Never told me about that lead.” you ask him, your eyes wide and wondering.

Marcus bites the inside of his cheek, looking briefly down and then meets your gaze with a hunger in his eyes. “Oh, I had to find the most dazzling woman in the crowd.”, he shrugs as if it was the most self-evident fact in the world. “Mission accomplished.”

You replayed your interaction with Marcus in your mind as you helped Trish light the lanterns on the porch. He had been so kind, direct and sweet, making you feel seen. What bothered you was your reaction. Your insecurity, your inability to believe that he was talking about you. The urge you had to fight when you thought of looking around the room to make sure he wasn't referring to someone else.

What bothered you most was that although it had been two years since you had separated from your husband, you had never felt insecure about yourself. He couldn’t make you feel that way. Of course you doubted yourself at first, looking for your share of the blame, but his actions spoke louder than words, and you couldn’t blame yourself for everything, even if you tried.

But Joel did. He made you feel insecure, vulnerable. With his mixed signals and his constant back and forth, he managed to drive you crazy. What did he want from you? Why couldn’t he make up his mind? Why weren’t you enough? Were you too much?

Maybe it wasn’t just Joel. Maybe anyone in his position would have the same concerns. Perhaps Marcus would do the same if he found out about your family status. Where did that come from? You don’t even know the guy, stop it.

“OK,” you hear Trish behind you, “all set, let’s get back inside.”

You nod, but as you turn to go into the house, Trish comes close, a mischievous look on her eyes and lips. “Maybe, uh..” and she pauses dramatically making you furrow your brow in puzzlement. “Maybe I was wrong about the age gap, huh?”

Oh, god.

“He’s one of the good ones; I approve.” she winks at you and slaps you on the ass cheek, ushering you into the house while you roll your eyes the hardest you could manage.

“Ok, now I need to know.” He laughs heartily, his eyes wrinkling, his whole face lighting up. It didn’t happen very often. It made your heart swell that you were the one making it crinkle with laughter. You loved that face.

“What?” you reply, unsuccessfully fighting back a laugh, dragging out the vowel. You had had a few beers and were relaxed and comfortable around him. You were both standing near the stairs, giving yourselves a bit of privacy from the crowded party. You were still visible to everyone, but it was a little quieter than the constant buzz throughout the house.

“Well, you’re obviously mad at him-” Joel states matter-of-factly, as he leans his back against the wall behind him, but you interrupt before he can finish, “No, I’m not!” and slap your hand on the railing next to you for good measure.

“Uh, uh, uh, none of that,” he looks at you mischievously, “but you never say anything bad about him. So, which one was he?”

“What on earth do you mean, Joel?” and you half whimper his name, thanks to the alcohol in your system, making his cock twitch. God, the things he wants to do to you.

Joel inhales sharply, trying to keep his composure, because he really needs to know what kind of an idiot husband you had chosen to place by your side only to be betrayed; a side he would die to be by. If only he had been the right man for you.

“Which half was he?”

You burst out laughing, finally figuring out what he means. You’re impressed that he still remembers, although it makes sense since you sort of insulted him that night. You know you can’t lie for shit, so you brace yourself, anticipating his reaction. You can almost see the face he’s going to make.

“Actually..” you start, prolonging the suspense, not on purpose, but because you are choking on your own giggles. It’s going to sound so pathetic, but for some reason you can’t wait to tell him how you’ve been deliberately putting yourself down for years. “Yeah...?” His eyes are fixed on you, amused, but you can see the agony underneath.

“He was both.” And you can barely contain your laughter, almost snorting.

He is still at first, as if some invisible remote control has paused the whole scene, waiting for the oh, I’m kidding. When that moment passes, his eyebrows go up so high, his forehead fills with wrinkles. His jaw drops open and he actually looks shocked to the core, almost frightened.

“Both? BOTH?” he practically hovers over you in frustration. “So, emotionally unavailable and bad sex.” he says again, incredulous that someone like you would ever choose someone like your ex.

“Joel!” you chastise him, slapping him on the shoulder, looking around you to see if anyone has overheard your conversation.

Joel fake hisses at your fake hit and taunts you with his laugh.

You shake your head dismissively, “What can I say? You know me, I don’t go halfway, I go all the way.” you reply between laughs, pumping your fist in victory.

He shakes his head in mock despair, then looks down for a few seconds, as if he’s making his mind up for something and then up at you through his lashes. “Oh, baby,” he sighs, “you really need someone to take good care of you” his voice drops, his eyes still holding the amusement but there is a hunger behind his words.

You inhale sharply and then hold your breath as your brain fantasizes about him taking good care of you, right now. You stare at each other for a long time, as if there’s no one else around, and finally you break the silence. A slight anger begins to glimmer in your chest, but you try to push it down. “Well, no such luck on that front.” you drop the bait and see where it takes you.

He can’t say things like that and expect you to do nothing. A small glimmer of hope tries to climb over the uneasy feeling inside you. It sinks its claws into your heart, scratching at the surface of your well-hidden desire. Maybe this time he’ll take a chance on you. Maybe this time he will ask you. Maybe. You try to push that away as well.

“Maybe you should put yourself out there more.” There he is. He’s pulling back, again. It’s fucking exhausting. You know you should be more patient and see where this goes, but your anger is boiling fast, ready to pour out of every pore. He started it, so you might as well finish it.

“Unless, what I need is in here.” Please, please, don’t make me regret this. Over and over, like a mantra.

He swallows so hard you can see his Adam’s apple bobbing, his knuckles turning white around his beer bottle. His eyes keep darting between yours, searching for something.

“Pretty sure it’s not, if you know what’s good for you.” Did he just say that? Your pulse rises and you hold back the tears that tend to gather so easily at your waterline. How could he say that to you? But you recover quickly, he won’t see another drop of tears from you. Not ever again.

“What, you don’t like Marcus?”

“Who?” you see Joel’s body stiffen at the man’s name, his eyes frantically scanning yours for an answer and revenge never tasted better. You would say you were drunk on power if it weren’t for the damn beers.

“Marcus, Trish’s colleague from work, she introduced us tonight- well- not exactly, but- anyway.”, you dismiss your own comment by waving your hand in the air. “Maybe you’re right. I should start giving people a chance. Maybe I’ve waited long enough.” There’s someone interested in you. He’s interested in you and he’s shown it. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to feel the look of desire in someone’s eyes. But you’d rather it was Joel’s.

Check mate. His move now.

“Are you sure you want to lead with Marcus?” His voice full of mockery. “You don’t even know the guy.”

“Oh. So, let me get this straight.” you counter. “I should get myself out there and I should do it with someone I know. Let me think.” you take a deep breath and in that short time of in and out through your nose, you debate whether you should say it. Joel seems to catch up with what you’re thinking, raises his hand and purses his lips, but before he can speak-

Fuck it.

“Are you offering?” You ask playfully, with a saccharine smile. Sometimes you really wish you were not so direct. But you couldn’t deny the sweet satisfaction of nailing him to the wall, when you saw the look of mortification on his face. The time for regret would come, but it was not right fuckin’ now.

Joel is speechless, his eyes widen and his mouth opens and closes without a sound. He clearly thought you’d back down. Maybe he thought you liked this dancing around. Maybe he thought he had more time on his hands. Or maybe he didn’t expect you to finally confront him head-on. Still playful, but head-on.

He takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself. He starts to say something, but you don’t catch it because out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus approaching you quickly. If a higher power was listening tonight, it was focusing on the wrong part of the story.

Just before he enters your personal space and you excuse yourself, you linger slowly over Joel, touching his waist with one hand. You feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt and under your palm. You take your eyes off his and look at his plush lips as your face comes dangerously close to his. Your lips brush the space between his earlobe and his neck and you painfully accept this is probably the most you will ever have of Joel Miller. His breath hitches at the feel of your soft lips and the puff of air as you whisper in his ear, “Relax Joel, I wasn’t counting on you.”

That hurt.

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mountainsandmayhem · 9 months ago

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Masterlist - all 18+

Little Dove (18+, Minors Do Not Interact)

After your daughters go off to college, you and Joel become empty nesters in your early 40's. The two of you take advantage of all this alone time, falling into a Sub/Dom relationship and exploring new kinks. No outbreak, these are characters in their 40's with real bodies. See each chapter for content warnings. Tags include: use of nicknames (little dove, baby, etc.), unprotected p in v, edging, bondage, spanking, consensual non consent, cum play, toys.

BDSMaid (18+ Minors, Do Not Interact)

After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Moulin Rouge - AU (18+ Minors, Do Not Interact)

Joel takes up a job as a maintenance man at the Moulin Rouge. He's glad to finally have enough money to get by day by day, but when he sees you, the Sparkling Diamond, the whole world melts away and all that matters is you, even if you are promised to another. A/N: I'm writing this with @mermaidgirl30. She will be posting it on her account. See each chapter for content warnings. Tags include: oral, p in v, fingering, praise, use of nicknames (Darlin', baby girl, etc.), non consensual touching and misogynostic language (not by Joel).

Wings. Fire. Magic. - AU (18+ Minors, Do Not Interact)

You just needed one dragons egg, one egg and you could turn the life of you and your family around completely. But when Joel Miller captures you, it turns out that it's his life that gets turned around. See each chapter for content warnings.

One Shots

Shhh…Just A Little Bit More (DBF!Joel) Shhh...Just A Little Bit More 2 (DBF!Joel) Shhh...Just A Little Bit More 3 - Soft (DFB!Joel) Shhh...Just A Little Bit More 3 - Spicy (DFB!Joel)

Happy Easter, Joel Miller (Husband!Joel) Sunday With Your Dad's Best Friend (DBF!Joel) A Lesson In Learning (Dom!Joel) God Bless the She Devil Who Made Joel Miller (BFD!Joel) Right Person, Wrong Time (Joel Miller Fluff)

Tess’s Treasures (MFFF)

Joel Miller: Period Master (Joel Miller Fluff)

One Shots

Wonderful Tonight Netflix & Chill Aisle Amore

Just One More, Baby

Beach Babe

Please, Sir

🤓 Mayhem’s Reviews 🤓

Book reviews/recommendations for what I read that month

July

August

September

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perotovar · 3 months ago

Text

ain't it sweet — a loose fit series (18+) -> AO3

summary: it's been two years since marcus moved to dc for work. he's spent a lot of time reflecting and more importantly, being single. he's not in a hurry to settle down just yet, but a handsome art history professor might make that a little difficult.

pairing: marcus pike x oc!vincent monet rating: E (18+) mdni content: fluff, smut, protected and unprotected p in a, handjobs, blowjobs, awkward sex, giggling during sex, "talking shop" (aka erin has to do a lot of research on being a history professor and an fbi agent pls send help), discussions of race in both modern and historical contexts (i don't claim to know anything and will be conducting a lot of research. i'm open to any sort of help!), more to be added as it happens

this is a non-linear story so things will be out of order. make sure to read each chapter's summary so things make sense.

part one: tunnel vision (sep 16)

masterlist | for updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifs ♥

#marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike fic #marcus pike series #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x original character #marcus pike smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal character fanfiction #oaksfics

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idolatrybarbie · 11 months ago

Text

pairing: marcus pike x alex dozie (fem!OC)

word count & rating: 4.4k | explicit - 18+ only please and thanks

summary: marcus pike is the new congressman for the great state of Vermont. it's time to celebrate.

content tags: angst, takes place in 2022, alcohol, background american politics, smut - vaginal fingering, mentions of cockwarming in a way but it's more like Mormon soaking hey don't look at me like that, penis in vagina sex, painful sex, racism, slutshaming, misogyny (none of these from marcus.)

tags & notes: @atinylittlepain | still feel weird being here i am nawt back do not alert the authorities - gin really loves these two and that is inspiration enough to write and post for them.

It’s a cloudy November day when he wins. No rain, no smog; simply overcast. The weather could almost fool you into thinking that this is any other day. Another Tuesday nearing the end of the year, who cares?

If she lived a different life, maybe that would be the case. Alas, she does not—she lives this one. After a win in the primaries and an election sixteen months in the making, they’ve crossed the finish line. Well, he has. Marcus Pike, the latest (and greatest, though she’s biased) congressman Vermont is lucky to receive.

And who is she exactly? If you asked her, no one. Ask him, though—

“Everyone, please give it up for Miss Alex Dozie!” Marcus booms. His voice carries across the room easily, naturally. Like he’s made for this. He is.

They all follow his word like gospel, the raucous applause almost as loud as the heartbeat in her ears. Alex watches more then feels Marcus take her hand in his own, lacing their fingers together as he lifts their arms in the air. Together in victory. That’s what this is, isn’t it? A victory and this is their celebration party. Surrounded by staffers, donors, volunteers—you name it. A variety platter of New England’s who’s-who all here to celebrate the congressional win of Marcus Pike, a rising star and thought leader in the Democratic party.

He’s a little too centrist for Alex’s liking, but despite being press secretary for his very political campaign, they never really get around to talking shop. Hard to chat about affordable housing with his tongue down her throat.

Alex sinks back into her body slowly. Marcus lets her go, replacing her warm palm with a glass of champagne. He continues his speech as she flutters through the crowd to the very edge of the room.

“It’s been a long journey. A lot of hard work from everybody in here. I also want to thank…”

Alex tunes it out, gazing blindly across the room. There must be almost 300 people in here. She had never known what that looked like. Does she even know that many people? One hundred living souls, and then triple it. The fact astonishes her. Even more people voted for him and got him here. They believe in Marcus Pike.

Being him right now must be about as close as one gets to playing God.

Marcus starts to wrap up his speech, catching her attention again. He’s searching for her face, bright like a beacon. He breaks into that million-dollar smile of his when sees it.

“I want to thank you,” he says. The words are spoken to a sea of suits, but she knows what he really means. “I truly couldn’t have done this without you. We are going to make a difference here. I can feel it. And for that, I am forever grateful.”

We. That alone makes Alex feel all gooey inside. A small smile fights its way across her lips.

The crowd breaks into amiable chatter, the party portion of this formal celebration spreading like a virus as more drinks are made and softer pop music spouts out from wherever. Alex has half a mind to meander over to coat check and grab her things. Before she can convince herself, Marcus sidles up beside her near a darkened window.

“By yourself?” he asks.

“As is preferred,” she says.

Marcus hums. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to put up with me.”

“Terrible, truly.” But it’s all smiles; he is all smiles, Alex mirroring him.

They have to keep it cool here, professional. She can read his eyes. You look beautiful. The heavy blink and bashful glance down at her shoes will have to suffice as a thank you. Alex watches as Marcus readjusts his tie, thick fingers grazing the soft fabric. She wishes they were in her mouth instead.

“Great party,” she says, clearing her throat.

“Yeah. Got this press secretary, she planned it all for me.”

“You’ll have to get me her card.”

“Of course,” Marcus says. Light laughs fall from both of them. “You did a great job.”

“It’s alright,” Alex shrugs.

“It’s amazing,” he insists. You’re amazing.

“All previous party planning experience was organizing my senior prom.”

“And it’s still fantastic, look at you.”

“The process was much easier with a congressional Platinum card, trust me,” Alex says. Then she holds up her drink—not the standard fare of J. Lasalle but a Bourbon Ginger from the open bar—and lets it fall in a clink against Marcus’ half-empty flute of champagne. “To money.”

“To success,” he says.

“Yeah, that too.” She lets the prickly pleasantness of ginger root and dark liquor slide across her tongue. It burns going down, but she likes it like that. “So… What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

“I dunno’,” Marcus says, shrugging his shoulders. His voice lowers to a whisper. “I was thinking about breaking in the new office. You?”

“Does breaking it in have anything to do with fucking me in it?”

“It could.”

“I’m pretty amenable to these plans, then,” Alex says.

Marcus offers her his hand again. “Follow me.”

They wait as the tide of partygoers pushes in, making their escape when it falls back, slipping through tall double doors. Marcus leads Alex up a back stairwell, heels clicking against wood. He lets her lead the rest of the way, watching the slink in her step and the sway in her hips. He hates it when she leaves but loves to watch when she walks away—and tonight, he gets the best of both.

Alex stops at the doorway. She waits for him to cross the threshold first; it only feels right. Marcus pulls her in by the elbow, a goofy grin overtaking his face.

“C’mere, gorgeous,” he says.

They connect at the mouth, soft and gentle like Marcus’ hold on her waist. He runs a soothing finger over the material of her dress—smooth white satin that swathes over her hips and neck, leaving her shoulders bare. Vintage Ralph Lauren on loan; Alex couldn’t dream of owning something this expensive with all her lingering Howard loan debt. The dress, along with the pearly cream heels that were once her mother’s, is a drastic change from her outfit at this afternoon’s swearing-in ceremony: a dress with frumpier sleeves, sitting just below the knee in a purple bright enough to rival a red clover. She’d hated it, feeling trapped inside some illusion of a church girl with her hair pressed into long pin curls.

The way Marcus looked at her then, same as now, made it worth it. He thinks the world of her, along with the Sun and the rest of the solar system too. He slides a hand across her chest, a nipple peaking against the fabric. When he squeezes, her cunt drools. Alex slips a hand into his hair, pulling hard enough that Marcus moans into her mouth. They move as a unit, one step at a time until he has her caged against his new desk.

They break only when she looks down, hiking the smooth fabric up to expose the bottom half of her body. Marcus cups her gently over her underwear, feeling dampness against the heel of his palm.

“Couldn’t have done this without you, sweetheart,” he whispers against her lips.

“You could have,” she says between sweet kisses to each cheek.

“I didn’t want to.”

Alex smirks. “Lucky you, then.”

She likes to tease, but the self-satisfaction on her face falls when he presses his hand against her harder. The pressure against her clit makes her ache, moving her hips up to meet him. She starts to grind against his hand. Marcus watches the wet patch on the gusset between her legs grow as Alex gets herself off. Lucky him indeed.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks.

“Touch me…please.”

A small gasp falls from her lips when he peels her panties down, Alex lifting her hips to aid in the effort. They wrap around her ankles, caught by the backs of her heels. Marcus touches her bare skin, already wet and sticky when he runs two fingers against her.

“More,” she says.

"Hmm, I don’t know,” Marcus says. “I think you like it like this.”

“Marcus Jordan Pike…put your fingers inside me or get the fuck out of this office.” Her tone is breathy but commanding, drawing his attention from her hips to her eyes.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, slipping a finger through her wetness before sinking it into her cunt. Alex moans, and Marcus moans with her. His starting rhythm is slow and purposeful, searching for that spot that gets her eyes to cross as she bites her tongue to keep quiet. She cants her hips in time with him, meeting every thrust of his middle finger as slick squelches onto the webbing of his hand.

A high whine tears from the back of her throat when Marcus finds what he is looking for. He adds his index inside of her, massaging the spongy spot inside of her with deft attention.

“Fuck, Marcus,” Alex sighs, panting into his neck. She holds him close by the shoulder, arm wrapped around to his neck as she pulls lightly at his ear.

“That feel good?” he asks. All she can do is nod. “My baby feels so good, huh? You worked so hard. I’m so proud of you. Let me help you relax.”

Something about being called his baby has her weak in the knees. She likes that, just a little. Alex would never admit it, not in this environment of all-or-nothing stances, not even to him. The feminists of this town and the Internet would eat her alive for admitting even the fantasy of being a kept woman turns her on, just a little. Still, Marcus can tell by the way she clenches tight around him.

“Such a sweet thing…so smart, you know that? Couldn’t do anything without you.”

“Marcus, please. D-don’t stop, just—right there.” She stutters on a breath when he presses his thumb to her clit. Alex’s thighs clench around his hand, trapping the limb so he can only move from the wrist down.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Feel it, baby. I’ve got you,” Marcus whispers against her ear.

He captures her for another kiss, languid as he speeds up his fingers and the circle of his thumb. She cums with a cut-off cry and a tremble of her hips, pulling him closer and pushing him away with her body as she creams over his fingers. They stay joined a few moments longer; she sits up a little more, smoothing out the collar of his dress shirt.

When Marcus moves his hand, Alex fulfills her wish. She takes him by the wrist and leads his fingers to her mouth. She tastes herself as they pass the wet heat of her tongue, swirling between the two digits for good measure. Marcus groans as he watches, mesmerized.

“You’re killing me here,” he says.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Alex asks. She reaches for the zipper of his pressed slacks, hard cock waiting for her underneath. “Public servant and all.”

The zipper needles down easily, two buttons on the inside of the linen plucked undone in a moment. She rolls Marcus’ pants down to settle over his ass, revealing to her the pre-cum stained front of his briefs. Seeing the pair of novelty underwear she got for his birthday, Alex laughs. His cock is covered in bald eagles.

“Why is you laughing at me still sexy?” Marcus asks.

Alex draws him in by his tie. “’Cause you’re a perv,” she says.

Marcus scoffs, but there’s no bite in it. “I don’t have a comeback for that.”

She works him out of his underwear, spitting onto his shaft before giving him a stroke. “That’s how you know it’s true.”

Alex sets them into motion, leaning back to signal Marcus. He immediately swipes everything—nameplate, important government documents, a miniature post holding the American flag—off the desk and onto the floor. He runs his tip, slick and swollen, through the mess of her cunt. Teasing her, he presses against her clit like a button, making Alex jolt.

“Just fuck me, dweeb,” she says.

One thing about Marcus is that he takes direction well. He slides into her with ease, both moaning in sync at the fit and feel. Filling her with one thrust of his hips, she makes him stay there for a moment, savouring the sensation. The fullness is enough to make her feel good—sometimes it’s enough to make her cum, like when they sat together in the campaign office, her on his lap as she squeezed her cunt around his thick cock to orgasm.

Then she taps at his hip, pulling at Marcus’ forearm to get him to meet her horizontally. His thrusts start quick and small, grinding against her insides as he never quite leaves her. Idly, she wonders how many times they’ve fucked in an office. The campaign office? They’d made up a bit of an accidental schedule, twice a week on Tuesday and Friday when everyone usually went home before seven. A handful of times in his car, which were always her least favourite no matter how long Marcus ate her out to make up for it.

Once in her bed. It was late August this year, the air balmy as she and Marcus stepped out of that upscale bar in one of those times between overcast clouds and dripping rain. He’d had a few too many to drive home, and Alex lived just three blocks over. She hadn’t meant to fuck him. It was only the second time, after a quick and easy mistake they’d made on the fold-out table that operated as the volunteer command center; that particular night, there were still Vote4Marcus stickers in her hair when she got in the shower.

But Alex did fuck him, and it was amazing. Probably what spurred her to keep fucking him. Not the money, or the potential power. Just the tender, semi-drunk sex they shared on her double mattress. The only time it ever happened.

She’s trying to calculate how many Tuesdays and Fridays are in eight calendar months when a particularly sharp thrust catches her attention. Alex groans, but not in the sexy way, as Marcus punches his cock into her cervix. It feels good still, in a way, but the pinch of pain is throwing her off.

“H-hold on,” she mutters, so quiet she can barely hear herself. Marcus keeps going, fucking her with a hand at her sternum for leverage.

“You feel good?” he asks.

“No, just—hold on,” Alex repeats. She places a hand over his as Marcus slows to a stop.

“Everything alright?”

Before she can answer, they both feel his phone buzz in his pocket. Marcus pulls away from her, wiping his hands on his pants to check. She sees his mouth screw up in a side pout as he reads whatever message is waiting for him.

“Time to go?” Alex asks.

“I just—this big donor is heading out, the McCaskills? Polly wants me to start greeting people as they leave.”

Another one of many times Alex would love to tell Polly Friedman-Blau where she can put her tight smiles and wandering eyes.

“Of course.” She’s already standing, lifting her leg to pull her underwear back up and over her crotch. They are uncomfortably sticky, but that won’t be a problem for long.

“What do you mean, of course?” Marcus asks behind her.

Alex turns, smoothing out her dress. She’ll have to find a bathroom to properly fix herself up before heading back downstairs.

“I mean, come on. What are you, the lobby boy?” The hurt anger bubbles up from nowhere, shocking her as much as him.

“They donated thousands of dollars, Lex.” She hates that name. He knows she hates it. “We wouldn’t be here without them,” Marcus says.

She makes for the door now, shaking her head. Alex ignores the burn between her thighs. She doesn’t make it to the hall, though. Marcus grabs her arm, pulling her back to him.

“What?”

“Can we just—can we not leave tonight like this?” he asks. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” He peppers her face with soft kisses, gentle with his words. “When it’s all said and done, I’ll find you. We can continue this back at my place.”

His place. The place she’s never seen. Something roils hot inside her, small fireworks snaking and sparking between her ribs.

“Okay?” Marcus asks.

“Okay,” Alex agrees.

He fixes his pants and she straightens his tie. Marcus is off again, heading downstairs. Alex lingers in his office for a minute longer, taking it all in. They made it. They are here.

When an appropriate amount of time has passed, she wanders out to find a bathroom, closing the door behind her. A few party drunkards have made it upstairs. Alex smiles politely and ducks out of any potential conversations by moving onto the stairs and heading down. A bathroom presents itself at the foot of the steps, a golden sign that says ‘Ladies’ waiting for her.

The door swings inwards silently. Alex hates to say she’s impressed, what with the horrible screech of her own bathroom’s hinges. A glance in the mirror tells her she doesn’t look too crazy. Taking advantage of the empty presence, she locks herself in the very last stall to take a piss. As she wrangles the wafer-thin toilet paper, she hears the door open again. Not so silent after all.

Two sets of expensive heels—four clicks against the stone floors—echo throughout the room. Alex is about to get up and flush before someone speaks.

“Oh, I don’t know,” one woman says, voice low. “That girl he thanked… I’ve heard some things.”

“She’s not a girl. We’re all women here,” another woman says.

“Could’ve fooled me,” the first one snickers.

Alex keeps her breathing even, still listening. “What’s the word on her?”

“Oh, you know. The usual: she’s sleeping with him.” Well, that’s not inaccurate. Still, it stings to hear coming from— “She’s only in it for the money, you know? Supposedly, she had a thing with her TA back in undergrad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But then she set her sights on political office. But she doesn’t want to be the man behind the desk. She just wants to reap all the benefits.”

“Little does she know, all those men have some sweet thing under there to keep ‘em warm.”

“Trust me, I think she does. Bold of her to assume he’d ever make her First Lady.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Marcus Pike is a name you remember. Alex Dozie? Come on. We’ve already had Barack and Michelle.” The other woman doesn’t say anything to that. “There was something about his fa—”

Alex takes that as the time to strike, pressing the metal button jutting from the wall to get the toilet to flush. In a few seconds, she unlocks the stall door and saunters out to the sink. Silently, she rubs soap between her palms and fingers, sticking her hands beneath the automatic tap to rinse away the suds. The women are exactly as she expected: thin, white, and beautiful. Their dresses look much more expensive, much more modern.

She wonders if they’d say all that if she looked more like them.

Alex waits ‘til the door shuts behind her to let the tears well up. Well, shit. This is supposed to be the night of everything right, and it’s all going terribly wrong. She walks blindly, water blurring Alex’s vision as she keeps her head down and eyes forward. Eventually, she reaches an office on the first floor. Fine wood paneling and frosted glass windows. The office chair is practically calling her name. When she slumps into it, the tension bleeds from her spine. Somehow, the leather seems to have that new car smell to it.

It takes a few minutes to realize that this is her office. She recognizes it from pictures Marcus sent her. Their tiny what-ifs were turning into reality, and this was one of them. If I win, you’re taking this office. It’s the nicest one…besides mine. There were so many of those that Alex began thinking it impossible for them to lose. Like this was fate or something.

Fate; destiny. She was meant to do this. Fuck whatever Malibu Bitch numbers one and two think. Who cares what people know, or think they know? Alex is here, and she knows exactly why. It has nothing to do with the…extra-curricular activities between her and Marcus Pike. It was because she’d worked her ass off; because she deserved it. A tenuous thread of hope, sure, but it was enough to keep her from finding Marcus and quitting on the spot like she wanted to.

Instead, she heads to coat check and gets her purse and jacket. Alex tips the lady with President Andrew Jackson, calling a cab in the lobby. A long, hot shower and a good night’s sleep will make everything better; it always does.

Alex wakes at five o’clock. She does not feel better. Somehow, she feels worse. Whatever slathered over the surface of her skin last night has settled, sinking deep into her bones. It’s not quite anger, or sadness. A churning disquiet has taken up in her gut, leaving no room for breakfast or coffee. A box of things sits on the kitchen counter, waiting for her to take it into the office—her new office. Alex almost forgets it three separate times.

The drive is sure to be the only calm part of her day. Alex savours it, taking the easy route through town. The building is cute, not a monster when it’s not plugged full of people. It’s an eclectic mix of brick and metal on the outside, dated but sleek on the inside between hardwood and glass. Inside is quiet, too, which she enjoys. Still, her stomach stirs with unease. It feels like everyone stares when she walks in.

Alex’s thighs ache, a reminder of what she and Marcus did last night. She bristles at the thought, shame creeping up the back of her neck. Maybe they shouldn’t do that here. This isn’t some rental space in Downtown Burlington. This is an important office.

She puts her box down at her desk, the contents landing with a thud. At the top of her trinket pile sits a framed photo: Alex and Marcus, smiling as she waves at the camera from the hip. She forgets now what they were talking about, one of the earlier Vote For Marcus Pike banners hanging behind them, pinned to a wall. This was a month into Alex working for him. A month of wondering if he still remembered, and figuring out quickly that Marcus didn’t. The first real conversation they’d had where she had no excuse to duck out of the office or wander away. The first real conversation with the man that would change her life.

15 months ago and yet it feels so far away; unreachable. Alex wants to crawl into the picture frame, claw back time to when she knew what she was doing here. The objective was simple. Get Marcus elected. Now? One night and she’s been sent into a tailspin.

When she looks up from the photo, it’s because of all the clapping. When does all the goddamn clapping end and the real work start? Alex was starting to wonder. She moves from her desk to the doorway, catching a glimpse of what the fuss is all about. It’s Marcus, of course. He doesn’t see her; how could he with all the people in the way? He glad-hands and smiles his way through the office. Someone takes a photo—fancy camera, flash on—and Alex blinks. She’s been injected into Clinton-era comic strip, waiting for them to bring out the baby to kiss.

Marcus Pike gets applause for showing up to do his job. Sure, it happens, but when did that become her life? Her reality? Alex does not belong here. Clearly, he doesn’t need her here. He didn’t call last night when she didn’t show.

The campaign trail was then, and this is now. She is of then…Marcus doesn’t need her now.

Thank god for the printer in this office. She types up something quick, waiting for the blocky machine to whirr to life. A quick, six-sentence letter of resignation spits out moments later. Alex takes it, folding it in two. She goes to grab her box of things, Marcus’ eyes staring back at her. She leaves it.

Her heels click and clack against the floor as she makes her exit. Letter clutched in her hand, she doesn’t notice the tiny young woman in front of her until they collide.

“I’m so sorry,” she squeaks first.

“It’s my fault,” Alex says, shaking her head.

“You’re Miss Dozie?” the woman asks. She looks a little scared, a little reverent.

“Unfortunately. Why?”

“I’m supposed to bring you some briefings,” the woman says. Alex notes the badge on her lapel. Office aide. “After I bring Mr. Pike his coffee.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Okay?” Alex asks. The aide nods, brow furrowed in confusion. “Could you do me a favour, though?”

“That’s my job, ma’am.”

“Could you put this on Mar—Mr. Pike’s desk for me? Preferably when he’s away from it,” Alex says.

“Of course, ma’am,” the aide nods. Alex wishes she knew her name.

“Thanks,” she nods. “Good luck up there, hey?”

Alex walks away, through the lobby to the front doors. In less than an hour, the weather has changed from overcast clouds to sputtering rain. Albert Hammond serenades her with guitars, alerting her to a phone call. She almost picks it up, finger automatically reaching to press the ‘answer’ button. Alex thinks twice about it, checking who it is. Marcus, of course.

Frozen on the sidewalk, rain pelts her head as she watches the phone ring. After about a minute, it stops, his name disappearing.

Seems it never rains in Southern California

Seems I’ve often heard that kind of talk before

It never rains in California

But girl, don’t they warn ya’?

It pours, man it pours

#marcus pike x fem!oc #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: a little white lie #except for queue

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iamsherlocked-1998 · 11 months ago

Text

Masterlist ✨

Hello! I´m Sarah.

I write only for Pedro's characters - not for Pedro himself.

I prefer one shots and littles stories.

I'm always open to requests, love have conversations.

Many of my stories include GN!Reader & M!Reader, they have LGTBI content (male x male). I don´t usually use original characters, but there are a few of then.

The stories may contains smut of varying degrees, violence and speak about sensible topics.

I love add gif and pics in my fics for made it more interesting.

My first language isn't english, please be patient with some errors in writing.

Please consider re-blogging it and leaving a comment, In fact I like to answer them. I also usually follow users who follow me❤

Come browse and have a good time 🥳

Din Djarin (The mandalorian):

-Cold is a phase (series): A little Christmas story, although it has some angst at the beginning.

PART 1

PART 2

-A Harmless Indulgence.

Story with blind reader, small domestic moment.

-When the storm passes

Contains description of nightmares and post-traumatic stress.

-Infection (Dincobb).

Zombie AU, with a little surprise in the end.

-In good and bad times (Dincobb).

The marshal helps with Mando's injury.

-Winter days

Just smut without plot.

-The Unknown (series): With a OC, Mando meet someone special.

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3.

-The Cave.

My version of the living waters.

-The Sorcerer (series, crossover): Doctor Strange is coming.

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3.

-The Hangar (Dincobb): Peli found an unexpected guest in her workshop...

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3.

-Communication.

Grogu first words

-Very long night (Dincobb).

A canteen night...

-Stolen days (Dincobb).

Wounds heal and bonds are created...

-Together.

My version of the reunion in The Book of Boba Fett.

-Goodbye.

A little anguish.

-Darkness (+ 18).

This story contains violence and loss of self-control.

-Mistletoe (+18).

A special to celebrate the end of Christmas with something a little spicy, Dincobb.

Oberyn Martell (GOT):

-Hot springs.

Just smut with our prince.

-IMAGINE (Dark, +18).

Javier Peña (Narcos):

-Healing.

The reader is a victim of drug traffickers since childhood and know Peña. Obscenity ensues.

IMAGINES:

-Joel Miller

-Break-up (multi characters).

-Sick (multi-characters).

-Din Djarin (Belong).

-Family.

-Earth.

-Dave York.

Marcus Pike (The mentalist):

-Broken Branches

A halloween story with some smut.

OTHER ACTORS AND CHARACTERS:

-Sherlock BBC (the smiling client).

A horror story based in the film.

#myself #pedro pascal #sherlock bbc #Writting #pedro pascal characters #benedict cumberbatch #marcus pike x reader #oberyn martell x reader #javier peña x reader #the mentalist #narcos #game of thrones #pedro pascal x oc #din djarin x reader #din djarin & grogu #doctor strange

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guess-my-next-obsession · 2 years ago

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Your Best American Girl, Chapter One:

pairing: 1920’s journalist!marcus pike x singer!ofc (Evelyn Edwards)

rating: M (1920’s shit, alcohol consumption, allusions/brief descriptions of DV/assault, i think that’s all for now)

wc: 2.3k

series masterlist | marcus masterlist

As Marcus arrived at Nonnie’s Books, a tiny, hole in the wall brownstone with the store’s name written in yellow cursive on the window, he wondered how this “store” got away with things for so long. It seemed clear as day to him that no actual business occurred here, and as much was confirmed when he and Betty stepped inside.

Tall, dust covered bookshelves lined the walls of the red brick interior, a few more sitting in the middle of the lamp-lit room. Most of the copies were tattered and worn, as if from a personal and well-loved collection.

“This is where ya takin’ me?” Betty asked in a whisper, though it was hardly needed with the thumping music of the jazz band in the basement.

“Yes,” he replied before slipping his hand into hers. “Trust me?”

“As much as any girl can trust a fella.”

Marcus smiled and nodded. As he walked up to the register, a tiny, old woman greeted him with a studious look. He flashed her that winning smile of his before reaching in his coat pocket for a bill.

“Seems a nice night for a little music, doesn't it?” he asked, his question a code. Nervously, he awaited the woman’s judgement.

“Sure is,” she replied, finally cracking something resembling a smile. “Come along.”

Betty gave Marcus a giddy smile and hugged his arm as she walked with him beyond the till to the door that sat behind it. Inside what seemed from the outside to be a closet, Marcus and Betty found themselves faced with a staircase that led down to the basement, the music now less of a dull thump, the chatter from the club and the scream of the saxophone replacing it.

“Oh, Marcus!” Betty exclaimed, grinning wild as he led her down the staircase and into the red-painted club. “And ta’ think, I thought ya was takin’ me to some bookstore for our first date.”

“Not a date, Betty,” he reminded patting her hand as it rested on his arm. “Just a little bit of research.”

“Ya do enough research,” she said, moving to stand in front of him as he scanned the room for a pair of empty seats. “Live a little.”

Slipping her hand in his, she tugged him onto the dance floor with a wide smile and bright eyes. He chuckled at her as she danced and shook and swayed for him, undeniably attracted to the way she seemed at home in this scene so unfamiliar to him. He wished he could fit in anywhere the way she seemed to fit in here.

“Have you always been this wild and carefree, Betty?” he asked, still as he stood in the middle of the dance floor watching her come alive.

“Since I was born, Mistah Pike,” she replied with a grin. “Maybe ya should try it out for yaself.”

“I’m perfectly content watching,” he said.

He stood there for a while longer, somehow both stiff and relaxed as he remained a voyeur to the scene around him. Drinks flowed freely, conversation seemed plentiful, the music coming from the trumpets sounding like nothing more than a screech to him but to everyone else it sounded more like a call from heaven—or hell.

An emcee of some sort took hold of the microphone as Betty finally leaned in and asked for a drink. Marcus led her over to the bar and allowed her to order for both of them, having not indulged since prohibition went into order. The bartender slid over a two glasses of whiskey, the sight of the amber liquid placed in front of him making his mouth water in a way he hadn’t expected it would.

“To gettin’ ya outta the office for a change,” Betty announced, lifting her glass for a toast. Marcus joined in, clinking the crystal against hers before taking a sip. He winced at the burn of the medicinal liquor as it went down, his head shaking as though his body was cursing him for it.

“Please welcome to the stage, the lovely, the gorgeous, the talented Miss Evelyn Edwards!” Marcus turned to look at the red-drowned stage, the brick wall behind it and large grand piano looking lonely until a doll of a woman stepped out from the side stage with a winning smile, her pale skin and hardly-blue eyes shining in the spotlight.

Marcus recognized her immediately as the woman in the blue coat, running away from nothing. He felt the air puff out of his lungs as she opened her mouth, her own rendition of Helen Kane’s, “I Want To Be Bad”, drawing all of the rambunctious men in the room to the edge of the stage to watch her as she flossed her feathered boa around.

“Look at her,” Betty gasped, her eyes wide with admiration as she watched Marcus’ doll put on a show. “I’d kill to look and sound half as good as that.”

Marcus couldn’t muster a reply, not when he was as drawn into her performance as every other man with a working pair of eyes.

“Welcome, Mr. Howard!” A fellow standing behind Marcus and Betty at the bar called over the music, causing Marcus’s eyes to shift from the beauty on stage to the staircase. He watched as Jack Howard swaggered in with his posse, all of them dressed more expensively and elaborately than everyone else in the club. “Right this way. Saved you a table over in the VIP section.”

“You’re too kind, Georgie,” Jack smiled, winning and bright, as he patted the shorter, rounder, and older man on the shoulder, allowing him to lead them through the packed club to a roped off section in the corner. Marcus downed the rest of his drink as he kept a watchful eye on the group, studying every bit of movement, every parting of their lips in hopes of understanding some of the conversation from where he stood halfway across the room.

When Jack pointed at the stage and leaned back in to Georgie, the older man looked worried for a moment, but that winning smile of Mr. Howard soothed it. With a nod, Georgie found his way to the side stage and waited for Miss Edwards to finish her song and collect her flowers.

“Only one song?” Betty whined from beside him.

“I guess,” he replied, focused on watching Georgie and Miss Edward’s conversation on the side of the stage.

She seemed adamantly opposed to whatever the older man was proposing, though the band drowned her shouting out. Jack, meanwhile, seemed smug as he watched Georgie pull her over against her will, his winning smile seeming more devious than it did when he first witnessed it.

“Oh, she’s with Jack Howard?” Betty asked, leaning in so close her breath fanned over Marcus’s ear. “Makes sense. Too beautiful for any of these other new money wannabes.”

“You wanna go sit?” Marcus asked, pointing at a table that just opened up near the VIP section, hopeful to get a better grasp on the enthusiastic conversation Jack and Miss Edwards were having. Betty nodded and allowed him to guide her over to the table and pull her seat out before seating himself down beside her.

“Jack, don’t you dare touch me!” Miss Edwards shouted, loud enough to draw eyes, but Marcus remained facing away from the scene. “No! No! Georgie, I swear to god—“

“Hey, quiet down,” Jack hissed, the sound finally enough to pull Marcus’s eyes over to the scene. Jack yanked her down onto his lap hard enough to make her yelp, the sound making Marcus fist clench as it rested on his leg beneath the table. “You’re makin’ a scene.”

“You’re making a scene,” she countered, elbowing him in the stomach. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

“Baby doll, you’re testing me, now,” he warned. Marcus watched as he stood to chase her out of the club but relished in him being held back by his friends.

“I think we should go,” Marcus whispered to Betty, earning a pout. “C’mon. Not leaving you in a place like this.”

“These, Mistah Pike, are my people. Fun people. Unlike yaself,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m gonna stay with my people.”

“No,” he shook his head and sighed. “You’re going to let me hail you a cab so that you can go home.”

“Ya think I don’t go out by myself every night? Nothin’s happened yet.”

“Yet,” he repeated. “Come on, now.”

“No, ya gonna have to pick me up if ya want me to leave.”

“Hey, you can hand her off to us if you want,” one of Jack Howard’s posse chimed in, flashing a smile at Betty.

“See,” she said, standing up and walking into the section. “These are my people, Mistah—“

“Right, right,” Marcus interrupted, shaking his head at her recklessness. He didn’t want to leave her here with this crew, but unless she suddenly gained sense and reason, there was going to be no getting through to her. “I’ll see you at work Monday, then.”

Finding his way out of the club and back into the bookstore, he found Miss Edwards standing in front of a bookshelf, crying.

“Excuse me,” he called, approaching her where she stood in the dim light.

“Listen, I don’t go home with strangers.”

“Hm? No, no. I wasn’t—I just wanted to see if you were alright,” he replied, finally earning her eyes on his. She studied him from head to toe, a chuckle leaving her painted lips.

“You a cop?” she asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “Just a writer.”

“A writer, huh?” She smiled as if there weren’t tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “You look like a stiff.”

“I suppose I am one,” he admitted, cracking a smile. “Explains why I’m leaving the club already.”

“You get to see my set?” she asked, turning her body so that she was facing him now.

“I did,” he nodded. “You’ve got a nice voice.”

“What are you really? You can be honest with me, I’m no snitch.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied. “I’m a writer.”

“Mm,” she hummed in skepticism. “Don’t buy it. You know cops?”

“A couple,” he shrugged. “Do you?”

“They know me, I’m sure.” Marcus laughed genuinely and nodded.

“Well, aren’t they lucky,” he said, bringing a more sincere smile to her face than the playful one on it before. “I, uh, I saw what Mr. Howard was doing to you and I just wanted to check in—“

“You crazy?” she asked, furrowing her brow at him before looking around the empty bookstore. “Tryin’ to get us killed?”

“No—“

“Keep talkin’ like that here and you’re gonna.” Marcus was about to speak when Miss Edwards gripped his bicep and walked him out of the store and onto the sidewalk. “What’s your name?”

“Marcus,” he answered while trying to match her quick pace down the road. “Are you in danger—“

“Shh,” she hushed. “Marcus who?”

“Marcus Pike,” he replied.

“You ain’t a cop?”

“No—“

“Would you like to come over for coffee sometime, then, Marcus?” she asked.

“I, uh…are you alright?” he asked, forcing her to stop. “Your lip is healing, but it was busted, wasn’t it?”

“You are a cop. A detective, or somethin’?” Marcus felt like he was going insane, his eyes squeezing shut out of frustration.

“I’m not a cop. I’m just a stiff. Now, will you tell me whether or not you’re in danger?” Miss Edwards eyed him carefully for a moment as she pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“Somethin’ like that. I don’t know,” she sighed and shook her head, looking off into the distance. “It’s nothin’ a writer can get me out of.”

“You’re in on Mr. Howard’s affairs, I assume.”

“No,” she scoffed. “I don’t know shit about what he does. All I know is he can pack a mean punch.”

“He hits you?”

“Don’t all men?” she retorted with a raise of her brow.

“No. Not good men,” he replied, struck by the resignation in her eyes. Had she never known a good man in her life?

“Are you a good man, Mr. Pike?” she asked, her eyes falling to his bowed lips before lifting again to his dark brown, almost black eyes.

“I try hard to be,” he replied.

“Are you busy tomorrow afternoon?”

“No—“

“Good, then you can join me on my trip to Long Island,” she announced as she hailed a taxi. “There’s a cottage I like to rent there for real cheap. Pretend to be one of the rich for a couple nights. Sounds like fun, huh?”

“You want me to join you—“

“Pack a bag, will ya? Gonna be there all weekend.”

As the taxi pulled up, Marcus stood frozen in confusion, wondering how and why this had all happened to him.

“What’s your address, Mr. Pike?” she asked as she opened the door for herself. Marcus gave her his address and she smiled, ordering him to be out front at noon sharp. “I think you and I are gonna be good friends, Marcus.”

“You hardly know me,” he chuckled.

“I know enough,” she smiled. Sitting down inside the car, she gave him a wave through the window. “Have a good night, detective!”

“And you too, Miss Edwards,” he called out as the car took off down the road, his hand waving her off until the taxi became just another bright light faded into the city.

And as if by some sort of magic, a friendship that would change both of their lives forever was born out of nothing. Or nothing, it seemed.

•

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike angst #YBAG

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wardenparker · 10 months ago

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 1

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can certainly understand that.” Marcus admits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid

My Masterlist!

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

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 1 year ago

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…

Not me writing 2k words of backstory for non-canon characters before ever even mentioning the main characters in this fic…

#who do i think i am #I promise this is a Marcus Pike x Reader story #it just also happens to feature several OCs with complicated histories #oops

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 4 months ago

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Something impulsive | joel miller x f!reader x marcus pike, 7.1k

Summary: The distance between you and Joel grows. You decide to give Marcus a chance. A chance encounter shifts the balance between you and the two men.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, image just for aesthetic purposes, reader does not have a description, angst, slow-burn, insecurities, first date nervousness, flirting, sexual thoughts, kissing, Joel still being a prick, Joel still being an idiot (bear with him) dog piss (bear with me, too), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: And here I was, thinking that this time I'll keep it short. Who am I kidding. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all!

P.S.: Credits for the final scene go to @jessthebaker and this hilarious comment that I just had to include in the chapter:

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Radio silence.

That is what you would call it.

After your last encounter, you haven't seen or heard from Joel for two long weeks. No text, no phone call, nothing. Were you entering the winter phase again? Most likely.

You regretted the way you had challenged him that night. It wasn't really your style, but that's what happens when you bottle things up. Especially things like desire and longing. Eventually, they erupt like a fucking volcano after a long hibernation. Brutally. And yet you haven't got an ounce or a reaction. Something. Anything at all.

You were terrified that your friendship had been broken. You could have texted him. You should have. You felt it was all your fault anyway. You should have apologized. But you were angry. And selfish. And deep down you blamed him for your reaction, for making you feel helpless, a pawn in his hands.

But was that the case? And can you really blame anyone for your own actions? You were responsible for the way you reacted. You could have done things differently. You knew that. But you did not want to admit that to him.

Whether you were angry or not, you missed him all the same. You missed his presence, his voice, his scent. You missed the sound of his name on your tongue. The warmth of his irises and the softness in his eyes when he looked at you. And boy, did he look at you.

He may not have been a man of many words, but sometimes, just sometimes, his gaze spoke louder than any voice in the room. That's how you got into this mess in the first place.

One evening, on your day off, you hang out with Trish at your place. You needed the company, being alone with your thoughts for too long wasn't a good idea. The two of you sit on the sofa, drinking beer and eating pizza straight out of the box. You had already put your girls to bed and this was your happy hour.

"Are you dating Marcus you little weasel?"

"Where did that come from?", your eyes widen in surprise.

"Joel asked me the other day.", Trish reveals, laughing under her breath.

"WHAT?" you squeal in disbelief. Joel was not the type to ask about other people's private matters. Especially yours and especially to his cousin. "OK, please, elaborate."

"He asked me if you’re seeing him.", she continues.

"When did this happen?", you try to draw an imaginary map in your mind, gathering all the information available to you to understand what might be going through his mind.

"A few days ago, maybe?" she says nonchalantly.

"He asked that explicitly? Those were the exact words he used?", you insist like a hound dog looking for clues.

"Of course not." Trish rolls her eyes, "He danced around it for a while, but I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about -which I obviously don't- and then I made him ask directly."

"Oh god, give the poor man a break!", you exclaim, you could only imagine what a menace could she be when she wanted to.

"Well, are you?"

"No, I’m not. But if he asks again tell him I am."

"Why?", she frowns but looks amused at the same time. Oh, she's up to something.

"So he will leave me alone." Well he already kind of did, but maybe it was for the best to cut the ties once and for all.

"What do you mean? Is he bothering you?" Trish insists, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

"No- he's- it's not- uh-" where would you even start, it's all a fucking mess, anyway. "Forget I said anything-" you try to end the conversation, but-

"I might have kind of implied that, though?" Trish wrinkles her nose, trying to minimize the damage.

"WHAT?"

"Only because he looked desperate" she rushes to explain, "and honestly you two should really fuck each other. So I thought maybe I could spice things up a bit."

A minute or two passes before you answer her. All this information bombarding your mind left a paralyzing feeling in your mouth. He looked desperate? Why the fuck? Was this the classic 'I want what I can't have'? He wasn't that type. And he could have his way with you if he wanted to. Couldn't he? Did he get the feeling that you weren't interested? What more could you have done, he was the one who went cold and hot all the time. "It's not like that." is all you say.

"The hell it isn't." Trish quips, almost offended.

"We don't want the same things Trish, and I won't make the same mistakes again." you draw the line. "What did he say?", you ask without shame, because you just have to know, even if it hurts you.

"Oh, you know, he put on his usual 'Joel grumpy face' and walked out on me. But honestly, what did you expect?" she shrugs and continues, "So, if 'it's not like that'", she air-quotes you mockingly, "why don't you give Marcus a real chance? He's a good guy and I don't often say that," Trish points her finger at you.

"I'm sure he is Trish, but I can't."

"And why is that?"

"Because it's not honest."

"To whom?"

"To him."

"And..?" she presses you.

You close your eyes, because you really don't want to say it and it feels frustrating but comforting at the same time to have a friend who knows you so well. "And to my heart.", you mumble coyly.

"Oh, baby c'mere. You really like my stupid cousin, don't you?" Trish wraps her arms around your shoulders, squeezing you into a tight hug.

"No, I do not." It's more than that. "And don't push it any further, it's not happening.", it's your turn to point the finger at her.

"Ok.", she sighs troubled. "Ok, look at me and listen carefully.", she makes a serious face, holding your hands in hers as she begins. "Joel's my cousin and he is a good man and I love him, but he has his own issues to deal with-"

"What do you mean?" You interrupt her curiously. You never thought to ask about his past before, it seemed invasive.

"It’s not my place." she cuts you off with a guarded look that seems so foreign on her face and continues, "The point is, you cannot wait for him forever."

"I'm not-" you start to deny it, but Trish grabs your face in her palms, squeezing you gently to make her point and you stop mid-sentence.

"You deserve to be happy. And you can't miss something you've never had." her eyes bore into yours, full of care and concern.

Her last words strike you like a slap on the face.

Oh, but you can. You already are.

Another two weeks have passed and you still haven't heard from Joel. He's stuck in your head like a virus, unable to think of anything else. This is the longest you've gone without talking. It's taking its toll on you, making you fidgety and jumpy, irritated by the simplest things. You've reached your breaking point and you're ready to call him, just to see if he's OK.

And, if you're honest with yourself, to give him a chance to make a move. He might think you don't want him to reach out. That thought makes you even more angry, you sound so pathetic in your head, begging for a man's attention. A man who has never made his intentions clear. You should stand up for yourself, hold your own.

You're at the office, shuffling through your bag, looking for your phone, still debating whether to call him. As you reach deep into your bag, searching through the million things you stuff in there, you feel a hard, papery thing on your fingertips. You fish it out and see that it's Marcus' card. You don't even remember putting that thing in there. But you remember him giving it to you.

He was such a gentleman and so thoughtful that night. He didn't ask for your number and he didn't press to put his on your phone. He gave you his card, clearly stating that he hoped you would get in touch with him.

"..why don't you give Marcus a real chance?.."

You take a deep breath and unlock your phone.

"..You cannot wait for him forever.."

This is it.

"..You deserve to be happy.."

You're going to call him. Right now? Yes, right now.

He picks up after the third ring.

"Agent Pike.", his voice deep and smooth, runs like honey in your ears. You remember how much you liked the sound of it.

You’re taken aback for a moment, you'd almost forgotten what he did for a living. It was strange but interesting to hear him like that, it stirred something in you. "Uh- um-" you lose your train of thought for a second, "hi- I don't know if you rememb-"

Marcus says your name instantly, the surprise evident in his tone. "I was beginning to think you'd either lost my card or I'd made a terrible, terrible first impression on you," he says with a soft laugh, vulnerability coloring his voice.

"No, no, god- no, nothing like that.. It was really nice to meet you!" you reassure him, because it really was.

"Yeah, you too.." Marcus replies and you can hear the smile in his voice. He doesn't say anything else, giving you time to collect yourself.

"I just-" you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to freak out, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers, you hadn't planned this, "I've been really busy, with work and the kids, I haven't had a chance to..." the words catch in your throat as you think of the real reason you've been busy.

Obsessing over unavailable men.

But you don't want to lie to Marcus, he's been so kind and open, so you pause, looking for a way out of the hole you've dug yourself into.

"Hey, it's OK," Marcus takes the lead, sensing your discomfort, "you didn't have to call, but I'm really glad you did. I thought about getting your details from Trish in case you lost my number, but then I didn't want to force you into anything in case you didn't lose my number, you know?" he laughs timidly.

"Yeah, I know; that is so thoughtful of you. I'm- I'm glad I called." It feels strange to admit something like that, something so small, to be honest, to be so open and talk about positive things, to make someone feel good with your words on a personal level. You've spent the last few years just doing it for your daughters, loving them, hyping them up, rooting for them, but it's a change that you welcome and you discover that you really, really missed it.

There's a short silence on the other end, which makes you feel anxious, so you decide not to bother him any more. "I'm sorry I called during office hours, I-"

"No, no, no, don't even think about it, there are no office hours at my line of work anyway, so.." Marcus rushes to put you at ease. "I was just wondering if I should ask you out or if I'm jumping the gun," he blurts out and you can feel his hesitation through the phone.

"Well," you try to lighten the mood, "you're the one asking questions for a living, so why don't you earn your keep?" you bite your lower lip in anticipation and then snicker to yourself. You hear Marcus laughing, amused and impressed by your little stunt, and you have a deep desire to hear it again, knowing that it's your doing.

Marcus is not one to shy away from a challenge, so he delivers quite brilliantly. "It would give me great pleasure if you would go out with me," he says your name softly at the end, "I know it can be tricky with the girls and work and all that, but I'm sure we could work something out; my office hours are very flexible," he informs you, cleverly covering all your possible obstacles.

"I thought you didn't have office hours..." you return playfully, feeling lighter already, the thought of Joel still lingering, but the pain of it fading in your heart.

"For you I do." Marcus deadpans with an amazing ability to not make it sound cheesy. And you know exactly what kind of ability it is.

The one of honesty.

Your heart is in your mouth. You're sure of it. You can taste your heartbeat on the tip of your tongue. As much as you've tried to play it down, you're nervous, your stomach is in knots. You spend most of the evening whining to Trish on the phone, freaking out about what to wear and ending up with a "What does it matter anyway? It's one date and that's it, he's not sticking around. Yeah, he's not. I'm good, I'm fine, this is fine." you shrug as you look at yourself in your bedroom mirror.

Trish's voice brings you back to reality, "None of that, everything's going to be fine, you're going to have a good time and you're going to keep having a good time." You looked sideways at the phone as if Trish could see you through it, glancing at the time. "Ok Trish, thanks for the pep talk, but I have to go or I'll be late."

"Sure thing babe, have a great night-"

"Thanks Trish-" you speak over her voice sure she's done with the pleasantries, but-

"-and don't forget to fuck 'im."

The line goes dead before you can reply.

Jesus Christ.

"You got this. You got this. You got this," you chant to yourself, pacing the living room, checking the time on your phone every thirty seconds. "Yeah," you exhale with nervous conviction, "you got this." The doorbell rings and your stomach clenches. Conviction my ass, "No, you don't." you mutter before rushing to answer the door.

Your heels click on the wooden floor and you pin the hem of your dress down once more, just to be sure. It wasn't terribly short, but still, you haven't dressed for a date in God knows how long.

You open the door and your breath catches in your throat. But you could say the same about Marcus. You look at one another for a moment, both admiring each other. He looks sharp, clean-shaven, with a prominent jawline that makes you want to suck on it from side to side.

His hair is combed back and slightly to the side. He looks so handsome and then he smiles at you. A real smile, big and toothy and bright and beautiful. His eyes crinkle and his plush lips stretch with the force of it. His suit is elegant and clean, neatly pressed, and the two top buttons of his shirt are undone, showing a hint of his tanned chest, making it more casual.

"Hey.." Marcus speaks first, pulling himself out of his haze. His eyes drink you in, unable to land on one spot, admiring your simple but elegant black dress that stops mid-thigh, the softness of your exposed skin, the curves of your body and the features of your face.

"Hi..." you say back shyly, noticing his admiration.

"I- Christ-", he stutters almost confused.

"What's wrong?" you fidget with the fabric of your dress, your nerves getting the better of you once again.

"I almost forgot how beautiful you are-" Marcus admits, his eyebrows raised, a hint of pink spreading across his cheeks. "-you look amazing," he compliments, raising his arm and pointing his open palm in your direction.

You pray that you can fast-forward to the actual date and stay right here on the threshold of your house at the same time. "Oh, thank you -" you reply quietly, with a shy smile on your lips.

"These-" Marcus raises his other hand, suddenly remembering what he's holding, "these are for you," he hands you a beautiful bunch of flowers, obviously made specifically for you by a florist, wrapped in a beautiful ribbon. What is it about this man that turns the most clichéd things into thoughtful actions?

"These are so beautiful, thank you, let me-" you point towards the house so you can put them in a vase, signaling him to come in with your head.

"Hope it's not too much..", Marcus wonders as he enters the hall of the house.

"It's perfect," you smile warmly as you return from the kitchen with the filled vase and place it on the entryway furniture, admiring the arrangement. You place the palm of your hand on his bicep, reassuring him as you turn to leave.

His eyes shine with appreciation as he takes your palm in his warm hand, planting a soft kiss on the pulse point of your wrist. His scent fills your nostrils, sweet and masculine, and you can almost smell his shampoo as he leans forward. Your lips part and your eyes widen at the intimate contact, but instead of feeling pressured, all you want is for him to do it again on any part of your skin he likes. His plush lips are warm and soft, leaving the slightest trace of moisture as they part your skin, sending a wave of shivers through your body.

You stifle a gasp but you can't hide the dilation of your irises and he can't hide the hunger behind his. He cups your cheek in his hand, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. "Ready?" he asks in a hushed tone.

"As I'll ever be."

The drive is bathed in bits of small talk and comfortable silence, appreciating each other's presence without having to fill the quiet of the cabin every second. Marcus' gaze is split between the road ahead and you at his side. He drives with one hand, his right resting comfortably on the gearbox.

God, you're such a cliché, noticing the way his broad palm rests there, the veins bulging between his fingers and on his hand and it makes you squirm in your seat. Your date hasn't even started yet and you're already feeling uncomfortable in your underwear. Are you that needy? Or is it him? Is he doing this to you?

Joel.

No, stop. Don’t think about him. Not right now. Stop.

Joel.

No.

Joel.

NO.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until Marcus is asking if you're all right.

"What?" you snap out of your haze, jerking your head to look at him. He looks worried, his forehead forming a deep crease between his eyebrows. "I lost you there for a minute, what happened?"

"Nothing, nothing, I'm fine."

"You don't gotta do that, you know."

"Do what?"

"Say you're fine. You're allowed not to be."

You start to contradict him, but then you realize he's right.

"You're right," you admit, looking at him sheepishly. "I'm just nervous- and it's not your fault-" you hasten to explain, "I just haven't done this in so long that it feels like it's happening to someone else, like I'm watching myself from a distance."

He smiles at you knowingly and you add frustratedly, "That's so uncool, I'm sorry, I should be-"

"Moment of truth?" Marcus cuts you off before you can finish your thought.

"Um- OK?"

"I'm already hooked." he bites his lip, stealing a glance in your direction, his shoulders shrugging as if he had just told you the most natural thing in the world.

"Excuse m-" you look at him in bewilderment.

"I know I should play hard to get and do all the stuff everyone does on a first date, act cool and whatnot," he gestures in the air with his free hand, "but really? I'm hooked. Captivated. So-" he takes a deep breath, exhaling forcefully, "if anyone should be anything, it's me, scared that I'm going to screw this up, somehow. But you know what?" he looks at you expectantly, waiting for a response.

"What?" you manage to croak, your whole body buzzing with anticipation.

"I'm going to choose to enjoy this night by being myself-" he stops and scrunches his eyes in thought, "-well, ok, I'm going to hold back a bit," he jokes playfully, making you both laugh at that, relieving some of the tension and he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, "because I don't know if I'll get another chance. I can only hope that at the end of the night you'll choose to see me again."

He brings your intertwined hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles tenderly. He's said all the right things, everything you want to hear and dear God, he makes you want to climb him like a tree. You bite your lower lip so hard you're afraid you'll draw blood.

He studies your face and your fluttered expression for a moment, a smile of accomplishment painted on his perfect mouth, before he adds, "And you shouldn't be anything other than what you want to be. Neither of us should."

The date was not what you expected, because it was actually a success. Zero awkwardness, lots to talk about, mutual humor and gentle glances. You started with dinner in a not-too-casual-not-too-formal restaurant and ended up in a great bar, lively but not too loud, where you had delicious cocktails over and over again. Not Marcus though, because he was driving. So responsible, you wanted to sink your teeth into his neck.

Marcus was truly interested in you. He asked you about everything, he really wanted to know about your life. You didn't delve much into the divorce and he didn't push it. But you told him more about your background, your work, your daughters, the challenges of being a single mother and to your surprise, he listened. Actively. When you told him it was his turn to spill the beans, he told you about his job and his specialty; his move to Texas for a fresh start and when you asked him why he felt he needed one, he reluctantly told you about proposing to his girlfriend of two months.

"I know, I know-" he raises his hand in defence as he shakes his head in disbelief, "I don't know what the hell I was thinking, I guess-" he looks down at his empty glass as if searching for answers, "sometimes I have a hard time letting things go."

He dares to meet your eyes through his lashes, to study your reaction. But your expression is neutral, no judgment on your part. "But I'm working on it, letting things happen naturally, you know? If it's meant to be, it's meant to be." he shrugs casually.

"That must be hard for you to deal with." you observe.

"Why would you think that?" he seems curious to know what you think of him, smiling crookedly.

"You strike me as someone who really tries to work things out, to fix what's broken. You don't give up easily, do you?"

His eyes bore into yours as he confirms, "No, I don't," smirking at you. You break eye contact and look down at your lap, biting back a smile of your own.

Suddenly you hear your name being called and you scan the room to find the source. You see Tommy just a few meters away, coming towards you to say hello. Marcus looks between the two of you, his eyes finally landing on yours, catching your faltering smile. "Hey, Tommy, how are you?" you hug him gently and then introduce the two men.

"Hi, nice to meet you." Tommy holds out his hand as Marcus extends his own, "You too."

"Who's the lucky girl this time, Tommy?" you tease with a devilish grin as you wink at him.

"The lucky girl is actually my brother." Tommy laughs breathlessly and your face immediately falls as he points his thumb behind him.

Joel is there at the other end of the bar, sitting on a table, his gaze fixed on you, his whole posture stiff, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard on you. You raise your arm weakly and wave at him, and he nods back sternly.

Marcus misses absolutely none of this.

How long had they been there? How much did he see? Did you do anything inappropriate? you keep checking yourself for any flawed behavior. But then you realize that you don't have to answer to him or anyone else. You can do as you please. So why do you keep hoping you haven't let him down?

"You wanna join us? There's plenty of room, come on.", Tommy invites you to their table.

You feel your legs give out just at the thought of this gathering and you try to decline politely, "We wouldn't want to impose, it's OK-"

Tommy gives you a confused look, as if you haven't spent the best part of the last two years hanging out together. "What the hell are you talking about, love? Come on, move that ass of yours." he waves his head in their direction. You glance swiftly from Tommy to Marcus and then back to Tommy, hoping he'll get the message, but he doesn't. Damn it, Tommy.

Marcus notices your apprehension and puts the palm of his hand on your forearm, caressing your skin with his thumb.

"Are you OK? Do you want to go instead?" he says in a quiet voice, just for you to hear.

You almost jump at his suggestion, "No, no, I just don't want you to think I'm not having a good time with you…" you lower your eyes, feeling vulnerable.

"Hey, hey, look at me." Marcus lowers his head to meet your gaze, "I think I'd know if this date was going south. But if for some reason it is and I'm too smitten to see it, I'm all ears." Marcus searches your eyes and you shake your head with conviction.

"It's not," is all you say, and you lean forward to place a kiss on his cheek, on the side of his face that is hidden from Joel's inspection. As if that would make what you just did any less obvious. Marcus' lips part, and he turns his head sideways to look at your profile, almost brushing it with his own.

His eyes linger on your mouth as you lean back to your seat, and then he licks his lower lip like a starving man preparing for his favorite meal. "Let's go meet your friends before I do something impulsive," he whispers in your ear, his grip on your arm tightening, his nose pressing against your temple and his lips brushing your earlobe.

Goosebumps spread across your skin and you have half a mind to get the fuck out of here and drag him back to your house. But instead you giggle like a schoolgirl and lead the way to hell, feeling the warmth of his hand on your lower back and the moisture of your pussy running down your thigh.

If a person could combust out of stillness, it would be Joel. You're not even sure he's breathing at this point. You train your eyes on his chest, trying to follow the rise and fall of his rib-cage, just to make sure he doesn't faint.

He's sitting directly opposite you, next to his brother, who's sitting opposite Marcus. He's nursing a beer with one hand, the other behind Tommy's seat. He barely speaks to you, he avoids looking at you and that makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong and he's giving you the cold shoulder. It takes everything you've got to swallow the lump in your throat and the tears behind your eyes, but you do it.

The same waitress who took your previous orders comes back and asks what you and Marcus are having. You order a beer, and before Marcus can place his own, Joel spits, "If you're driving her back, you shouldn't be drinking," giving him a disapproving look.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, your eyes dart from the waitress to Joel and then to Marcus, ready to apologize on his behalf. You knew Joel could be abrasive, but never so blatantly rude. Those were the first words he said to him.

Jesus, what is his problem?

Marcus seems to be able to handle his own, answering to you instead of Joel without missing a beat. "Good to know you have such protective friends," he says with a twinkle in his eye and then he orders, "I'll have the same as before, thank you.", shifting his gaze to the waitress. "One soda with a slice of orange coming up," she says politely and leaves to get your drinks.

You glare at Joel, but he doesn't seem to be paying attention, although he flinched almost imperceptibly when he heard Marcus' choice of drink. Marcus gives you a gentle kiss on the temple and you begin to suspect that he knows exactly what's going on between you and Joel, whose jaw is twitching at the sight of Marcus' public display of affection towards you.

You envy Tommy at the moment because he seems blissfully unaware, so you turn the conversation to him. Or at least you try, because as soon as you open your mouth to speak, Joel cuts you off and asks Marcus what he does for a living.

You can't help but think that after your first meeting in that god’s forsaken bar, it took him months to strike up a conversation with you, but tonight, for some reason, he just can't seem to shut up.

Marcus, being as polite as ever, gives him the general answer that he works for the government.

"Ah, a white collar," Joel replies condescendingly and your eyes bulge out of their sockets, "must be nice, relaxed." still not looking at you and God does he tick you off. Tommy shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stealing glances at you, not sure what's going on. In any other case you would have found it endearing. Not so much now.

You too are squirming in your seat, trying to think of a way out of this awkward situation. This is not how you imagined your first date would end. And it's certainly not how you expected to meet Joel after all these weeks.

Marcus seems unfazed by the veiled hostility coming his way, smiling back at Joel, almost enjoying the antagonism. "Not necessarily, but I can't talk about it either." This catches Joel's attention and he looks at you questioningly for the first time. You tilt your head slightly to the side, signaling what are you doing? but Joel takes his eyes off you, sipping his beer nonchalantly.

"What about you? What do you do for a living?" Marcus returns the question.

"We're contractors, me and Joel; we're brothers," he gestures between himself and Joel, "and we work together." Tommy chimes in quickly, having reached his limit of awkwardness at the table. You breathe a sigh of relief, but it's not long lived.

"And how do you all know each other?" is the next natural question to come out of Marcus' mouth.

Joel's eyes land on you briefly, something flashes past them and before you can stop him-

"She and I actually met in a bar..." Joel smirks at Marcus, but you speak at the same time-

"Joel-" Your voice is firm as a warning, fully accepting that your tone might be alarming to your unsuspecting company.

"What?" Tommy's voice falters, laughing uncomfortably, completely at a loss. Marcus reads the table, his eyes darting between the three of you, at the same time placing a protective hand over your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

"What?" Joel repeats in a different tenor to his brother and he shrugs, smiling, "It's no big deal, tell them," he has the audacity to put you on the spot, nodding his chin at you.

You feel the contents of your stomach move up your esophagus, cold sweat coats your skin in a thin layer. Betrayal. That's all you can think of. "Uh-", you try to find the words, but nothing comes out, betrayal, you're not good at it, lying doesn't come easy to you, betrayal, especially with three sets of eyes on you. Joel just sits there with a smug look on his face and you wish you had the guts to slap it out of him.

Betrayal.

Marcus' voice brings you back to the present, are you all right?, a soft whisper caresses your ear and soothes your insides. The bile in your throat begins to return to its rightful place, but your eyes are already moist, your waterline glassy, a look of defeat and disappointment painted on your soft face. Joel sees it all written on those contours of yours that he has come to know and marvel at from afar, and it is as if a sudden realization hits him, snapping him out of his asshole behavior. He is cruel to you.

"All right, all right," he rolls his eyes and continues with a sigh, and Tommy's eyes return to his brother, but Marcus' remains fixed on you. "We met in a bar and we had a heated..." he stops abruptly and your face takes on a look of horror as he searches for the right word. "...argument." Joel finally adds. "We exchanged a few words, but then we ran into each other at my cousin's house and the rest is history." he laughs as he waves his hand in the air and winks at you.

You bite your lower lip as hard as you can to keep your chin from trembling, but a single tear of relief or suppressed anger, you're not sure anymore, escapes from the side of your face that only Joel can see, as you give him a forced, watery smile.

Luckily the bar is dimly lit, otherwise they would all be able to see the redness spreading across your chest, the rage manifesting itself on your body. Used and played is how you feel, and Joel is the last person you would have thought would put you in this position. You'd bet all your money on it.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Tommy wonders aloud, looking between you and Joel. You clear your throat and have no choice but to confirm Joel's lie. "It felt awkward at the time, so we pretended we didn't know each other. It was an unfortunate moment, one I deeply regret," you lock eyes with Joel and see his facade almost crumbling, "that will never recur, ever again." you continue to stare at him as you speak the last words with concealed bitterness. For the first time that night, he looked down at his lap in shame and regret, pretending to peel the label off his bottle with his thumb.

The ride home was silent, you were emotionally drained, something Marcus picked up on easily, so he simply offered his open palm, which you gladly accepted, tucking your fingers between his own. He continued to caress your skin, back and forth, and it was all you needed to calm your nerves.

As he walked you to the front door of your house, you felt compelled to apologize to him in a profound way. "I'm so sorry about Joel," you shake your head, looking down at your feet, your fingers scratching your forehead, a worried look on your face, "he can be intense sometimes -" why are you defending him?

Marcus lifts your chin with a gentle finger under it, his thumb caressing your jawline. "I don't care about Joel." With one simple sentence, he has erased him from your conversation. No more room for him to steal any longer of your night with Marcus.

“But-”

“I'm the one standing on your porch right now am I not?”, the implication clear in his voice and words.

“I'm not sure what-” you try to avoid confirming or denying his assumptions.

"Mhm," he smiles knowingly, his eyes fixed on yours, searching for something. You feel safe with him, but you can't shake the feeling that you've ruined everything. Marcus' eyes drop to your lips and he slowly leans forward, stopping just inches from you, waiting for you to initiate. You can feel yourself unable to relax, your body stiff, frozen. But you want to, you really do, so you ask instead, "Are you going to do something impulsive now?"

He smiles and leans even closer to your lips, his breath gently fanning across your plump skin. His nose gently nudges yours, "Yes, I think I might."

Your lips almost touch when a muffled voice followed by loud barks startles you both, causing you to pull away and look around for the source of the disruption. After a few seconds, you both see a medium-sized dog running down the street. You wait to see if its owner follows, but no one appears. You turn to look at each other, giggling at the strange interruption.

Marcus caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles and you lean into his touch, the moment gone and lost. "I hope you had a decent time because I know I had a great one and I really hope I get to see you again."

"Marcus," you scowl at him, "are you fishing for compliments?" you chastise him teasingly.

"Well, a man can dream," he smirks playfully as he tries to get some distance between you in case he comes on too strong.

"You don't have to," you coo, grabbing his collar to crush your lips against his.

After the initial shock, Marcus holds your head in his hands, tilting it to return the kiss and deepen it. His soft lips massage yours, sucking and nibbling at your lower lip. His upper lip and tongue capture yours, tugging gently, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He licks into your mouth, exploring every soft cavity, and you suck on his tongue in return.

He grunts into your welcoming cavern and you fist the fabric of his shirt that adorns his chest tighter. He presses his body into yours, trying to keep his pelvic area from pressing into your lower abdomen, but you can feel his growing erection inescapably.

You come up for air and murmur into his mouth, "I had a great time and I'd like to do it again".

This time it is he who presses his mouth to yours, kissing you fervently, sucking all the air out of your lungs. Your body is on fire, your abdomen tingling with desire.

You whimper against his lips as you reach for the short curls at the back of his neck, tugging them gently between your fingers, causing him to growl against your wet flesh, and he can feel your nipples poking at his chest through the thin material of your dress as you press your torso against his in sheer determination.

He's sure he's going to lose it and fuck you in front of your house for all your neighbors to see if he doesn't stop now. He breaks the kiss, panting, his eyes boring into yours, your foreheads touching. "Christ, woman," he closes his eyes and laughs to himself, "you're going to give me a heart attack."

"Better me than old age, right?" you try to hide your teasing smile behind your tightly pressed lips.

"Hey, I'm about to arrest you for threatening a government official," he warns without any conviction or authority.

"Are you going to handcuff me, Agent?" you ask, looking at him through your lashes and it comes out more breathless than it should.

"Jesus." Marcus mutters through his teeth, his resolve hanging by a thread. "OK." he gives you a sharp look, "I'm going to leave for the sake of both of us," he says, but his grip on your hip tightens, as if he's afraid you'll disappear.

"You could come in, you know," you offer, looking at him sheepishly.

His expression is pained when he has to turn you down. "And I'd like nothing more, but I want to do this right. Please, let me do this right." Marcus pleads softly, rolling his forehead over yours in desperation.

"What does that even mean?" you ask, a bit embarrassed by his rejection.

"Means I want to wine and dine you, spoil you, give you the perfect date," he coos into the soft skin beneath your ear, making you shudder at his soft promise. "And when you think you can't go another second without my touch, then I'll come in and spoil you some more," he continues, brushing his moist lips along the pillar of your neck. "I will spoil you in all the ways you deserve." he finishes, planting an open-mouthed kiss on your pulse point under your jaw. Your knees buck and your pussy contracts, squeezing out your sweetness at the feel of his warm and wet tongue.

"OK," you breathe out in a shaky voice, nodding dumbly, cupping his face in your hands and planting a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

He smiles and presses his lips to your forehead murmuring "God, you're something," and his heart swells at your tender gesture.

Marcus takes a deep breath, pauses and seems hesitant, but speaks his mind anyway. "OK, I'm going to skip the whole 'three day rule' and call you tomorrow. Is that OK?" he looks anxiously into your eyes, "Am I rushing you?"

A spontaneous laugh escapes your lips at the sound of that. "I just invited you into my house, you think a phone call is going to rush me?" you frown, "You can call me whenever you want.", you say matter of factly. You turn to leave, but change your mind and face him again. "Actually," you bite your lip mischievously, "I need to make sure I can rely on the American authorities, so I'm counting on your word. I'll be expecting a call by tomorrow," you stifle a grin by pressing your lips together.

"Yes, ma'am." Marcus nods in amusement and gives you one last kiss, pressing his lips to yours for as long as he can before ushering you into the house. "Good night," he breathes against your lips.

"Good night," you whisper back with a shy smile and close the door behind you. Marcus walks to his car with a stupid grin plastered on his face, gets in and drives away, but not before making sure you have closed and locked your front door.

In the stillness of the night, Joel takes a moment to assess the situation and satisfied that the coast is clear, he carefully emerges from the large bush he was hiding behind.

He glances down at his dog pissed shoe and mutters to himself,

"Fuck."

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